You arrived backstage at Bon Jovi's show. You took a quick look around and smiled at the people you recognized, waving at them happily.

This was your area, and these were your people. Every casual attender of Bon Jovi's shows knew you, almost to the point where it felt like you were the celebrity, not them. You were perhaps the most infamous groupie to have ever strutted backstage, and you pretty much followed the band everywhere.

Now, don't get it twisted. You had never slept with any member of Bon Jovi. And that's why everyone thought you were so mysterious. Normally, groupies showed up to check the rockstars' names off of their hit lists, then leave.

You, however, would show up for the music, and to just exist with the band. Of course, you would flirt with them while existing with them. They were all good-looking men, so why would you not?

However, sex was never a goal for you when attending these shows. You weren't a fan of one night stands, and you would have been incredibly naive to believe that one night with Bon Jovi would make them want you in a serious way.

But, despite this, other groupies began to whisper about when the band would sleep with you. It was very obvious that they were into you, and their faces would light up whenever they saw you. You were a beautiful, sweet, and funny girl, and they dug that.

One member in particular dug it more than anyone, though.

And that member was Jon. Whenever he saw you, he'd make a beeline for you, ignoring whoever else was trying to capture his attention. He'd chat with you up until showtime, and then he'd continue afterward until you had to leave. The fact that you didn't try to sleep with him felt intriguing to him, and it was a breath of fresh air; he had been craving someone that didn't fit the typical groupie mold, and that person was proven to be you.

Presently, Jon was chatting with his keyboard player, Dave. He was watching the groupies mill about, excitedly chatting with one another and gesturing to him and Dave every so often.

Dave ended up spotting you before Jon did. He had known how into you Jon was, so he had backed off from you a bit. The rest of the band, though, had not been so considerate. After all, you were mysterious and desirable. It was a lot to ask for the band to let go of that.

So, Dave nudged Jon with a smile. "(Y/N)'s here."

Jon perked up immediately. He searched the room, and he finally found you, looking confident and looking beautiful.

His heart jumped, and he started over to you. He didn't even bother saying anything about his departure to Dave; he just took off.

You spotted Jon swaggering over to you, and you smiled. He was your favorite member of the band, and you had an undeniably large soft spot for him. He was so kind, and so funny, and so adorable, too. "Hey, Jon!"

"Hi, beautiful," he said slyly, opening his arms for a hug as he approached you.

   Your smile widened as you ran the rest of the way to him, falling into his arms. He smelled so good, and the way he pressed a kiss to the top of your head made your stomach flutter.

   "How's my favorite groupie doing?" he whispered fondly, pulling apart. However, he still kept a firm grip on your shoulders, smiling widely at you; you never failed to make his day.

   "I'm doing good," you giggled in reply, placing your hands on top of Jon's. "And how's my favorite vocalist?"

   "Pretty nifty," he answered, and his phrasing made you laugh again.

   He began to guide you over to the couch that was backstage, sitting down with you. "So, what's new? Talk to me, baby."

   You shrugged, your hands coming down on your exposed thighs afterward with a small slap. "Nothing really. I've been frequenting some other shows lately, though."

   Jon nodded, and he felt a slight sting in his heart as it was reiterated that he wasn't special; you were a groupie, and groupies don't frequent just one band. "Cool, cool. What bands have you been seeing?"

   "Poison, mostly," you answered. "A little bit of Skid Row, too, though." You pushed your hair out of your eyes before smiling at Jon. "But, I will say those shows were super lame in comparison to yours."

   And, just like that, his heart became un-stung. He was still at least a little special.

   You always knew just what to say to get his hopes up. He wanted you for more than just entertainment, and you never failed to dangle that hypothetical carrot in front of his face with your sweet gestures.

   "You flatter me, sweetheart." He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to his body. "So, are you as infamous at those shows as you are here?" He nudged you playfully. "Everyone's always talking about you here."

   "Definitely not," you replied, leaning into his touch. "I don't go to enough of the shows, you know? Although, Bret has seemed to have taken a liking to me." You giggled at the image of Bret Michaels practically tripping over himself to get you alone.

   Jon snorted. "Really?"

   "Oh, yeah. The man was practically chasing me down after the last show." You then added, "I rejected him, though. He's not my type. A good singer, but not my type."

   That made Jon's heart leap with hope. Bret Michaels was a good looking guy. Charming, too. So, if he couldn't get you to show interest, maybe Jon had a chance, since you were cozied up to him now.

   But, on the opposite side of the coin, maybe that meant he didn't have a chance. If Bret couldn't get you, what made him think that he could?

   "Sounds like him," Jon mused.

   There was a brief silence, and he couldn't help himself; he had to ask. "Were any other rockstars into you?" He wanted to gauge who his competition was, and what better way to do that than by being upfront?

   You pressed your lips together, thinking. "Not really," you replied, slightly giddy at the possibility that Jon might be jealous. Even though falling for him was a stupid idea, you had very much begun to. "Sebastian Bach kind of saw me as a party buddy, though. We had a lot of fun."

   Jon whistled. "Be careful around that guy. The man is a nut-job."

   You laughed. "So I've seen. But, he's a fun nut-job."

There was a brief pause, and you shoved Jon playfully. "Enough about me! What's been up with you, Jon?"

He smiled as he felt your hands on him. Every touch from you set his body ablaze, even if it was borderline violent touching.

He thought for a minute, shrugging afterward. "Nothing. Same old, same old."

"Oh, come on. There has to be something!"

Jon continued to think, not wanting to disappoint, but also genuinely at a loss for what to say.

He finally settled on something:

"I've been eating a lot of pizza lately. From city to city, that's what we live on."

You laughed. "Hey, that's an awesome update, man." You patted his thigh before standing up. "Do you know where the bathroom is? Considering I drove ten years to get here, I have to take a major piss."

Jon chuckled. "And a major piss you shall have." He gestured toward his dressing room, which was a little bit away from the both of you. "It's off of my dressing room. I apologize in advance if someone's snorting or shooting shit in there, though."

You shrugged. "That's okay; I can brute force my way past them. You don't fuck with a woman who has to take a piss."

"Truer words have never been spoken, babe."

You smiled at him, giving his thigh one last pat before setting off for the dressing room.

Jon watched the other groupies' eyes follow you out, and, as soon as you entered the room, two girls immediately pounced on him. They were so happy that you were gone; they finally got to get Jon Bon Jovi alone, and the fuck away from you.

"Hi, Jon," one of the groupies giggled, pushing her huge, blond hairdo out of her icy eyes.

Jon looked at the girl who was practically on his lap, and he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a physical attraction. The only thing he felt toward the blond before him was slight annoyance.

"Hi," the other groupie added. She was a brunette, and her hands were rubbing Jon's chest as a drunken haze decorated her eyes.

He so badly wanted to squirm with discomfort.

"Hey, ladies," he answered them, trying to seem like his old self. Old Jon would've been all over these busty groupies! But, now, it felt that his interest had been drained out of his body. He had never felt less attracted to anyone in his entire life, despite them being rather pretty.

It didn't take a psychologist to realize why:

He was so infatuated with you, he didn't want anyone else.

He knew it, and he felt pathetic. Rockstars aren't supposed to get seriously attached to their groupies! But, he wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms, and be your boyfriend.

"How are you both?" he continued, awkwardly wrapping his arms around both of the girls. He didn't want to be rude and dismiss them, since they were paying for this experience. He also didn't want to hurt them in any way.

However, he couldn't help but long for the moment where you came back.

"Oh my God!" the brunette squealed. "So good, now that we get to talk to you!"

"Yeah," the blond chimed in. "I feel like (Y/N)'s always hogging you!"

Her voice had a pathetic whine to it, and Jon nearly cringed. "Well, (Y/N)'s a good friend of mine," he replied coolly. "But, you girls have got me for right now. What are your names?"

"Brandy," the blond one giggled, playing with Jon's hair.

"Sandy," the brunette responded, her awkward chest-rubbing still going strong.

"Well, Brandy and Sandy, it's super cool to meet you. So, tell me about yourselves. What do you like to do?"

"Rockstars!" Sandy slurred drunkenly.

Brandy reached across Jon and punched Sandy playfully, seemingly a little more clearheaded than her. "Sandy!" she squealed. "Well, I like to draw!"

Not even bothering to respond to Sandy, Jon turned to Brandy. "Oh, awesome! Are you any good?"

"Yeah!" she answered, but didn't add anything else.

Sandy remained quiet, too, so Jon awkwardly lowered his gaze to the floor. "Cool," he mumbled quietly.

It was so hard for him to believe that this had ever been his scene. That he had ever been into girls like these. They had aspirations, they had hobbies, but there seemed to be minimal things going on upstairs. He even once had a groupie ask him what band he played for, since she had forgotten what ticket she had bought. In addition, not a lot of them could hold a conversation, and they were drier than a California summer.

He didn't want to generalize, but all groupies appeared the same to him. None of them stood out. None of them had the qualities that really grabbed his attention.

Except for you.

Being honest, he thought that "groupie" was the wrong term to classify you under. You weren't anything like the people you were grouped with; you were witty, sweet, funny, and not just in it for the sex.

Now, obviously, groupies with your qualities had to have existed, and Jon knew that. You couldn't have been the only one with those qualities, and he didn't want to unfairly generalize a whole group.

But, he had never seen one quite like you before.

And he was utterly infatuated with you.

As more awkward silence enveloped the three bodies on the couch, Jon came to a realization:

He had to make you his. Right here, right now. As soon as you emerged from the bathroom, he would ask if you would go on a date with him.

His palms began to sweat at the thought, and he couldn't recall the last time he had been nervous to make a move on any girl.

Brandy and Sandy noticed how pale he suddenly looked, and Sandy spoke up. "Jon, baby, are you okay?"

"Yeah!" he answered hurriedly, waving her off. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I think it's just. . .hot in here."

"Well, then maybe you could lose a few layers," said Brandy cheekily. "Better yet, me and Sandy could give you some motivation before the show?"

His lack of interest remained. "You girls are beautiful, but no thanks. I actually have some business to attend to in a few minutes."

"Aww, Jon!" they both whined in tandem, grabbing at him.

Then, you emerged from Jon's dressing room, looking more beautiful than anyone in the room.

Jon immediately shook off the two girls, hopping to his feet.

At their hurt looks, he hurriedly apologized, "Shit, girls, I'm sorry. I just have to take care of something."

He began to jog over to you, and you smiled at him. "I'm back!" you announced, jogging as well so you could meet him halfway. "There were no crackheads in the bathroom, so my piss occurred as planned."

"(Y/N)," Jon gasped, grabbing your shoulders.

"Jon," you said in return, smiling in amusement. "What's up?"

"I. . ," he began, nervous beyond belief. What if you rejected him? That would fucking destroy him.

When he didn't continue, you rested your hands atop Jon's, and that only made his heartbeat become more erratic. "You all right, there, man?"

"Will you go on a date with me?" he blurted out. "I really, really like you, and I don't want you to just be my groupie anymore. I want to get to know you outside my shows. Please, let me get to know you."

You were stunned, staring at the singer with your mouth agape, and your (e/c) eyes wide. "Jon—"

"Please?" he asked again, just in case you were about to refuse.

You were speechless. You had been hoping that he would feel more than a sexual attraction to you, and he actually did? That felt so unreal to you.

You finally were able to choke out words:

"Yes, of course. I was actually really hoping you'd ask that."

Jon felt his chest explode with happiness. His whole body jolted with joy, and he brought his lips to yours.

You kissed back, and that was the first time you had ever kissed any rockstar. And, boy, were you glad that you had saved your first time for this moment. He was a great kisser, and you genuinely liked him. Both of those things were a reason to enjoy it.

His hands cupped your cheeks as your own were wrapped around his neck, your mouths moving perfectly together.

I could get used to this, you decided, pulling apart.

You glanced at the clock, and showtime was within pissing distance. You patted Jon's cheek, grinning at him. "Hey, it's almost time for you to go on. We'll discuss date plans after, okay?"

Jon pouted, releasing you. "All right. Can't wait."

"Me neither."

Jon was never one to count down the seconds until his shows were over; he loved what he did, and singing for people was his passion. His purpose in life.

But, as he stepped out on that stage that night, he couldn't help but wish time would go by a little faster.

He had a date to plan, after all.