"Oh my God! I love you so much!"

You wouldn't believe how often I heard that phrase. Just about every day, after all this time, a girl rushes up to me, cheeks blazing, eyes wide and bright and in a not-so-inside voice gushes about how much she loves me.

What does a guy even say to that? Thank you? No. Never thank you.

"Hey, honey," I answered like I always do, with a smile. "I love you too!"

The girl seemed happy to hear that, though I had no idea who she was. Bubbly, blonde, tall, model thin. Bloodshot, glassy ocean blue eyes. Wide mouth full of straight white teeth, thick lips shellacked in blood red lipstick. If I were a different man, I'd imagine that mouth wrapped around my-

"So what are you doing here? It's so cool that I got to meet you!" A spindly arm wound around mine, the brightly painted talons of one hand possessively clutching my bicep. Her other hand gripped a long-neck bottle like her life depended on it.

"I'm here for the same reason you are, I guess."

"Huh?"

"The band. The music you're hearing?" I tipped my head toward the stage where a Prince cover band was working through a rendition of The Beautiful Ones.

"Oohhh," she said, drawing out the word. Her eyes were just barely open, so I wasn't even sure she understood what I'd said until she bobbed her head in a nod. "Yeah, my agent got me into this thing. I've never even heard of this band. I've just barely heard of Prince."

She giggled when I reared back in shock. Barely heard of Prince?

"I mean I know who he is... and whatever. Anyway, my agent said to come, that I might meet someone cool." She grinned, though it was drunkenly lopsided. "And I did! So, how are the other guys? Nick and AJ and... the rest. Are you guys still on tour?"

I couldn't help but laugh. It was that or roll my eyes. Hard. Not only was she blowing stale beer breath in my face, she couldn't even recall my career correctly. "Wrong band, honey. But Nick and the other guys are fine, I hear."

"Hey, Mara. Lewis is looking for you." A heavenly voice sounded behind us-feminine but hitting the low, sultry notes on the register.  "He wants to know if you want to meet the band."

"Ooh!" She squealed, unwinding herself from around me and practically skipping away. I watched her head bob through the crowd until she made a connection on the other side of the room.

"You seemed like you needed some help," said my savior, a woman I really appreciated at the moment, even more so after I turned around and got an eyeful of her. Her curly hair was swept into a purposely messy up do and her blouse, lavender with sparkles and glitter had a neckline that was so low, there was no way she was wearing a bra with it. It clung to her, settling on curvy hips, leaving just enough golden toned bare skin between the hem and the low-slung waistband of skintight jeans.

In other words... she caught my attention. I smiled and actually turned my back on the band strumming out the last notes of the song. "And I thank you," I responded. "Seriously. I owe you."

"I mean, how does she not even know what band you were in? Everyone knows you were the guy no one remembers from 98 Degrees."

She laughed with me, then lifted an amber bottle to her lips. I followed suit, letting a few beats pass before I asked, "But you do know who I am, right?"

She nodded, extending a hand to mine. Her nails-not talons-were painted purple to accent her blouse. I gripped her hand but didn't shake it. Instead I held it, sweeping my thumb across her silky soft skin.

"Yes, I actually do know who you are, JC. I'm Lena."

I didn't want to let go of her hand but did it anyway. "Nice to meet you. How do you like the show so far?"

"They're okay for a cover band. Nothing like seeing Prince in the flesh. I assume you've had the pleasure?"

"Lots of times." I nodded, a solemn mood washing over me. "I actually saw him the last time he came to LA."

"So did I! Wasn't that show amazing?!"

"He blows my mind every time. I wish I could have worked with him but he did let me perform one of his songs on my solo tour-"

"Let's Go Crazy. I saw you at the KISS-FM Jingle Ball. You performed without a track. It was kinda awesome."

"Kinda?" I feigned hurt, giving her a wide-eyed stare. "I did my set A cappella. It was just kinda awesome?"

She laughed, blushing. "Yeah. Just kinda."

"Okay, fine whatever. Stab me in the heart."

She chuckled again. "Okay, this band's version is not better than your version, even A cappella. How about that?"

"Better. Thank you." I chucked my bottle toward the barrel full of glass empties behind me.  "So do you come here, often?"

She glanced up toward the rafters of the Roxy, a midsize club in West Hollywood. The room had been decked out in purple tulle and curtains; purple glitter littered the scratched wood floor and the stage gave a decidedly ethereal purple glow. The staff was going all out for the cover band in tribute to the late, great Prince Rogers Nelson.

"I've been here a few times, but not often. My boss knows I'm a die-hard Prince fan. He was really excited to get me this ticket and I didn't want to hurt his feelings by saying I had no interest in a cover band, so..." She bobbed her head, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. It made her breasts bounce. I felt that bounce in my toes. "I do really like all the purple, but... this isn't my scene, really."

"Oh, really? So what is your scene? Some swanky lounge in Hollywood? A dive bar in Culver City? Maybe the Conga Room... I split my pants there, one time. "

She choked on her last swallow of beer. Mid cough, she tossed the empty into the same recycling bin I'd tossed mine into. Still laughing, she said, "On my couch, next to my dog. Better beer. Not so much purple. The new season of Orange is the New Black. And no chance that I'll split my pants."

I laughed. And nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "So... how do you know her?" I nodded my head toward the tipsy blonde across the room with her arms around the lead singer. He seemed to be enjoying it much more than I had.

"Mara?" She rolled her eyes as she twisted her body back in my direction. "She's a client of a friend of mine. Model. Absolute idiot."

"I'm sorry, client? So... you're an agent? Manager?"

She wrinkled her nose. Her cute little nose. "Oh, hell no. Professional babysitting? I wouldn't be caught dead doing that shit."

"I didn't mean to insult you. Though my babysitter is pretty good. What do you do?"

"I'm a publicist. For Sexy Hair."

I tried hard to fight my grin but it didn't work. "Oh! I know uh... I know your product."

"I can tell," she said, stretching her fingers toward me.  I  bent forward so she could slide the tips of her nails along my scalp. "Our product has a distinct scent. I could tell you use us from a mile away."

After a few moments, she added, "You have a really nice curl pattern, great texture. You should try the Curly Sexy line. It would really bring out those pretty waves."

I shook my head. "I was using that when I wore my curls but now the formula makes it frizz up."

"We have products to combat that, you know."

"You sound like a stylist. Do you have some stuff in your trunk you want me to try?"

She grinned. "It's my job to talk up the product and make sure people know the full range of benefits of each and every line."

"Well, maybe I could be convinced to give it another shot over-"

"Yelena!"

Shit. Some douche wearing aviator shades indoors and a leather jacket at the height of summer bumped his shoulder through the edge of the crowd. "Only half of the product showed up and the band is pulling out tonight. We need to get the rest of the stuff here. Now."

She gave me a closed mouth, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I need to run. People need their free hair care products. It was nice meeting you."

"Uhm, yeah, it was nice meeting you, too. I was hoping we could-"

"Sorry buddy. She's working. Hit on her another time." Shades-and-leather-jacket ushered her away. She glanced back at me over her shoulder and I knew I might never see her again.

Unless I tried to find her.