I don’t know if I would go that far, though the love-struck teenager still living in some corner of my brain screams and faints.
“Do you really want to be with me right now or not?” I ask again.
“Yes. I mean that. More than anything else.” He comes closer, reaching for my hand. His fingertips dance over mine, waking up the nerves and making them sizzle. “And I’m starting to think I need you in my life more than I ever knew before now.”
Dang it. The screaming teenager’s getting louder, making it difficult for me to think clearly. And I need to think clearly now, especially when his eyes stare so deeply into mine that I’m afraid I’ll drown. They are absolutely supernatural, and it’s scary how much I love looking into them. I always did—only, back in the day, I was staring at a picture. I had no idea how they looked in a certain light, how much warmth could come from them.
I finally let him take my hand, but I won’t give in that easily. “I really want to get to know you better.”
“You sure about that? I haven’t given you any reason to want to.”
“I have good instincts about people—most of the time. And I can tell you’re a good person. This has nothing to do with who you used to be back in the day. When you’re performing, you connect with people. And they can feel that; they can sense it. It takes a special sort of person to do that.”
He slightly shakes his head. “How do you do it?” It comes out almost as a whisper.
“Do what?”
“You look at me, and you see all these different things I never thought were there. You called me an artist the other night. I know it’s gonna sound like I have a huge ego, but that’s something I haven’t been able to forget. It’s not every day somebody like me gets called an artist.”
“But you are.” I tug on his hand. “Come on. Let’s walk. It’s a beautiful night.”
And it is, clear and cool with a crisp breeze blowing down the street. Granted, the breeze carries all the smells of the city, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d probably choke if I were ever out in the country or up in the mountains, where the air is truly clean and fresh.
He drapes an arm over my shoulders, and I lean in a little. It’s nice, so nice. He’s back to being just a normal person again, and that’s the version of Dustin I would rather be with right now. Just a man with many hidden depths, capable of writing songs that touch my heart—and not just my heart, but also the hearts of everybody around him.
“I have a confession to make,” I murmur as we walk. “I went through a short, dark period not long ago. Work-related. I found out my books weren’t selling anymore. And maybe it was too easy at first. I don’t know if you did any reading up on me, but I hit the New York Times list on my first try. That almost never happens, not unless an author is really lucky and backed by the right people who really believe in their work.”
“That’s amazing for you.”
“It was, and it was amazing the other times too. I live a charmed life. I know that. But I don’t think I really appreciated it fully until my sales started slumping. I had been so spoiled.” I even laugh softly when I remember that meeting in Maggie’s office, where I expected champagne and congratulations and instead was told I needed to start writing steamier books. “Tastes change. The market fluctuates.”
“Tell me about it,” he groans.
“I had to switch up everything. I couldn’t write sweet, cute romance anymore, even when that’s all I really want to write. I know you were lashing out earlier when you sort of insulted me. But you made it sound like I’m some mindless Pollyanna who just wants to see the good in everybody and believe we’re all in this together and whatever.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, really.”
“I think you did a little bit, but it was because you were upset. I get it. You don’t have to explain it to me. I know I wasn’t feeling very good when my editor pretty much told me that what I was writing was crap. So, I had to spice things up. I had to start following the trends that people wanted to read about, which felt completely foreign to me. I was convinced I couldn’t do it, that I would be untrue to myself if I started writing trendier books. I took it personally. Deeply so.”
“I’m really sorry that happened.” He gives me a small squeeze. “How’s it been going since then?”
“You mean, aside from the fact that I’m writing three times faster than I ever used to? It seems to be going well. I adjusted, no matter how much I didn’t want to at the time. And it didn’t kill me to start writing sexier books. But gosh, I really doubted myself big time. There were moments when I wondered if I should be doing this at all.”
“Wow. You and I have more in common than I first thought.”
“I know how it feels. And I know how insecurity sucks. When you wonder if you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing or if maybe you should consider a career change.”
He lets out a low whistle. “This is all I know how to do.”
“I truly believe it’s what you’re meant to do.” I stop, turning to him, and I take the chance of sliding my arms around his waist. He pulls me closer. “I really believe you have a gift. I’m not just saying that because I’m standing here in the middle of the sidewalk with you and my teenage self would’ve killed for this opportunity.”
He snickers at this, and his eyes light up. “That’s nice to hear.”
“You know what I mean. I’m not feeding you a line just because I know it’s what you want to hear. I mean it. And I don’t have a doubt in the world that you’re going to be on top again someday.”
He draws me into a deep, long kiss that leaves my legs shaking and my stomach all twisted up in happy, joyful knots.
“I need a lot more of you in my life,” he rasps before kissing me again and again until I almost forget we’re out in public and there are certain things we probably shouldn’t do out here.
So, throwing him to the ground and humping him until I pass out is not an option. But oh boy, do I wish it were.
Because I would like a lot more of him in my life too. Especially if he keeps kissing me the way he is now.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, giggling, as he guides me into a darkened doorway leading up to apartments situated over a corner bodega. “What is this place?”
“Who cares?” he asks before pushing me against the wall, deep in the shadows.
I’m so overwhelmed by this that, at first, there’s nothing in the world but Dustin’s mouth and hands and his ragged breathing. The smell of sweat and whiskey and cologne, all mixed together in a scent that’s entirely his. His knee slides between my thighs before he thrusts his hips against me.
And it’s good. It’s really, really good.
But it’s also a dirty doorway that reeks like pee.
“Dustin, Dustin, wait a sec.” I have to remove his hands from my butt when he doesn’t listen.
“I need you, Kitty …” He takes one of my hands and places it against the very obvious, very large bulge in his jeans. “This is what you do to me. One kiss, and I’m hard as a rock.”
Should I congratulate him? “Can we go someplace a little better than this? Like, where there’s privacy?”
He growls softly before pushing away from me. “Damn it. You’re making me crazy.”
“I’m … sorry? Hey, I’m totally down with this.” Does that sound cool? Or am I trying too hard? “But not here. In a doorway, where it smells like somebody peed earlier. What happens if someone comes out? Or they want to go in? What if you’re recognized? That would be terrible for you.”
The man has zero impulse control. He honestly looks pissed that I stopped him. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“We can go to your hotel, if you want,” I suggest, trying to be playful. “Or my apartment.”
He opens his mouth to reply—but not before his phone buzzes. “Sorry, hang on.” He reads the message and scowls. “Damn it. Todd wants me to meet up with him at some club, so I can talk with so
me random guitarist he represents.”
“Oh, okay. That sounds fun.” It doesn’t, but I’m trying. I’m really trying.
Even when he gives me a funny, pained sort of look. “I think it’s the kind of thing I should do alone. No offense. We’ll be talking shop the whole time anyway, so you’d be bored out of your mind.”
“Sure. I get it.” I’m not upset. Although … “Maybe we can get together later? Or tomorrow? Whenever.” Okay, Kitty, dial it back a notch. You don’t have to sound so desperate.
It’s just that I finally made up my mind about whether I’m going to sleep with him or not, and now that I want to, he’s not available. Just my luck.
“Yeah. That sounds good. I’ll have to let you know when I’m free. I’ve got interviews and stuff all week. But we’ll make it work.”
Gee, we’ll make it work? What are we planning, a business meeting?
I manage a smile as he flags down a cab and even smile through our good-byes.
When I’m in the car, on the other hand, all I can do is fume.
And wonder what he thinks of me if he expected me to do it in a stinky doorway.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Oh, dear. That is disappointing.”
It’s not that I’m surprised my grandmother would say something like that after I announce I’m dating a musician who was once one of the biggest names in the entire world. I expected nothing less from her, being one of those upper-crust ladies who had been born into old money and whose carefully curated world has included some truly spectacular people.
But still, she could have at least pretended to think things over before dumping all over my news.
“What’s disappointing?” I press, though I should know better by now.
People shouldn’t ask questions they don’t really want to hear the answer to, and I know this woman. She won’t hold back.
She lowers her fork and knife to her plate—Wedgwood china, naturally, even for something as simple as lunch at home with her granddaughter. “Dear, musicians are never a good choice when it comes to dating. They’re too hot and cold, too unpredictable. Too unreliable.”
I can’t help myself. I know I should try, but I just can’t do it. “Strange. It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
She lowers her brow, hitting me with eyes that look a lot like mine. “Watch yourself, Kathryn.”
“I’m just saying, how would you know unless you once were involved with a musician? That’s all I want to know. You know I would never judge you.”
“I’m not entirely sure about that.” But there’s a twinkle in her eyes in spite of the downward tilt of her lips. Like she wants to frown but can’t quite bring herself to do it. “For your information, no, I was never in a relationship with a musician. But I had friends in my youth who were lured by the musicians in the clubs. Jazz musicians mostly.”
“Jazz musicians aren’t notoriously known for good habits and clean living,” I admit. “Not during those days anyway.”
“I’m sure not much has changed,” she insists.
“He’s not that sort of musician though.”
She tilts her head to the side, fixing me with a cool stare. “Then, what sort of musician is he?”
“I mean he’s, you know, not that sort of person. He’s trying to get his career back on track. Can you imagine what that must’ve been like—being so famous from the time he was a young teenager?”
“Poor baby.” She yawns with a roll of her eyes, patting her silver hair into place like it needed any such fixing. She’s impeccable, just like always, right down to a fresh manicure and pouty red lips. Somehow, she manages to never leave lipstick on her fork or glass. She’s perfect.
“It’s true though. He was too young to know what to do, and I guess he couldn’t have managed things very well. It was never his, that career. It belonged to the music company. Now, he wants something for himself, and I think that’s commendable.”
“Indeed. That is commendable.” The way she lifts her eyebrows as she picks up her knife and fork that tells me there’s something coming, that she’s not content to leave it there.
And darn it, I’m right.
“How many women has he slept with?”
“Grandmother!”
“Do you expect me not to care? You tell me you’re dating this young man, and he was once incredibly famous. And incredibly young. Incredibly young, incredibly famous people aren’t exactly renowned for solid decision-making. I’m sure there were girls throwing themselves at him from the moment he opened his eyes to the moment he closed them—and in between times, if they could manage it.”
I can’t help but think back to what he told me about the girls who used to hide in his hotel room. “Okay. Sure.”
“Do you know he’s been safe? Does he have children out there somewhere? These are questions you must ask him.”
“I’m not going to ask him that!” My face is hot, burning with embarrassment.
“And why not? Don’t you care?”
“Grandmother, this isn’t going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m a smart person, and I can handle myself. I’m dating him, but there’s absolutely no chance of this going any further than that.”
Silly me, hoping that would reassure her somehow. All I get for my effort is a shake of her head, the clicking of her tongue.
“I agree, you are a smart girl. But my goodness, do you enjoy telling yourself stories. Perhaps that’s what makes you such a compelling author.”
“That stings.”
“I may have intended for it to sting. There you were, dating a wonderful young doctor—”
“Can we not?” I sigh, looking at the ceiling at the mention of Jake.
“He was the sort of man I would love to see you settle down with. Aside from the fact that he was gorgeous and charming and respectful, he was also dreadfully successful.”
“You don’t know the first thing about his career.”
“He was a doctor.”
And I guess that’s all she needs to know.
“There are all sorts of people in the world, Grandmother. People have different gifts and talents. I would be terrible as a doctor or even a nurse, but you don’t love me any less for that. Unless you do and I’ve been under the wrong impression my entire life.”
“My dear, the only thing about you that has ever disappointed me is your insistence on using that nickname your mother chose.”
“I like being called Kitty.”
“Kitty is a name for a cat or a burlesque dancer. Not for my granddaughter.”
I can’t help it. I almost choke on my water, which unfortunately was in my mouth when she made the burlesque dancer comment. I have to take my time with swallowing because the impulse to spit out my water and laugh until it hurts is dangerously strong.
Finally, I have myself under control and can offer a snarky comeback. “Hmm. Burlesque dancing. I’ve never considered that one. Maybe if the whole writing thing doesn’t pan out …”
“I don’t find this amusing.”
“Funny, but I couldn’t tell.”
“Kathryn.”
“Grandmother. You’re taking this way too seriously. I’m dating him. We’re not getting married. We’re not even seriously dating. It’s a casual thing. Once his New York gigs are up, I’m sure he’ll move on, and it will all be over.”
“And you’re all right with that?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“You’ve never struck me as the type to take something like this so lightly.”
I roll my eyes.
“Please, don’t dismiss me,” she urges. “I know you think I’m hopelessly out of touch when it comes to matters such as this, but I assure you, the number of years I have on you doesn’t make me an old stick in the mud who’s behind the times. They make me wise. They make me aware of the world. I would rather spare you the pain I’ve witnessed and even gone through myself. I would spare you all of that if I coul
d even though I know it’s impossible. We all have to make our own mistakes. Our parents and grandparents can’t make them for us. And that is a terrible shame.”
She’s never come out and said anything like that before. Not to me anyway. We’ve always been loving but never affectionate, which I guess is what she’s comfortable with. Which is what makes what she just said so surprising.
“I know you love me and want what’s best for me. But I’m not a little girl anymore. I can handle the realities of the world.”
“That isn’t what worries me.”
“What does worry you then?”
She sighs, and there’s genuine pain in her expression. “I don’t want to see it harden you. I want you to keep that bright, loving heart of yours. I want you to see good in people. I want you to keep writing romantic stories about love triumphing over everything else. I want you to write it because you believe it, not because someone else tells you that you have to write it. That’s what I want. I don’t want you to lose yourself to the world, Kathryn.”
Well, that was unexpected. So unexpected in fact that when Peter, Grandmother's butler, comes to clear away our plates, I barely acknowledge his presence. It doesn’t even occur to me to tell him I’m not finished yet. I’m too overwhelmed.
“And if you happen to marry a doctor and settle down into the sort of life you deserve, so much the better,” she adds.
“Do you think that’s what’s going to happen to me?” What is it about talking with this woman that leaves me feeling like a little girl again?
“That you will eventually settle down into the life you deserve? I certainly hope so.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, what you said before that.”
“That the world will harden you? Not if you don’t allow it, my dear. And that’s the thing so many people don’t realize until it’s too late—you can choose whether or not to allow yourself to become jaded and cold. You can choose to rail against that too. Some of the happiest, healthiest people I know steadfastly refused to allow the world to change who they are inside.”
Kitty Valentine Dates a Rock Star Page 10
