Dear Rockstar (10 page)

“Well now that I’ve seen you, I think you’ve got a pretty good one,” I said honestly. That was an understatement. I couldn’t imagine anyone beating them.

“You think so?”

I nudged him with my knee under the table. “I think you know it.”

“I still like to hear it.” He turned to look at me, his eyes searching. “Especially from you.”

I smiled, reaching over and taking his hand, giving him exactly what he’d asked for. He deserved it. “You’re very good. You’re an amazing singer. You’re an incredible performer. I’ve never seen a crowd go crazy like that for someone they’d never seen before. I mean, celebrity takes time. Exposure. I think you’re one of those people who draws other people in. Like a magnet. You’re going to have people following you around, no matter what you do. For the rest of your life.”

He was actually blushing. “Why do you say that?”

“Because that’s how you make me feel,” I confessed, biting my lip, almost wishing I hadn’t said it.

“Hm.” He made a little noise in his throat, turning my hand over in his, tracing the lines in my palm with his fingertip like he was following a road map. “How do I make you feel?”

“Like I would follow you anywhere,” I whispered.

He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my palm, closing his eyes briefly, and I noticed how long and dark his lashes were before he looked at me with that intense, blue gaze, telling me more with one look than either of us could ever say in words.

“When I saw you in the audience today, I don’t even know how to tell you what it did to me.” He shook his head, twining his fingers with mine. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were performing?”

“Because I didn’t want that to happen.” He gave a short laugh. “I didn’t want to be distracted. I wasn’t supposed to let myself get distracted…”

“That’s it!” I snapped my fingers. Now all the dirty looks made sense. “Your band thinks I’m your Yoko Ono, don’t they?”

“You kind of are.” He met my eyes, the emotion in them so strong I felt it before he even said the words. “Sara, I don’t think you understand what you do to me.”

“What do you mean?” Now it was my turn to ask him.

“I couldn’t think,” he confessed. “Thank God the song was over, because the minute I saw you… I was done for.”

“Oh please.” I smiled, teasing him. “All those screaming girls. I’m surprised they weren’t throwing panties at you.”

“Sometimes they do.” He grinned. “But that never mattered to me.”

I blinked in surprise. “What does matter to you?”

“Now? You.” He squeezed my hand in his, that was all, but the sensation shot up my arm with a jolt that nearly knocked me off my chair.

“Dale, do you realize how crazy that sounds?” I whispered, glancing around like someone might overhear us. “We’ve only known each other for a week.”

“Sometimes the best things in life are crazy.”

I laughed. “I can’t argue with that.”

It was crazy.

It was all crazy.

Me and Tyler Vincent.

Me and Dale Diamond.

But somehow the latter had fully eclipsed the former in my mind—and my heart—at least in the moment. There wasn’t even a ring left around that sun.

     
CHAPTER TEN     

I didn’t see Aimee and Matt while we were standing in line buying tickets and popcorn, but I spotted them once we were in the theater. Dale wanted to sit near the back and he picked our seats, letting me in first and sitting on the aisle himself, but Aimee and Matt were up near the front—where she and I usually sat, so we could see Tyler Vincent up close and personal. For some reason, with Dale next to me, I didn’t regret not being any closer.

Aimee saw me and waved. So did Matt. But when he turned back to the front, she mouthed,
“Call me!”
with her thumb and finger up to her ear like a telephone. I had a feeling she didn’t want to talk about the movie we were about to see, and strangely enough, neither did I. Dale smiled, tipping her a wave and she waved back, turning around and talking to Matt again.

“Popcorn?” He tilted the tub toward me and I took some, although I was still full from Panda Express. “I can’t see a movie without popcorn. It’s like listening to a Walkman with only one headphone.”

“I always have to finish it before the movie. Too much noise and distraction otherwise.”

“No problem there.” Dale tossed a piece of popcorn up and caught it in his teeth.

“Show off.”

“So tell me something…” Dale tried his popcorn trick again and missed this time. “How long have you been a Tyler Vincent fan?”

I shrank from the question, knees up, down in my seat—the same position I’d met him in, I realized, tucked behind my desk, trying to hide myself behind a notebook.

“Oh I don’t know, a while.” I sipped my Coke, looking around the theater, trying to sound casual. Most of the audience was female, some in groups, others with their boyfriends or, if they were bit older, presumably, their husbands. This was Tyler’s third movie in five years. His first ever was a romantic comedy, which had done okay at the box office, his second an action/thriller that bombed, so they’d obviously decided to go back to what worked.

His fan base was undeniably mostly women, some who started listening to him in their teens, way back in the late sixties when he first hit it big, singing long-haired, silly love songs like Paul McCartney and the Beatles. But the Beatles had broken up and stopped singing. Tyler Vincent just rolled with the changes, reinventing himself. When MTV had debuted music videos in 1981, when I was about fourteen, his had been one of the first they played, a single from his new album.

And suddenly Tyler Vincent was a star again in his mid-thirties, with fourteen-year-old girl screaming at his concerts and a brand new fan base to run and see him on the big screen. They didn’t do close-ups—he was in his early forties now—but they still loved filming him shirtless, which made all the girls in the theater go crazy. Not that his age had ever mattered to me, then or now.

“Well you’re not alone—obviously.” Dale offered the popcorn to me again and I took a handful this time, just to keep my mouth full and avoid talking. “Probably twenty years’ worth of fans sitting in this theater.”

“True,” I agreed carefully. “Not many rock stars can say that.”

Dale shrugged. “Aerosmith’s making a comeback. What’s old is new. At least it’s not New Kids on the Block. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Even for me?” I teased.

He gave me a wry look, eyebrows raised. “Maybe for you.”

His response filled me with warmth. So did the touch of his thigh on mine, denim against denim, and I could have sworn he was sitting that way, legs sprawled out, just for that reason. The theater was filling up, but it was opening weekend, so I wasn’t surprised. Three girls as across the aisle from us and I did a double-take, noticing one of the was Holly Larson from our chemistry class. She gave Dale an appreciative look and a wave and he waved back.

“Open.” Dale turned to me, a piece of popcorn aimed at my mouth.

I obeyed, sticking out my tongue, and he threw the popped kernel with perfect accuracy. It landed right in the middle of my tongue. I pulled it in, chewing and laughing.

“I bet you can’t do that again.”

“Is that a challenge?” He raised his eyebrows, picking out another piece of popcorn. “Open.”

I opened my mouth, waiting. He aimed again but I made it harder this time, not sticking out my tongue, and the piece hit my chin, bouncing off. I glanced down and saw it stuck right in the V of the Black Diamond t-shirt.

“Want me to get that?” he offered, grinning.

I rolled my eyes, picking the popcorn out of my cleavage and, instead of eating it myself, leaning over and pressing it to his lips. Dale opened his mouth, taking it gently, his eyes flashing, devilish. It made my belly clench in response and my breath quicken. Damn he was sexy.

And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. The three girls—Holly Larson included—were loud, giggling and squealing, likely about the movie and Tyler’s appearance in it, but I saw the Holly kept looking over at Dale, watching him digging through the tub of popcorn.

I leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Don’t look now, but I think they’re talking about you.”

“Holly Larson?” He glanced in their direction. “She’s in my English class. Did you know she had to give up her baby last year? She didn’t even have a choice. Her parents forced her.”

“I heard rumors.” I took a sweet drink of Coke to wash down my own bitterness, refusing to look over in her direction.

“Hey, Mr. Rockstar, can I have your autograph so I can say I knew you when?”

We both looked up, seeing Holly Larson herself standing next to Dale. Her smile was all for him. She didn’t even look at me.

“Sorry I don’t have a pen,” he apologized with a shrug, glancing at me.

“Here.” She produced a black pen from her purse. “I saw your show. You were
so good.”

“Thanks.” Dale smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Funny how I already knew his smiles. “Do you have… uh…”

He made a motion like he was signing his hand but Holly was already pulling up her shirt, exposing her navel and arching her back. Her belly was smooth and flat and tanned, like she’d spent hours in the sun, although how that was possible in the middle of New Jersey was beyond me. Tanning bed maybe?

“Here’s good.” She cocked her hip, smirking at him.

Dale blinked, glancing at me. “You got any paper?”

“I think I have a maxi-pad in my purse.” I glared at Holly feeling like I could have picked her up and thrown her. I felt Dale laughing silently next to me, clearly amused.

“Tell you what…” He tilted the popcorn tub, scrawling his name on the side. “Take this.”

She frowned. “There’s still popcorn in it.”

“It’s all yours.” He shook it at her and she took it that time.

“Well thanks.” She hugged the popcorn tub to her chesty-chest. She was practically falling out of her shirt. “Hey, my cousin is having a party later… do you want to come?”

Dale smiled, but I could tell he was getting tired of her. “Sorry, I got plans.”

“Well okay,” she relented, starting to go, but then she turned back, plucking the pen out of Dale’s hand—he was still holding it—and grabbing that same arm. “If you change your mind, call me…”

She proceeded to write something on his inner forearm before Dale could protest, looking at me for the first time, and I knew she’d seen us get in trouble for writing on the tables in chemistry that first day. She’d seen me write my number on Dale’s hand.

Then she was gone, back giggling and squawking with her friends.

“What the hell?” he muttered, rubbing at the black ink on his arm as he turned back to me.

I was burning with anger, telling myself I had no reason to be mad as I sank down in my seat, hugging my Coke.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, leaning over so only I could hear him.

“Don’t worry about it.” I just shook my head and shrugged, sucking up sweetness through my straw before putting my Coke in the drink holder on the other side. “Previews are starting.”

But I was still mad. And he knew it. I heard him swear under his breath as the lights went down. We sat through a trailer for
Batman
with Michael Keaton, inches away from each other, but no longer touching. I knew I had no real right to be mad, and Dale hadn’t done anything except sign an autograph for a fan. I didn’t even know why I was so angry. I should have been ecstatic, sitting there waiting to see the new Tyler Vincent movie, and instead I was fuming, my hands clenched into fists.

“Hey.” Dale touched my hand, his calloused fingers gently prying mine open, head bent close. “Hey now. Let me in.”

I shot him a sideways look. “Who are you, the big bad wolf?”

“Don’t make me huff and puff.” His breath was soft and buttery against my cheek as he gained ground on my hand, teasing my fingers open.

“The three little pigs are over there.” I jerked my head toward the “Tyler trio” in the middle of our aisle, the three of them squealing as Tyler appeared on the screen twenty-feet tall, shirtless—of course—sweat dripping off his gloriously tanned body, multi-colored lights flashing over his black guitar as he strode across the stage. The romantic comedy about the rock star, starring an actual rock star, starting off with concert footage. How original.

Dale chuckled, twining his fingers with mine, leaving our hands resting comfortably on my thigh. He seemed satisfied he’d repaired our little rift, and he was right, but that just made me madder. All he had to do was flash that smile and take my hand, and I relented, turning to jelly. I was disgusted with myself, but couldn’t seem to stop it. Some part of me just wanted to give into him.

Yeah, the part in love with Tyler Vincent.

Was that it? I’d been trying to convince myself all week that resistance was futile simply because I was conditioned to salivate every time I saw a man who looked even a little like Tyler Vincent. Besides, he couldn’t have hit any more of my hot buttons if he’d tried. Guitar player?
Check.
Singer?
Check.
Sexy as hell?
Check.
And it seemed like no one could resist Dale, if this afternoon’s show and his new fans’ enthusiasm were any indication. But when he set his mind on something and turned his full attention to it?

No wonder I was lost.

On screen, Tyler played to a crowd a million times bigger than Dale had earlier that afternoon, a sight that usually made me swoon, but not today. What was wrong with me? Tyler Vincent was my whole world. But it wasn’t Tyler who was making my belly churn and my breath catch in my chest and my toes to curl in Aimee’s brand new shoes. It was the warmth of Dale’s hand in mine, the shift of him in his seat, the way he glanced over at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, studying my profile with soft eyes.

Dale let go of my hand and I looked at him, surprised. He smiled, putting his arm around the back of my seat, resting his forearm lightly over my neck, his hand cupping the rounded curve of my shoulder under his denim jacket. I gave a little sigh, leaning against him, doing my best to get lost in Tyler Vincent’s world—a place more familiar to me than home—but it seemed the more I tried, the more I was distracted by Dale, the way he had of rubbing his thumb over my shoulder and leaning just a little closer, breathing in deep, like he was trying to take me in.

“You okay?” Dale murmured.

I swallowed and nodded, but I didn’t know anymore. Tyler Vincent was there, right in front of me, the man of my dreams. I should have been screaming and crazy and swooning like the rest of the girls in the theater, but I could barely keep my eyes on the screen, let alone my mind or anything else.