"Okay, you motherfuckers, let's do this shit!" he shouted after Dad opened the door to the crowd. The cheer inside and out was deafening.

When Fanboy#1 approached the table -- one of his fake tattoo sleeves wrinkling at the crook of his elbow -- Drax tipped a tiny wink my way and asked him, "How's my bike, asshole?"

I nearly snorted out a laugh, and I swear the kid almost crapped his skinny black jeans. Here he'd spent hours waiting in line so he could be the first to get Drax's autograph and what does his idol do? Insults him! The funniest thing of all was that the moron couldn't speak, not even to spit out his name. Drax ended up signing the headshot Kiss my ass, kid. Drax.

When the guy read it, he broke out into a grin a mile wide and ran out of the store. He's still visible through the window, standing guard over Drax's bike two hours later.

I'm leaning against a nearby table, watching Drax -- I'm helpless to do otherwise -- when Papi sidles up next to me and elbows me in the ribs.

"Lola-mami, you should..." He waggles his perfectly sculpted eyebrows at me, then very obviously jerks his head toward Drax. "I seen how you looked at him."

"Saw."

"Huh?"

"You saw how I looked at him. Which you didn't, by the way. Whatever you think you saw, Papi, you didn't."

He waves away my correction and claim like they were annoying gnats. "Don't try to confuse me with your silly English lessons, querida. I know what I seen. I seen him look at you da same."

Part of me thrills at the very thought but I won't succumb to false hope. Maybe Drax had looked at me with lust behind that curtain, but at some point during the signing, I realized I was probably mistaken. Every single female who approached him swooned almost the exact same way I had. Maybe it's just a hazard of the job. You know, women dropping like horny flies all around you.

"Whatever, Papi. I know you think he's hot--" he snorts, as if to say 'Duuuh'; I ignore him "--but I have a lot to do tonight and trying to seduce a devil-worshipping man-whore isn't on the list."

"Mmm hmm." He raises an eyebrow at me and purses his lightly glossed lips. It's his 'The lady doth protest too much' look.

Then he whirls away to help a gorgeous, statuesque blonde. She's dressed to the nines in a skin-tight pink Band Aid -- I mean, dress -- and sparkly pink stilettos. Poor thing. When she came in looking for an old out-of-print Donna Summer CD, she probably had no idea she was wading into a sea of angsty, father-hating post-adolescents.

I'm humming an old Sesame Street song as I approach the signing table. The last fanboy has scurried away, clutching his prize, and it's time to wrap up this shindig.

"Hey, Lola," Drax drawls, emphasizing my dads' nickname for me. Then he holds up a finger and says, "Wait, don't tell me."

I have no idea what he's talking about so I stay quiet.

"'One of These Things Is Not Like the Other', right?"

I can't help but burst out laughing. "You watched Sesame Street?"

"'Course. Who didn't?"

"It's just funny to think of you as a Big Bird fan."

His smile literally makes my knees go weak. No, I'm not even kidding. I nearly crumple.

"Big Bird's the shit. He's the ultimate rockstar."

"Yeah, right," I snort as I start tidying up the table.

"No, seriously. Dude's bad ass. Look at how he handles all those other whackjobs on The Street. Plus, he's a singer. Hell, he's got more Twitter followers than me!"

I try not to drool when he stands to his full height, working out the kinks in his back after sitting for so long. It's like watching my very own personal strip show -- minus the stripping, of course, but the effect is the same. I have to look away or I'm pretty sure my panties will float away on the ensuing flood of desire.

Clearing my throat, I'm about to ask him if he's ready to leave for the concert venue when I look up. He's watching the Barbie wannabe and jealousy twists up my guts. Which is ridiculous. We're polar opposites, Drax and me. He's a flamboyant, attention-seeking entertainer. I'm...not.

Still, I'm not at all happy about him ogling that woman so I 'accidentally' drop a box of headshots on the table, making him jump and forcing his electric orbs on me. As soon as he turns my way, it's like a cool breeze whispering across my hot skin. But I'm over the initial shock of animal attraction and can now speak freely.

Or...maybe not.

His eyes bore into me as I stand before him, mute and stupid. Then it gets worse. They start to twinkle with amusement.

"Pretty good turn-out, wouldn't you say?"

He's thrown me a life preserver and I clutch it like a drowning woman.

"Yeah," I croak, clearing my throat and my mind. "Very much so, considering the location. Not a lot of metal-heads in The Castro."

His chuckle rumbles through me like a train. "No joke. How did that happen, anyway? Nepotism?"

A wink sends ripples of sizzling electricity buzzing through my body. I swear to all that's holy -- or unholy, in this case -- I almost sigh like a groupie. I manage to get a hold of myself and force something resembling a smile to my lips.

"Kinda. The store you were originally booked at canceled after they realized they'd double-booked the day. I called my dads as a favor to Harry, and they were -- and I'm not kidding -- ecstatic about it."

"Well, thank you and thank them. Lola to the rescue!"

I blush at the compliment. I'm loathe for him to leave but I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. If I had a few minutes to myself, I'm sure I could settle down enough to finish this gig.

"You only have a couple hours before you need to be at the venue," I remind him.

It's an outdoor amphitheater across the bay that holds a little over eight thousand. Not a stadium, of course, but the show is nearly sold out. That's not shabby at all in the world of rock concerts. Too bad I'll have to listen to it.

Drax crosses his arms and rests one narrow hip against the table in that oh-so-delicious bad-boy way that gets my insides boiling.

"Trying to get rid of me so soon?"

Seems as if there should be a limit to how red a person can turn but apparently my skin didn't get the memo.

 "No, not at all," I stammer. "I just didn't know...I mean, if you want to eat or..."

I can't believe he just stands there and watches me squirm. I swear, he's actually enjoying it!

"Tell me, Lola. You like my music?"

My eyes widen at the question. What a sight I must be: Red face, bulging eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"I, uh, well, um..."

He smirks. "It's okay, I can take it."

I swallow hard and look everywhere but directly into his eyes. It's less out of embarrassment and more out of survival.

"Actually, I kinda hate hard rock."

"Hard alternative," he corrects.

I shrug. "Whatever you call it, it doesn't suit me. I'd rather listen to Taylor Swift or Tom Waits."

"That's a pretty diverse range, right there."

He doesn't laugh outright but I can hear the amusement in his voice. That raises my hackles a bit, so I lift my chin defiantly and meet his gaze.

"What can I say? I grew up in a funky record store. I'd also rather stay home on a Friday night with some hot cocoa and an old Hitchcock movie than go to a rock show. What do you think of that?"

The twinkle spreads into a dangerous smile. "Mmm, I think that sounds like an invitation."