“I trust you. You’ll find a way to make yourself visible.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or what.”
“It’s definitely a compliment.” She giggles. “You have a way of doing that. And if you can’t think of any other way, just tell him the truth. You’re there because the lawyer who works with his agent got you a ticket and encouraged you to introduce yourself. It doesn’t have to be any more serious than that.”
She makes it sound so easy. Sometimes, I think she forgets that not everybody is as naturally stunning and arresting as she is. That’s a good word for her. Arresting. The sort of girl who stops conversations in their tracks just by entering a room.
Me? I’ve been known to stop a conversation, but it’s usually because I trip over my own feet or call somebody the wrong name or spill something on myself.
“Maybe I’ll trip over a cable or break his guitar. That will catch his attention.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I can’t say I feel much better when we’re off the phone. It’s bad enough that I feel like a piece of garbage for going to see Dustin when we were both so excited over this, but now, I have to wonder if it’s all in vain.
Regardless, I have to get myself ready—and now that Hayley won’t be there with me, I have to try harder than ever to make myself interesting and appealing, so I’ll catch Dustin’s attention.
Which means going all out with my hair and makeup, for starters. I use a curling wand to achieve bouncy waves, and then I roll each curl around my fingers and pin them to my head, so they can cool that way while I put on my makeup. Tonight calls for something smoky, something dangerous.
It apparently also calls for three attempts at a perfect smoky eye. I’ve never been very good with applying the smoky-eye look. I always end up looking like a raccoon or like somebody whose makeup was flawless before they had a really difficult, drunken night. I call it the morning-after look.
Still, I think I look good by the time I’m finished, and I slide into a pair of jeans so tight that I have to do a few squats and lunges to stretch them out a bit. A loose, flowing blouse goes over them, and a pair of ankle boots completes the look along with a big necklace and chunky bracelets. Cute but not too much. I don’t want him thinking I went too far out of my way for this even though it took hours and hours to finally decide on the right look.
As the clock ticks down and I come closer to the big moment of seeing Dustin in person, onstage, my heart can barely handle it. This is it. I’m really going to meet him. Gosh, I hope my palms aren’t this sweaty when the time comes. I make a mental note to dry them on my jean jacket as I’m leaving, locking up behind me.
Perfect timing, as always, because Matt is leading Phoebe up the stairs at that very moment—or rather, Phoebe is leading Matt up the stairs.
“Hi, pretty girl!” I grin as I drop into a crouch and hope I can manage to get back up. These jeans really are tight in the legs. They’re practically painted on.
Matt lets out a low whistle. “Don’t you look trendy?”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I eye him with suspicion.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure yet.” He leans against the wall, still observing me. “So, this is the big night, huh?”
“It sure is.” Somehow, I manage to stand, wishing I hadn’t gone quite so skinny with the jeans. “I’m super excited.”
“You know what I’m super excited about?”
Something tells me he’s being sarcastic.
“Gee, I can’t wait to find out.”
“I’m super excited for the time when your boy-band revival comes to an end. No offense, but that’s not exactly my kind of music.”
“I don’t remember asking whether it was your kind of music or not.”
“And yet you insist upon playing it at alarmingly loud levels.”
“Come on. It’s not that loud.”
“I have seriously considered earplugs.”
“You’re just being a hater.”
“Be that as it may, I’m looking forward to you going back to your normal playlists.”
“Careful there. I might accuse you of stalking me and pressing your ear to the bedroom wall, so you can hear what I’m listening to.”
He snickers, shaking his head. “Get over yourself, Valentine. You know how thin the walls are. And for the most part, I like your taste in music. I like the old stuff better than a lot of what’s referred to as music nowadays. I wasn’t really into music in my teen years—not the music that was current then anyway. Honestly, I listen more to songs that were released before I was even born.”
“I never knew that about you.”
“I’m a man of hidden depths.” He shrugs with a grin. “And when I listen to music, I keep it quiet enough that you can’t hear it because I’m a thoughtful and generous neighbor.” He checks his watch. “You’d better get going. Dustin won’t wait all night for you to show up.”
“I’m actually nervous.” Why did I just admit that? I sound so lame.
“It’s just a show. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Hayley can handle everything for you if you’re nervous.”
“That’s the thing. Hayley can’t come with me; she has to work late. Hey! Could you come?”
At least he’s gentleman enough not to laugh out loud—barely. He tries to hold it in, but a few snorts slip out anyway. “Me? No, thank you. I appreciate the invitation, and let’s be honest; it would probably be smart for you to have somebody there with you—to keep you from getting into trouble.”
Why does he always have to add a little something at the end to be especially jerky?
“Exactly what kind of trouble do you think I could get into at a small show in a small club?”
“You don’t have enough time for me to describe everything I can imagine going wrong. No offense.”
“Oh, none taken.”
“You’ll be fine.” He’s not kidding anymore, he looks and sounds pretty serious, without so much as a smirk. “Go on, introduce yourself to him, and remember, he’s just a regular person. That’s all. Just a normal guy. You’ll do fine.”
That’s just the trouble. It seems like I always have problems with normal guys.
As I’m on my way down the stairs, my heart sinking in time with my descent, I have to remind myself that I am Kitty freaking Valentine, and I can have any man I want.
Can’t I?
CHAPTER SIX
Okay, so this isn’t the most impressive club I’ve ever been to.
Not like I was expecting much. This is a comeback tour after all. He’s not going to be performing in those huge arenas anymore—and it’s not like he’s performing with the rest of the band either. They’re all off, doing their own thing now. I think one of them just finished a season on one of those reality shows where D-list celebrities try to live in the wild or something like that.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Still, it’s a little dark in here. A little cramped. I descend a flight of narrow stairs, barely lit. Thank God I chose flat boots for the night. One misstep, and I would’ve ended up with a broken ankle. Not exactly the way I want to get Dustin’s attention. I’ve already done the falling thing with Blake and the twisted ankle with Jake, so I’d rather pick a less embarrassing option.
A faint smell of mildew is in the air when I reach the room where Dustin is performing. There are tables all over the place in different sizes and shapes—square, round, rectangular —with mismatched chairs grouped together accordingly. The walls are papered with old promotional flyers, some of them so old that the print is barely legible. How many performances have been given in this room? How many careers have been launched? How many have fizzled?
I show my ticket to a man sitting near the doorway, and he points me to a table right in front, practically up against the stage. Not much of a stage, but it’s a start. There are layers and layers of colored tape on the stage, I notice, where dozens and even hundreds of perform
ers have stood on their mark.
Heck, I could write an entire short story about this club alone.
“You want something to drink?” a girl asks over my shoulder, taking me by surprise.
My imagination was too busy running away with itself for me to pay attention to anything else. I order a water. When she makes a face, I add a glass of wine. I guess people need to hustle for their tips the way I hustle to scratch out a few words and make a living.
One thing I notice as the room starts to fill up is the lack of men. For every one of them, there are at least five or six women. That doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, but it is pretty funny. I bet us girls could get together and exchange stories the way I did with Jess at Matt’s apartment door.
Darn it, she would’ve loved this. I didn’t think to ask Matt if there was a way to get in touch with her. She probably would’ve come with me if I’d asked. I doubt he got her number, which is a shame because she seemed like a nice girl. Definitely the sort of girl I could gang up on him with.
He wants us to act like siblings? I might not have any, but I know how to play the game.
There’s one table of women wearing old Crazy 4 You T-shirts, which tickles me. They’re old and faded—the shirts, not the women—but they’re worn with pride. The four of them giggle and whisper and look about as excited as I feel. I exchange glances with one of them and can’t help but reflect on how we’re complete strangers with something in common. Something that unites us. It’s like a sorority in here.
The energy in the room reaches a fever pitch when the lights go down, and I can’t help but feel a little giggly and fluttery. This is it! The event I used to dream about so desperately, what I used to wish for as hard as I could.
I hope he does a good job. It never occurred to me before this very second that he might not. What a stinking letdown it would be if he didn’t.
My heart’s in my throat in the moments before he steps onto the stage. When he sits on the stool and positions his guitar on his lap as the lights come up, I just about melt into my seat while my hands ache and sting from clapping as hard as I can.
Everything happens at once. I take stock of him, seeing him but also seeing the version of him I’ve been so used to for so long. He looks good, surprisingly good after all these years. He still has that youthful smile that shows his dimples that would drive me just about crazy. His rich dark brown hair is a little longer than it used to be, flopping over his forehead when he looks down at the guitar strings, and he pushes it back with a practiced gesture.
But it’s those eyes of his. Nothing could change them. Blue like the Caribbean, so bright in the light shining on his glorious face. They’re like laser beams. In the brief instant they meet mine, I can practically feel them burning into my brain.
He was cute as a kid; I know that now. I swooned over him and dreamed of what our babies would look like and was absolutely sure he was the pinnacle of human maleness. When I was barely out of puberty. But he was a kid.
Boy, is he hot as an adult. Some cute teenagers grow up to be rather unfortunate but not him. He didn’t peak as a teenager. He’s grown into his looks and into his body. There’s a whole lot of body going on.
His tattooed arms flex when he raises his hands in acknowledgment of the applause still ringing out around the room. “Thank you,” he murmurs in a deep, velvety voice.
Oh boy. Somebody fetch the extinguisher because he’s setting my panties on fire.
Though really, he wouldn’t have to say or do anything for that to happen. He would just have to sit there and be himself, and I would be reduced to a pile of ash.
Again, he returns his attention to his guitar as the applause quiets. “Thank you so much for coming out to be with me tonight.” He sounds so humble, so shy.
My heart goes out to him. I want to wrap him in a tight hug and promise he’ll never have to be alone.
What is it about him that inspires that reaction in me? That maternal, protective instinct? This is a grown man, and I’m fantasizing about rocking him to sleep in my arms. Not exactly the sort of thing I should be fantasizing about.
The second he opens his mouth and starts to sing, all other thoughts go out the window. His voice has lost the smoothness it used to have, before ten years passed and heaven knows what else. It’s got a bit of a rasp to it now, like he’s either a smoker or a drinker or both. But that just adds to its charm, that roughness. He used to be a little boy, but now, he’s a man who’s seen things, who’s experienced things. He’s not just singing about being crazy for a girl. That girl is gone now, and she left him facing some hard realities in her absence.
It’s a beautiful song. Sweet, melodic, vulnerable. I find myself swaying along a little, wishing I knew the words so I could sing with him. Though I doubt that would be appreciated, especially in a small venue like this. When you’re in an arena, you can sing your heart out, and nobody cares because everybody else is doing the same thing unless they’re screaming. Same difference in the end.
By the time he strums the final chords, it’s like he has me under a spell. And considering the fact that nobody around me is moving or even whispering to each other, it seems I’m not the only one. The four T-shirt–wearers are practically draped across their table, just completely gone.
If this is the way he’s starting out his comeback tour, I would say he’s doing a fantastic job. I’d even say he has a pretty good chance of revitalizing his career.
Though I guess my opinion isn’t shared by everyone in the room.
“Play ‘Break My Heart,’ ” somebody mutters in the back of the room, referencing probably the biggest hit Crazy 4 You ever had.
A few people hiss and boo and tell them to be quiet. I might or might not be one of them, shooting a dirty look back there. I don’t know who said it, but I know the direction it came from.
Dustin is wise enough to ignore this, going into another new song. This one’s a little more upbeat, about somebody who sounds a lot like him. A guy getting a second chance, who made some mistakes but wants to make good on them now. A guy with a sense of humor about himself.
Heaven help me, the kind of guy I could easily fall for. But that’s just nostalgia talking—and sheer lust. I have to keep a clear head and not let my hormones dictate my evening.
“Thank you all so much for being here.” He takes a look around the room once the second song is finished. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t think I would ever be in front of a crowd again. It’s been a bumpy road, but knowing I still have fans like you out here keeps me going. I knew I had to make an effort to come back for your sake.”
This earns him a warm round of applause and a few sympathetic nods. Seems like we all want to take him home and baby him. Old habits die hard.
“Play ‘Break My Heart’!”
Okay, obviously somebody has had too much to drink tonight—or they’re just jerks in general.
If I were Dustin, I would tell them to get the hell out. Who raised these people? Where do they get off? Yet he acts like this is all very funny, and I guess it is in a way.
“Sorry. Legally, I’m not allowed to perform those songs now.” He shrugs with a hand shading his eyes from the stage lights. “That was a good time in my life though, and it’s the reason you’re all here now. So, I can’t say anything bad about those days even if they’re over. But I appreciate you wanting to revisit some old memories with me.”
What a freaking gentleman. It was the perfect response—humble, gentle, measured.
But clearly not enough for the dude who’s apparently obsessed with the damn song. Because of course, it’s a guy because men just don’t understand. Probably somebody whose girlfriend forced him into coming.
“Nobody came to hear you play your new music, dude.”
That’s it. I’ve had enough. Dustin might not be able to tell the guy off, but that doesn’t mean I can’t.
“Why don’t you stop being such a jerk?” Before I know it, I’m standing next to
my table, hands on my hips. Let the guy say something to me; I dare him at this point. “Why don’t you try getting up there and singing some songs you wrote? Why don’t you get up there and put your heart on display for everybody here to judge? And when you do, I’ll be sure to ask you to perform something you haven’t performed in at least ten years that you didn’t even write and aren’t allowed to sing anymore. Okay, buddy?”
By the time I’m finished, my cheeks are on fire because I realized about halfway through that I was making a massive fool of myself and should never have started on that little rant. Though I do get applause and cheers from around the room as I sit down, so I guess I wasn’t completely out of line.
I would look to Dustin to see his reaction, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m too embarrassed. I choose to focus on my wineglass instead as Dustin moves into his next song and the one after that.
It’s almost a relief when the first half of his set is over, and I don’t have to worry about avoiding eye contact anymore.
What was I thinking? If there’s any way I could possibly make it less likely for him to want anything to do with me, I’d like to know what it is.
Maybe not because I would probably end up doing that too.
When my server comes back, I’m just about to ask for my check because, seriously, I need to get out of here. I’m so stinking embarrassed. I haven’t yet figured out how I’ll get by the heckler’s table without causing more trouble, but maybe I can keep my head down and hurry past.
She cuts me off before I can say anything though and slides a piece of paper my way. “This is for you.” She even winks before hurrying off to take care of somebody else.
For me? I slowly open it, my hands trembling.
Thanks for having my back. I’d love to thank you personally after the show. Show this to the bouncer to let you through the door to the back hall. Dustin.
Well, this is it. This is where I die because, clearly, nothing more exciting will ever happen to me in my entire life.
Kitty Valentine Dates a Rock Star Page 4
