“No! No, you’re … you! You’re amazing. But I’m not going to sleep with you just because you are who you are. What’s the point?”
He snickers.
“I mean, okay, I get what the point is,” I admit. “But I’m the kind of girl who wants to know somebody when she’s with him like that. I know I’m old-fashioned. But I can’t be somebody I’m not.”
He hates me. I can feel it. I can hardly even blame him because I sort of hate myself. No, I won’t go back on my principles, not even for him. But dang it, this is unfortunate.
I give the driver my address and tell myself he’s not laughing at this situation, though I’m sure he heard everything that just happened and finds it humorous. How many situations like this has he witnessed? I wonder if I’m the only girl who’s ever turned down a famous musician.
We travel most of the way in silence with Dustin’s knee jogging up and down like he’s nervous or annoyed. It’s not until we reach my block that he asks, “Can I at least have your number? I’d love to see you again.”
Yeah, right. This is his version of letting me down easy, I bet. He doesn’t want me thinking he was only out for one thing. I might spread the word and give him a bad reputation while he’s in the middle of his big comeback.
“Sure. I’d love it if you did.”
And I would. I hope he calls.
I just doubt he will.
CHAPTER TEN
“Welp, there goes that.” I offer a shrug as I sit back in my chair with a latte in hand.
It was a late night, and I’m not used to being out late. Working late, sure. But being out and social and whatnot is something completely different.
In other words, I need caffeine. A sympathetic ear is nice, too, which is where my best friend comes in.
Hayley sighs, putting her chin in her hands. “Wow. What a night. Would you ever have guessed you’d do something like that? Turn down Dustin Grant?”
Okay, she could’ve chosen better words, but … “Have you completely forgotten who you’re talking to?”
We share a laugh over that, though my heart’s not in it. I still can’t believe I passed up an opportunity I’ll never have again.
“I bet he was pretty pissed,” she sighs, swirling the celery stalk in her Bloody Mary before taking a sip.
“Oh well. He can deal with it. Did you forget you’re my best friend and you’re supposed to be comforting me right now?”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten that, you dork.” She scowls, shaking her head. “I’m just saying, I almost wish I could’ve been there to see how he reacted. That’s my point. He probably didn’t know what to do.”
“He did seem sorta shocked.”
“I’m sure. Can you imagine how many girls he’s probably banged? Hundreds.”
“Ew.”
“But it’s probably true. Who knows how many STDs you avoided by turning him down?”
“Not while I’m eating.” As it is, my veggie omelet doesn’t look as appetizing as it looked before she reminded me of all the diseases Dustin might be carrying.
“I’m trying to help you feel better.”
“I think you’re feeling a little smug at how everything turned out.”
“Noooo.” But her eyes are twinkling.
“Hayley.”
“All right, all right.” She gets serious, arms folded on the table, leaning in. “You did the right thing. It’s not like you to fall into bed with just anybody even if it’s the gorgeous, amazing, love-of-your-life.”
“Wow. You’re making me feel so much better now. Thank you, best friend.” I’m starting to wish I’d ordered a boozy drink to help me manage the conflicting feelings I’m battling this morning.
“I can’t help it. Part of my job as your best friend is to rub your cute little nose in situations like this, where you passed up on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“Oh my God. I’m gonna kill you.”
“Okay, okay. I’m finished. I swear.” But her lips are twitching as she goes back to her waffle.
“You think I should’ve gone with him?”
“No. I absolutely don’t.” She glances up at me. “One hundred percent no. You did the right thing for you. Not everybody would’ve stuck to their guns in that situation, but you did. And I expect nothing less from you by now.”
“Well, thanks for that.”
“You still sound bummed,” she points out before popping a piece of waffle into her waiting mouth.
“I am! Because that’s it. He’ll never call; he’ll never text. I’m sure he deleted my number the second I was out of the cab.”
“Do you honestly think he was lying to you about being a nice person? About liking you?”
“You don’t think so?”
“I love you, so of course I don’t think he was lying. I think you charmed him, the way you charm just about everybody.”
That makes me laugh. “Please. You’re just saying that.”
“If that’s what you wanna think.” She shrugs, throwing her hair over one shoulder. “But it’s true. I think he found you refreshing.”
“You weren’t even there.”
“You didn’t hang all over him, did you?”
“No.”
“You didn’t try to use him somehow, like scoring an expensive night out?”
“Of course not.”
“I’m sure he’s not used to that, and he probably really liked it. You treated him like a real person.”
“I did keep telling him how special it was to be with him though.”
“Probably just enough to make him feel like a big deal. From what you’re telling me, you did everything just right. He felt flattered and important but not so important that you became just another girl. Just one of many who are always trying to lock him down. You stood out.” She’s wearing her killer smile by the time she’s finished, the one I’m sure will win over every jury she’ll ever be in front of.
Though it’s not convincing me right now. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see or hear how disappointed he was.”
“Forget him then.” She shrugs before picking up her drink. “He’s not worthy of you.”
“You’re serious? You’ve been drooling over him all week, flipping out that we were going to meet him, and now, he’s not worthy of me?”
“Anybody who’d brush you off because you didn’t want to sleep with them right after you met isn’t worthy of you. End of story.” She takes a sip of the drink before shrugging again. “I mean, I would have slept with him, but that’s just me.”
“What?” It comes out a little too loud, as usual. There will come a day when people start asking me to find somewhere else to eat and drink. I’m sure of it.
“What?” she counters, arms folded. “That’s just me. I would’ve done it. But you’re not that girl.”
“I can’t believe you.”
“What did I say?”
I have to laugh even though there’s nothing funny going on right now. “You just got done telling me I avoided a walking, talking STD, and now, you’re saying you would’ve slept with him?”
“I would’ve insisted on condoms, obviously.”
“So would I! What, do you think I’m that naive?”
“I was trying to make you feel better!”
“It didn’t work!”
“I know that now!”
We both sit there, breathing a little heavy, faces flushed.
“What are we even yelling about?” I finally ask.
“I don’t remember.” She starts laughing, which gets me going too. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, I swear. If I were you, I would’ve gone through with it, if only because there’s no way I’d ever find myself in that situation again. You know me. I don’t like to let opportunities pass me by.”
“But I do?”
She’s making me feel worse by the second. I’m wondering why I even came out to brunch with her. This was supposed to be a sympathy brunch, a boo
st-my-confidence brunch. But here I am, a loser who likes letting opportunities pass her by.
“You don’t see things the way I do. There’s nothing wrong with that. You stayed true to yourself. That’s what matters most.”
Is she right? I guess so. I know I see it that way, but that doesn’t make me right.
“I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. I got plenty of ideas from him last night. I know the direction I want this to go in. I can always fill in the blanks with things I make up. It’s all good.”
It doesn’t feel so good. It feels awful. Because now that it’s the morning after and I’m thinking back, I wish I weren’t so stinking principled. I missed out on the chance to say I’d once slept with Dustin Grant.
Though, really, is that such a prize? Maybe back when I was a teenager, and since he’s a few years older than me, it would’ve been pretty illegal for us to hook up then. By the time I reached eighteen, Crazy 4 You wasn’t a presence in my life anymore. Or in anyone’s probably. Except for the boys in the group.
Now? “He’s just a person who used to be famous. Now that I think about him that way, it’s sort of sad. But it’s the truth. Nobody wants him for who he is now. Only who he used to be.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Hayley nods, wide-eyed. “I love that. You need to make sure that’s a big part of your book.”
“Thank you so much for your help.”
“Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.” I’m a little mad.
“Right. And we just met and I don’t know anything about you and I can’t read every twitch of every muscle in your face.”
“I just have to get over it, is all. I’m mad at myself, honestly. Not at you. Who knows? He might not have brushed me off after we slept together. I might’ve pulled out my expert sex moves and won him over. I mean, that’s the sort of crap I write about, isn’t it? I’m sure it must happen for somebody, somewhere.”
“I love that you call it crap.”
“But I’m right, aren’t I? I could’ve stolen his heart through my ninja-level sex skills.”
“Since when do you have those?” She lifts a skeptical eyebrow.
“Um, since I started watching a lot of porn to inspire my writing. Obviously. I’ve learned a thing or two. Granted, I haven’t had a chance to use any of those skills, but that only means I’ll seriously blow the mind of the next guy I sleep with.”
Which, of course, is when our cute, young male server, who’s been trying to catch Hayley’s eye throughout our entire meal, just happens to clear his throat—right by my side. “I was going to ask how everything’s going here.” He sounds both confused and intrigued, and he’s not looking at Hayley anymore.
“Great,” I croak, staring across the table in hopes that Hayley will help me out of this.
Which, of course, she does not. “Interested?” she asks, gesturing to me. “She’s been studying and everything.”
“Just kidding!” I laugh while kicking her under the table.
Since I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a knife than look at him right now, I keep my eyes glued on Hayley until he goes away.
“He looked interested,” Hayley says with a smirk.
“I hate you so much. Do you and Matt get together and come up with ways to mess with me? Because that’s something he would’ve done.” I plunk my head down on my arms that are crossed over the table.
“I knew I liked him.” When I don’t smile, she sighs. “Would you relax? I’m trying to shake you out of this funk you put yourself in. Stop being so serious and dramatic and take your head off the table.”
“No,” I mumble.
“Kitty, you just said you have all you need for your book, which was the entire purpose of this little exercise. And now, you can say you made out with Dustin. In the back of a cab. Kitty, that’s hot.”
I raise my head a little. “It was pretty hot.”
“And I am extremely jealous.”
That lifts me a little more. “I mean, it’s not that I’m glad you’re jealous … but I’m not, not glad.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“How old were you when everything started?”
He looked up at the starless night sky, frowning a little like he had to think about it. When was the last time anybody had asked him that question? Did anybody care anymore? From what she’d seen earlier in the evening, she guessed the answer was no—and it made her so sad to think about it. He had so much more to offer than just a few songs and a killer smile.
“I had just turned fourteen. They liked me because I was cute and because my voice hadn’t changed yet. I could still hit the falsetto notes they wanted.”
She waited for more, but nothing came. “That’s it?” she asked after a while.
“What did you expect?”
She shrugged, searching for a way to put words to her feelings. “I don’t know. I guess it sounds stupid and naive, but I figured maybe the producers saw something special about you that told them you were the right person. A little spark or a light in your eyes or your smile. Or in the way you sang.”
He came to a stop, standing in front of her. Right now, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the park, he was just another guy. There was no artifice, no fans jockeying to get closer to him so they could take his picture. He wasn’t putting on that signature, I know I’m in public so I’d better look pleasant expression she had already seen so many times in the few short hours they’d spent together.
He was just a guy, and he was looking at her. She told herself to ignore the thrill that ran up her spine, right along with the wish that her best friends from middle school were there to see this. They’d never believe it.
He looked so serious, almost stern. The fact that he reminded her of her father went a long way toward tamping down the impulse to throw herself into his arms. “Do you want to know the truth? Do you think you can handle it? Having your expectations blown to bits, I mean.”
She nodded, silent, holding her breath in anticipation. He was going to tell her some great secret, she could just tell. How many years had she wanted him to look at her this way? How many times had she imagined him trusting her with his private, personal information? How many times had she wished for him to think of her as something rare?
He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I was young, I was cute, I could carry a tune. They already had two blonds in the group and wanted another dark-haired kid to balance things out. It came down to me and another blond, and I got the job because of my hair.”
She swayed a little, blinking hard, processing this. “And?”
“And what?”
“Is there more to the story than that?”
His smile was sad, cynical. “No, there isn’t, which is exactly why I’m telling it to you. That was the entire reason I got chosen for the group. I had brown hair, and the other kid they liked had blond hair. I wonder what he’s doing with his life now.”
Why did it hit her like a punch in the gut? She was an adult now, not a little kid anymore, and she had seen enough of the music industry in the few short years she’d spent working in it to know things like what he’d described happened all the time.
Sure, on the outside, there was a lot of mystique and glamour.
People wanted to believe what they wanted to believe about their favorite artists. Maybe it was a deep-seated hope that truly hard work and talent would win the day. Maybe they were dreaming of a future for themselves in the industry and thought they could make it big if they wanted it badly enough.
Yet here in front of her stood proof that, sometimes, all that mattered was the color of a person’s hair and whether or not their voice had changed by the age of fourteen.
“You look upset.” He took a step closer, frowning, his eyes appearing darker. Maybe it was the concern in them, or maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t used to looking at him without a spotlight in his face.
“Not upset,” she insisted with a faint smile, “but sad.”
Yes. That’s how I felt when Dustin and I were talking. Granted, I don’t know if any of what I just said reflects his experience, but it feels true to me. Besides, it’s true to my characters, and that’s what really matters.
My heroine is a publicist assigned to rehab the image of a former boy-band member who wants to make it on his own. She was a huge fan of his back in the day, and meeting him as an adult is a real bucket of ice water over her head. He’s nothing like she expected, nothing like she used to imagine when she was a kid. Back then, when she adored him, he was heavy into drugs and alcohol. Now, he’s moody, insecure, and it irks him to no end when people insist on thinking of him as the teenage superstar he used to be.
Not so far from reality, it seems, though my hero is much more temperamental and self-obsessed than Dustin struck me.
Of course, he has a heart of gold underneath all those insecurities, and of course, my heroine is the key that unlocks the door he hid his heart behind to protect himself at a young age. He got hurt one too many times and decided to never get hurt again. Once he realizes she’s the real deal, not like the users he used to know, he opens up, and they create something real together.
Or so I tell myself. I’m still in the early stages of building these characters and the way they fit together, but I’m liking the direction this is headed in. Maggie likes it too—or at least, she pretended to.
No, on second thought, my editor never pretends to like something she doesn’t like.
“So long as they bone frequently,” she reminded me before we got off the phone earlier today.
Yes, she actually used the word bone. I’ve still not quite recovered from it, which is saying something because she’s gotten pretty graphic with me in the past. But there’s something about calling it boning that strikes me as hilarious. Maybe I’m more childish than I like to believe.
It’s getting late, and I haven’t eaten dinner yet. I think I skipped lunch too. A glance at the clock on my laptop explains why my stomach is growling. But that’s a good thing because it means I’ve been absorbed in my work. Which means I’m on the right track—finally. I’m not sitting and staring at the blank page anymore.
Kitty Valentine Dates a Rock Star Page 7
