Title: Her Knight Rocker

Summary: Rachel's your average seventeen-year old, but when she gets the chance to save a rock star's life, things don't feel so out of place anymore. Just plain sweet. Or so she thinks.

Rating: PG-13

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Taking a sip of my soda, I strolled along Bryant Park bordering 42nd Street and 5th Avenue. I wrapped my terry hoodie tighter around myself and smiled. I'll be leaving for Westwood University in San Diego in three months. Sweet independence.

My phone rang and shook me out of my thoughts. It was Stefani Black, aka My Bestie. "Oh hey, Stef."

"Rachel!" she practically shrieked. "Omigod. I hope you haven't forgotten about the Blackstar gig tonight."

"Are you kidding me? Of course, I haven't. It's just that I'm, uh" -- I've been anticipating this -- "not sure if I could make it."

Silence.

"Stef, listen." I sighed. "It's not that I don't want to go. Believe me, I do. It's just that, well, I might get called for, um, work."

Okay, that was lame.

"Yeah, well, you're totally gonna miss out if you don't," she sniffed. "Think about it, Rach." She added before hanging up.

Just then, someone cried, "Somebody, stop him! He's got my Blackberry! Anybody!"

I dropped my soda.

Bloody hell. I guess I was taken aback because a) the mugger was heading towards my direction, b) I couldn't move a muscle as my body wouldn't cooperate, and c) the one being mugged was none other than Jacques.

Jacques Beauvais. Lead vocals of Blackstar. Omigod, I must be dreaming! Jacques shouldn't be here. He should be hanging out in Montreal with his buddies or whatever it is that they do up there. Then I remembered: the gig. They were supposed to perform at the Rockefeller Center tonight.

So under the circumstances, I did the one thing I could think of: I stuck out my foot, just like what they do in the movies. Only this was not Hollywood -- this was reality.

So I was surprised to find it even worked.

Hitting the asphalt the second the mugger tripped over my foot, he scrambling for dear life, leaving behind one --surprise!-- ungrazed Blackberry.

With one swift movement, I recovered the Blackberry from the ground and handed it out to Jacques. "Here be your Blackberry, my kind sir." I said with a heavy French accent. "'Twould wound me to see someone as you, nay, ye get mugged."

He grinned. "Many thanks, milady."

An awkward silence ensued thereafter, neither one of us daring to utter a sound. I swear my life is a sitcom in itself. Our eyes met and we burst out laughing, the loons that we were.

"A groupie," I found myself saying. "That's what the mugger was, wasn't he?"

"Er, right. Frigging fans. Although technically, one has to be a female in order to pass as a groupie, but what the hell." His dark eyes seemed to lighten up. "Jacques. I'm Jacques."

I couldn't help but grin. Stef should've been here. "And I don't suppose that you're holding a gig at the Rockefeller Center tonight, yeah?"

He feigned being taken aback. "It's that obvious, huh?" he took in his trademark black top then squinted at the last few rays of the setting sun. "Look, I'd better get go--"

"Omigod, it's Jacques Beauvais!"

"Shut up!"

And before I knew it, we were being mobbed by rabid fan girls. Or rather, he was. I tugged his arm on instinct. "This way!" I led him out of Bryant Park and into the bustling scene at 42nd Street, somehow ending up in an alley behind the New York Public Library. Honestly, I have no idea where I was leading him, or why I even grabbed his arm in the first place. It's not like I knew what I was doing. Believe me, it's not easy having a rock star tag along especially when you could feel his muscles rippling from beneath his arm. Sweet.

Thank God my phone rang before I could make a fool of myself. "Yeah?"

"Rachel? Rachel! Is that you?" bellowed Mr. Sheppard in my ear. I work for him at The Coffee Bean downtown. "Get your ass down here! Spence called in sick. You're subbing him."

Talk about bad timing. "Right, right. I'll be there." Or not.

Jacques leaned against a brick wall. "Wow, the back alley of the Public Library," he said sarcastically. "The one place I ever dreamed of seeing."

"Yeah?" I peered around the corner to see if some unsuspecting fan/paparazzi/groupie had managed to tag along. Sure enough, there were four of them sporting walkie-talkies and identical IDs. Although they didn't strike me as your average fan/paparazzi/groupie -- they just weren't the type. "Uh, Jacques? Some weird guys are tr--"

"Aw, man!" he came up behind me. "It's those bloody bodyguards. I'm in deep shit now!"

Oh. So they were his bodyguards. "Look, it's okay. I'm-I'm going anyway." I sniffed. I am so gonna regret to have ever said this.

What he did next caught me by surprise: he actually held my hand. In an overly casual sort of way. But made me all hot and flustered, nonetheless. "Listen, um... thanks."

"Hey, no prob," I was about to withdraw form his grip when he caught it again. It felt firm and very reassuring, the way I imagined his hand would be. "I, um, never got your name." He grinned sheepishly.

"Rachel. It's Rachel."

I couldn't help but grin back.

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Jacques sounds mighty familiar, doesn't he? Well then, review and I'll give you beautiful people the grand finale next chapter! ( I thought it would be too darned long for this to be a one-shot )