When you want to get into a place but find yourself improperly uninvited, the best approach is to look for third options—an open window, a back door that becomes the entrance for events where you technically don't belong. In moments like that, it all comes down to having a good friend or a relationship that, while initially uncertain, turns out to be your way in.
Now, when you want to enter a woman's heart, to make the attraction feel magnetic, you only need seven hours to do it, particularly when those seven hours are intense. The stronger the start, the more captivating it is. First impressions are always what people fall for.
–I heard you have terrible luck with rock stars.– said the guy, looking at the woman across from him. She had a delicate chin, her features not yet as sharp as they'd be in ten years. Fair-skinned, with an enchanting look, a heart-shaped face, and lips that begged to be kissed. A shame she wore black hair that didn't quite highlight that angelic beauty.
–And I heard you're as arrogant as the devil and go through women like you change socks—one per day.– replied the girl. Scarlet Johansson wasn't quite the enchantress she'd become in two years, but already a treat, with a refined sensuality, more elegant than seductive. You could call her beautiful, like a fresh white rose. Unlike other bombshells who came off as hunters—Angelina Jolie or Megan Fox, fierce and fiery like twin suns.
–Guilty on all counts—except people always guess the number wrong.– Billy replied with a wink. His sweaty look and the recent concert only served as an aphrodisiac for a girl drawn to the way he confidently approached and commanded the moment.
–Well… here I am.– said the girl. Billy heard it like a challenge.
–Tonight's my last show, and I've got to fly to New York for a production. No room for delays. But I figure a one-day wait, so we can do something together? That can be arranged. Letting a woman like you walk away without a dinner—it'd be a sin.– Billy responded.
–Easy, cowboy. I'd never agree to a date with another rock star. I've had enough.– Scarlet shot back, her skin flushed and warm as she turned him down.
–Then what are you doing here?– Billy asked, invading her space. –You're standing this close, smelling like perfume, dressed to kill, looking nervous… just come out with me.– he added, taking her hand and leading her through backstage corridors to a small room, where a professional makeup artist awaited. Jerry had made a deal—Billy could sneak out only if completely disguised. A wig of black hair and a cap would hide every trace of Billy Carson, even the mole near his right eye.
–So what, you're planning to smuggle me across Spain?– Scarlet asked, half-joking, half-unsure as she watched the process.
–It's just a precaution. We want privacy.– Billy explained.
Wearing a cap, a loose rapper-style shirt, fitted jeans, and worn-out sneakers, he looked like a regular pretty boy. He moved closer, his face nearly brushing hers. She closed her eyes, and he laughed softly, reaching for her label tag.
–Size small.– Billy noted.
–What?–
–You've got to blend in. We need to be in sync, babe.– he said. –A scruffy guy like me can't be seen with a stunner like you without some camouflage. You need a more urban look… come on, you're an actress!– Billy added, seeing her hesitation. –Just go with it. Let's have fun—how else is it supposed to work?–
–But…–
–Don't be scared of nonsense. We're just going to do a few things I want to do—and you'll be my date. The following script is boring—that's for old people.– Billy grinned, cupping her hands in his, as a black shirt was handed over and makeup artists began transforming her into a goth look.
–My God, this night's going straight to hell.–
–Relax, babe. I've got everything under control.– Billy said as they were led to a van parked at the back. Meanwhile, Billy Carson's tour bus rolled away, with Connor wearing his clothes and waving from a distance.
The van was beat-up. They reached a corner where an old black Yamaha RX 150 motorcycle waited, covered in stickers. Billy grabbed the documents—it was surprising what money could buy. His alias was Alejandro Martinelli. He didn't dwell on the details, just stuffed the papers in an old wallet with €400 inside. Scarlet looked a bit tense, unsure of what she was getting into.
Not far behind, an ex–Navy SEAL was tailing them. He had a GPS tracker on the bike and would step in if things got messy.
–What do you think? We've got a bike, the night's ours, fresh air… and just a few kilometers from here, there's a gastro-bar you're going to love.– Billy said. He hopped on the bike. She got on behind him and clung to him as they sped off. Billy could feel his heart pounding. Unlike the upscale spot she probably expected, he took her to a grungy dive bar filled with punks and rockers.
–How about it, babe? Let's grab a couple of beers.– Billy said in flawless Spanish, surprising her. But the disguise did its job, and she nodded, playing the part of someone tough, not timid.
–Hey man, two large pints.– Billy said, placing a ten-euro bill on the counter—the price for two big mugs of beer.
–Rafa, two pints for the couple!– shouted the server, a heavyset man, not your typical handsome bartender, but calm and easygoing.
They found a small table in a quieter corner. The bar wasn't too crowded. Sitting close, they avoided speaking English so as not to draw attention. They looked just like a couple in love.
–They serve beer with food here. We'll probably get bread with cold cuts.– Billy whispered, his voice blending with the music.
–I've been to Spain before.– the girl said, tucking her hair behind her ear. This was the weirdest first date she'd ever had.
–But you've missed the party. You look at everything with tourist eyes.– Billy replied. –Moments like this are strange, and I can't deny fame has stolen most of them from me. But here, you and I—hiding in plain sight—it's exciting. If someone recognizes me, it'll get wild. People would chase us. Honestly, I don't care what happens.–
–Must be exhausting. But you're right. My parents prefer France—I speak it fluently. Better than Spanish, anyway.–
–It's hard when you're afraid. But fear is for people with nothing to live for.– Billy said. –Then let's speak French! I speak it too.–
–It would be a pleasure.– Their eyes met.
They finished their beers. Laughing over something silly, they hopped back on the bike and sped off to a sketchy nightclub, dancing until dawn.
Sweaty, forehead to forehead, they each drifted in their thoughts.
–I think it's time we left.– Billy said, leaning in, almost crossing the line. She closed her eyes, and he pulled her by the hand instead. Just as they were about to leave, they noticed a motorcycle gang taking over the parking lot. Something ominous was settling in.
–Excuse me, you're leaning on my bike.– Billy said.
A young Spaniard with blue eyes and olive skin replied, –Sorry, man.–
–No worries.– Billy answered, grabbing the two helmets chained to the rack. All eyes were on him. They were about to ride off, but a subtle itch to do something reckless stopped him.
–Do you guys race?– he asked.
–What are you saying, man?–
–I mean, do any of you race? Sorry, I'm not from Spain—I'm from Italy.– Billy continued. –This is my beautiful girlfriend, but she doesn't speak much Spanish. She prefers French and Italian. I'm Alejandro.–
Billy had planned to take Scarlet on a ride through the mountains, stop on a hill, and take in the view—but now, it didn't feel like the moment.
He extended his hand, and they shook. Scarlet, confused, nodded quietly.
–She's stunning.– said one bald guy.
–Of course she is.– Billy replied. –She's the future mother of my kids.–
–Alright, we've got races—but what are you putting on the line? Got anything in your pockets?– asked a guy who went by Juan.
–€100. I'd like to double it in a race. How about we ride with passengers—my girl will be mine.– Billy said. Scarlet shifted uncomfortably as everyone stared at her.
He switched to French, –A little race, babe. We just need to play along.–
That she understood—and while she wanted to scream, she had no idea where they even were. She nodded, cursing herself for falling into another wild rock star's mess. They always pushed everything to the edge.
The ride lasted about half an hour. Scarlet clung to Billy's back, terrified. This charming, reckless boy—where was he taking her?
They arrived at what looked like a gang of hooligans—rough bikers, dangerous faces.
–Wait here.– he whispered in French.
She was stunned. For the first time, she had no control over the situation.
…
–So, you want to race, Italian?– asked the main guy, Marco.
–Only if you do. I'm not forcing anyone. I just love to ride.– Billy replied.
–Where are you from?– Marco asked.
–A little coastal town near Genoa—Uditare. Nothing there but fish to trade.–
–I see.– Marco said. –Let's ride, then.–
–Thanks, man.–
–What brings you to Spain?– Marco asked.
–Traveling, enjoying, living life the way it's meant to be lived.– Billy replied.
–You'll race one of my boys. He's been doing this for a year. I'm too drunk tonight.– Marco laughed, and Billy had them all smiling in seconds. He was pure charm.
…
Twenty minutes passed. Engines roared to life as bikes lined up. The road lit up like a runway—probably 1,200 meters long. Not much, but enough. Scarlet gripped Billy's torso tightly. Across from them, a dark-skinned guy rode with a girl flashing middle fingers. Billy just laughed.
They were signaled to go. In a heartbeat, Billy sped off, flying. Scarlet screamed, trying not to fall. Billy took a sharp turn, dragging his foot to balance. They shot forward. The bike roared. She couldn't see a thing—maybe they were hitting 100 km/h. Then, a sudden brake. She felt the lurch.
–Shit, shit, shit.– Scarlet cursed.
Everything blurred. They hit a bump—almost thrown off. Terrified, she could only cling tighter and stay still.
Another curve. Then they stopped. She was ready to yell at him, but he kissed her. Hard. A kiss that made her mind go blank. A moment ago, she thought they were about to die. Now, she melted.
She whimpered.
–Tu es extraordinaire, chérie.– he whispered in French. And she nearly collapsed at the gravelly sound of the word chérie.
Next thing she knew, they'd joined a party. They drank until nearly dawn.
–We have to go.– Billy said, seeing the sky begin to lighten. It was nearly six. Luckily, it was a warm morning, just one degree below freezing. Their noses were red from the cold.
–Guys, I gotta split. But we'll meet again. Let the world be our playground!– Billy shouted, grabbing Scarlet. He knew the streets like the back of his hand, every turn. As the sun rose, she lay her head against his back, finally at peace. As peaceful as she needed to be.
–Where are we?– she asked, seeing open fields and only one old house.
–Where we'll sleep, darling.– Billy replied as if it were obvious.
–Wait, I have a flight to New York.– She said.
–I've got a private jet. Come with me.– Billy answered, parking the bike. The house was empty, lifeless—except for a lone dog watching them. He chuckled and pulled out a bottle of wine, some sausage, and bread wrapped in napkins.
–You stole that bottle.– she said, stunned. –Damn it, those guys were nice.–
–I left a 20. They won't miss it like we would.–
–What are we doing here?–
–Too tired to drive. There's smoke over there—maybe they'll let us stay.– Billy said, pointing a few blocks away to an inhabited home.
They were hesitant, but Billy knocked with confidence.
–Good morning. We've been traveling for a while. Would you happen to have some blankets… maybe let us use your barn? It looks cozy.– Billy asked the gray-mustached man who opened the door.
–What's this now?–
–I'm Alejandro. A pleasure. This is my girlfriend, Sophie. We're travelers—headed to Madrid, but we got a bit lost.–
The old man, Asanti, stepped aside. A skinny teenager appeared behind him.
–Ohhh… sure thing.–
...
Inside a foul-smelling barn, tucked into a pile of hay under a blanket, the two of them curled up. Billy, twenty centimeters taller, wrapped her gently in his arms. Both of them were exhausted. Sleep took them without a fight.
...