A group of three women lingered, sighing softly, and as each moment unfolded and each of them gave in to it, they seemed like small coins passing endlessly from hand to hand, never quite settling, and as everything quieted, time simply slipped by for everyone.
—So you turned Lidia down because you thought she was just a girl in love. —Rosie remarked. They were at a bar, living things their own way, letting the night carry them, while Billy drank water disguised as something stronger, and Rosie downed cocktails as if there were no tomorrow. Nothing seemed out of place, yet her personality always leaned toward excess, toward intensity and disillusionment. The truth was that during tours, he would call ahead to bars, and the bartender would serve him water instead of alcohol, so naturally everyone believed he was drinking nonstop, celebrating wildly, and that illusion became part of the Hollywood image.
—You're smarter than you let on in your interviews. —Rosie added, still subdued, still carrying a trace of frustration. Because she wanted him, wanted to be close to Billy Carson, and perhaps she had taken this job just to burn through her fleeting youth.
—Not as much as I pretend to be. —Billy whispered as he stepped closer, sensing that flicker of temptation.
—I'll be waiting in my room during the next stops. I need someone like you. I need you, as much as I need water and air. —Billy said, his voice deep, leaving a lasting impression, charged with intensity.
She could see that restless, magnetic spirit in him, that raw presence, as he turned to Lidia and kissed her deeply, then laughed, brushing away any doubt. The moment left her breathless, her eyes filled with something close to devotion, while Billy continued testing his luck with women who lived only for the present, who refused to question the future or dwell on the regrets that so often follow.
Unfortunately for her—
Lidia melted into the moment, and Billy simply moved on, as unpredictable and elusive as ever, leaving things unresolved, as if nothing could ever hold him in place.
—You'd want to be with me. But I can tell you now—you'd suffer with me. —Billy said, ending the kiss before disappearing back into the energy of the party, where the atmosphere pulsed with the force of thousands, and he moved like a true rock star—dancing freely, shouting, jumping, ignoring judgment, living entirely in the moment.
Cameras flashed, capturing everything, but Billy embodied that larger-than-life presence. He made sure no one forgot him, carving his place beyond just being a singer, beyond the party itself—he became something people carried with them.
Later, Billy was with Rosie. She was striking, confident in her own way. Time seemed to slow around them. She had long legs, a captivating presence, something angelic that could turn intense in an instant, making people remember what desire felt like. Billy knew how to take control of the moment, and when they held each other, they felt the warmth and closeness of shared energy.
They kissed, moved together, their connection building naturally, the world around them fading into something distant. She hesitated at times, but he remained steady, and for the first time, Rosie experienced something deeper than she had expected—something emotional, overwhelming in its intensity, something that left a mark.
It was powerful in a way that unsettled her, how easily he drew her in, how naturally she responded. Everything about her seemed alive in that moment—her presence, her energy, her beauty—and she realized how deeply she was being affected.
They held each other tightly, moving in sync, and when it ended, they stayed close, looking into each other's eyes, neither wanting to break the silence. She breathed deeply, trying to steady herself, overwhelmed by everything she had just felt.
—Most men are idiots… but I think you understand me, my body, my emotions… this was the first time I've ever felt something like that. —Rosie murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.
—If there's one thing I've learned, one thing I'd call myself an expert in, it's loving women. You're what makes the world move. And when I hold you like this… it makes me want to write you into a song. —Billy said quietly, still holding her close, whispering softly in her ear.
She closed her eyes, letting the feeling linger, holding onto the moment as if it might disappear. She didn't want it to end—and that was the first trap. Because nothing about Billy Carson was simple. He had a way of leaving people changed, stirring emotions they couldn't easily shake. Not everyone handled that well—some walked away, some avoided him entirely, trying to protect themselves from the pull he seemed to have.
—You seem very sure of yourself. —
—It's not that. I just give everything I have… and when you do that, something real happens. —Billy replied.
She hesitated, then looked at him again.
—I've never done anything like this before. —Rosie admitted softly.
—Just relax. Don't overthink it. —Billy answered calmly, watching her with quiet intensity.
Later, they took a few photos with a Polaroid—playful, daring poses that captured the moment but would never be meant for public eyes. They were memories, nothing more—fragments of a night that would live only between them.