by Selena Kitt
We’d lived through that once before, over a real guy, in tenth grade. Mark Ryan hadn’t been worth the trouble, in the end, but it had nearly ended our friendship. He’d led both of us on, mostly for the sex, I think—typical guy—although I’d tried my best to keep that secret from Sabrina. Mark had been my first—in spite of my reputation, I hadn’t ever let a guy go all the way before then—and it kind of just happened. I said no, but he just sort of did it anyway. After that, I kind of didn’t care anymore.
But I did care about my friendship with Sabrina. I was sleeping with Mark, and she was madly in love with him from afar. Or so I thought. For weeks, I went behind her back, knowing she liked him too, thinking I was betraying our friendship—when all along, she was doing the same thing. Mark had been trying to get into her pants too, although he hadn’t succeeded on that front yet. I finally confessed everything to her, after seeing Mark kissing a third girl—Alexis Platt—in the hallway between classes. I thought it would end our friendship for sure, but I couldn’t keep lying to her anymore. That’s when Sabrina told me that she’d been seeing him too, and not telling me.
We promised then and there that we would never, ever go after the same guy again.
So, when we started listening to Trouble, and I saw that sparkly shine in my friend’s eyes every time Rob Burns came on the screen, I decided, fantasy or not, I wasn’t going to lust after the same guy. Instead, I’d shifted my attention, a little to the left. Rob’s immediate left. Tyler Cook caught my eye, with his smirky smile, smoldering gaze, and that wry sense of humor of his, always bantering back and forth with his bandmates.
It was easy to fall in love with the lead guitarist instead of the lead singer, and it kept our promise, even if we both knew nothing would ever really come of our silly fantasies about two sexy rock gods falling in love with their two biggest fans. It just made it easier, when we played a game of, “What if,” as in, “What if we meet Trouble” and “What if we go back to their hotel room,” and what happened after that involved every possible sexual position on the planet followed by an instant proposal of marriage and life on the road with Trouble.
We were both happy fawning over them, squealing like teenagers, screaming ourselves hoarse at their concerts every time they came to town. Sabrina loved it when I fantasized out loud about following the tour bus, going all groupie on the road with them, but I knew she was too practical to really do it. In spite of my horrible influence, she’d managed to keep her head on her shoulders and make all the right choices. My mother often held Sabrina up as a perfect example of what she wished her daughter would be like—but I liked to hold Sabrina’s parents, with their intact marriage and stable jobs, up as an example of what it took to raise a daughter like Sabrina. Fun times.
So, when Trouble came into the room, and I saw that reality-meets-fantasy look in Sabrina’s eyes, I knew she wasn’t going to go for it. Never in a million years would she approach Rob, like those girls who practically crawled all over him, asking for autographs and maybe even offering, in whispers with hot, bubblegum breath, to give him a quick blowjob in the back room. Sabrina was going to sit on that stool until the bus pulled out of the lot, but not me.
It wasn’t Rob I wanted anyway.
“Hey Tyler.”
He’d already finished signing autographs for the girls who wanted them, followed up by selfies and kisses. Once that was over, the girls didn’t seem to know what to say. They milled around, kind of looking at him, but most of them giggled and grouped together like schools of fish after their encounter, like he was some shark who might decide to make them his dinner.
Me, I just walked up to him and said hey. Like a lion tamer, opening the lion’s mouth to peer inside. Only with a shark. Or, a rock star. Anyway, I went up to say hi once all the other girls giggled themselves into a corner, whispering and pointing, but not daring to come back for more.
“Well, look who’s here.” Tyler gave me that trademark lopsided smirk as I approached. He didn’t look surprised to see me. “You still a smart ass?”
“I don’t know, what do you think?” I glanced behind me, like I was trying to see my ass.
“I think I’d have to get a better look.” His smirk turned into a grin.
“Would you like me to bend over?”
“Is that an offer?” His eyebrows shot up.
“Sorry, I’m not that easy.” It was a lie, and I think he knew it. “So what town are you guys off to next?”
“I have no idea.” He shrugged. “Hey, Kenny, what’s our next stop?”
“Cleveland,” Kenny, Trouble’s drummer, told him, a beer to his lips. Kenny was short, balding, and kind of chubby, but he had girls hanging on him anyway. “But we got tomorrow off, bruh!”
“Really?” Tyler exclaimed. “How did I not know this?”
“You were too busy playing Plants vs. Zombies,” Jon, Trouble’s keyboard player, called over with a laugh. Jon had girls hanging on him too, even though he was freakishly tall and wore glasses that made him look bug-eyed. Nick, their bass player, was the cute one, right up there with Rob and Tyler, with longish dark hair and big blue eyes. He was laughing along with his band mates.
“Shut the hell up.” Tyler gave his band mates the finger.
“You were playing Plants vs. Zombies?” I snorted. “I figured you for a Call of Duty kind of guy.”
“Nah.” Tyler shrugged, actually looking embarrassed. He gave his band mate a dirty look, but Nick just laughed and dropped me a wink.
“Assassin’s Creed?” I asked, naming one of the games all the guys our age played—at least all the ones I knew, including my ex-boss and ex- fiancé, Mr. Responsible. “Halo? GTA5? Maybe World of Warcraft?”
“That game is fucking addictive!” Tyler snapped, and all three of his band mates cracked up. He turned his back to them, blocking their snickering from my view. He obviously thought it made the big rock star look uncool, but I actually found it kind of endearing. “Besides, Internet is spotty on the bus. I can play Plants vs. Zombies on my iPad when I can’t sleep.”
“Insomnia?” I asked, giving a knowing nod.
“Big time.” He grimaced.
“Huh. Me too.” I could sympathize. “I’m a night owl. If I didn’t have to go to work in the morning, I’d stay up until four a.m. and sleep until noon.”
“That’s pretty much my schedule.” He grinned.
“Guess I should become a rock star.” I laughed. Or marry one, I thought, smiling to myself. Wasn’t gonna happen, but I could dream, right?
“What do you do?” Tyler cocked his head at me.
“I get fired,” I snorted, rolling my eyes and he laughed.
“What did you get fired from last?”
“Dental assistant.” I sighed, remembering my ring. I’d meant to take it off and tuck it into a pocket in my purse, but after the whole stairs fiasco, I’d forgotten. Now I slipped my hand into my pocket. “My longest term of employment ever. Landed me a fiancé and everything.”
“Well congratulations.” Tyler glanced down at my hand shoved into the front pocket of my jeans. “I noticed the ring.”
He noticed?
I looked up, meeting his eyes. Yep, he noticed. I pulled my hand slowly back out of my pocket, holding it out and gazing at the ring. It was nice enough, gold with a two-carat diamond in the middle. It was a perfect engagement ring. I was wearing my mother’s dream on my finger—the assurance that someone smart, stable and responsible would marry me and take care of me for the rest of my life, relieving her, and by proxy, my father, from the burden.
“I got fired from that too.” I sighed again. “At the same time. Same guy.”
“You were engaged to your boss?” Tyler’s eyebrows went up some more.
“Yeah, but it was a mistake.” I shrugged.
That was, like, the understatement of the century, but it was all spilled milk now. Like, gallons and gallons of the stuff. A Niagara Falls of milk. I still didn’t quite understand how I’d en
ded up engaged to Alex Bishop in the first place, but I had to own it. I’d made the choice, but the fact was, when I’d said, “yes,” all I could see was the excitement on my mother’s face when I told her I was engaged to Mr. Responsible. One of the few moments in my life I made the mistake of trying to please my parental units instead of rebelling against them.
“The job or the fiancé?” Tyler asked.
“Both.” I shook my head, shoving my hand back into my pocket.
“But you’re still wearing the ring?” Now just one eyebrow, cocked at me. “Still have a thing for him?”
“Nah.” I shrugged. “I just use it as jerk repellant.”
“Well I’m sorry about the fiancé.” The look in his eyes was actually concerned. It was kind of sweet. “And the job. But you know what Carl Jung always used to say when someone lost a job?”
“No.” I shook my head. Now my eyebrows were raised. A rock star quoting Carl Jung? I wasn’t just surprised, I was impressed. “What did Carl Jung say?”
“Congratulations.” He gave me a wink and I laughed.
“When one door closes, another opens?” I asked. So much for the quote, but he’d made me laugh, and he looked proud of that. “That sort of thing?”
“You never know what’s around the next corner.” Tyler nodded sagely. “Or behind the next door.”
“Sometimes it’s a rock star who hits you in the head.” I glanced over at Sabrina. Rob had wandered over there—the rock star had gone to her, instead of the other way around. Why didn’t that surprise me? Sabrina never had to try hard at anything.
“She seems okay.” Tyler nodded toward my friend with a little smile playing on his lips.
“She’s fine.” I rolled my eyes. “She’s totally in love with him.”
“Who isn’t?” He gave a short little laugh, one that made me look at him a little harder. He seemed so cocky most of the time. Rob Burns might sing lead for Trouble, but Tyler Cook was no less of a star. Rolling Stone had done a piece on them last year and had compared Tyler to both Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix, which was pretty impressive, given that a lot of the media wanted to paint them as a boy-band. Did he really believe he played second fiddle to Rob Burns?
“Me,” I said softly, my hand on his arm. Damn, even his forearm was tight with muscle.
“Not a Rob Burns fan?” Tyler looked askance at me, like he wanted to believe, but didn’t, not quite.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I replied honestly with a shrug, crossing my arms and looking over at Sabrina and Rob. It was still crazy to me, that I was standing here backstage after a Trouble concert, right next to Tyler Cook, while Sabrina talked up Rob Burns on the sofa. Was I dreaming? Was this just one of the little fantasies I spun out for us gone crazy? Was I high? Because it was hard to believe I was actually awake, that this was actually happening.
“What?” Tyler nudged me, and I looked up at him, smiling slowly as our eyes locked. The man looked at me with so much heat I thought my panties might actually catch fire.
“I’m a Tyler Cook fan,” I confessed, not moving away from the press of his shoulder against mine. We were both leaning against the wall, our bodies half-turned toward each other, remarkably close.
“Just me?” Those raised eyebrows, always doubting.
“Well, all of you...” I said, giving him that caveat. It was true, I loved Trouble. It was their music that had drawn me in from the beginning, but it wasn’t the entire reason I’d stuck around so long. “But mostly you.”
“Uh-huh.” He took a swig of his beer, his gaze on Rob and Sabrina, who were laughing together about something. I rubbed my forehead, remembering how they’d come barreling out the door, running right into us. Maybe I was actually knocked out, and this was all just me dreaming up the usual Trouble fantasy in some morphine-induced coma?
“That door did hit you, didn’t it?” Tyler frowned, and I realized I’d been rubbing my forehead in front of him without even thinking.
“A little.” I lifted my bangs. I’d inspected it on a trip to the bathroom. There was a bump there, but no cut.
“Damn.” He reached out and brushed my hair away that had covered it up, running his thumb over the lump. “Come here.”
“What are you doing?” I looked up at him as he gripped my arms and pulled me closer, leaning in to kiss my forehead. It kind of hurt a little but the brush of his lips sent a little shiver through me. Some part of me was standing beside myself, squealing like a teenager that the lead guitarist of the biggest rock band on the planet was kissing my forehead! The real me, the one who was standing in front of Tyler Cook, face to face, was just breathless and staring and struck completely dumb.
“What?” Tyler smiled and there was such a genuine sweetness in it, my heart broke wide open. “Didn’t your Mom ever kiss your ouchies?”
“Ouchies?” I gave a little laugh. “Between that and Plants vs. Zombies, I think they’re going to revoke your guy card.”
Tyler just kept smiling and slowly shook his head. “I could wear a skirt every damned day and they wouldn’t revoke my guy card.”
He was right. And my deflection hadn’t worked. He was still holding me by the arms, his hands warm, even through my jacket.
“Did your Mom kiss your ouchies?” I asked, reaching up to brush some of his dark blonde hair away from his forehead, although there was no wound underneath. At least, not that anyone could see. But there was something in his eyes when I asked him that, something deep and pained
“Nah.” The honesty in his voice hurt my heart.
“Mine either,” I told him. “She’d just tell me to go put a goddamned Band-Aid on it if I wasn’t bleeding to death.”
“Ouchies should be kissed.” Tyler gave a definitive little nod, leaning in and pressing his lips to my forehead again. So warm and soft. The kiss lingered there, his breath warm.
I was definitely dreaming, I decided.
“It works,” I told him as he pulled away to look at me. “I feel better.”
“See?” He smiled proudly.
“You should hire yourself out as a healer,” I joked. “Go around kissing ouchies. I’d hire you.”
“If you’d hire me, I just might do it.” His gaze dropped slowly from my eyes to my mouth. I could almost feel his lips on mine, even though he hadn’t kissed me there. But he’s going to. Tyler Cook was going to kiss me, right here, right now, and it made perfect sense, because I was only dreaming.
"Where else does it hurt?” His voice was low, almost a whisper.
“Oh… all over,” I breathed, tilting my face up, anticipating. I even started to close my eyes, waiting for my dream kiss. It was going to be good, because this kind of dream always ended well.
“Hey, Katie?” I hadn’t even noticed Sabrina standing at my elbow.
Dreamus Interruptus. I was jolted awake and glared at my best friend like she was Satan interrupting a choir of angels. Which, basically, she was.
“Um...” Sabrina looked between me and Tyler, quizzical. “I told Rob I’d take him over to The Attic in Hamtramck. But that means I have to take my car...”
Hell’s bells! I gaped at her, stunned. Sabrina and Rob? Really? Okay, I was definitely still dreaming. This was just part of it, had to be. How many times had we fantasized this very scenario together? Life never happened like this. It was like a perfect fiction. I was going crazy inside, but I felt Tyler watching us, so I played it as cool as I possible.
“Do you think you could get me home?” I turned to Tyler with a little smile playing on my lips that just wouldn’t go away, even as much as I willed it to.
“Yeah, sure.” Tyler played it just as cool, slipping his arm over my shoulder. “Not a problem.”
Sabrina gave me a knowing look and practically skipped like a ten-year-old back to where Rob was waiting for her. Even in hooker boots.
“Looks like they hit it off,” Tyler remarked, his arm still around me.
“Looks that way.” I still couldn
’t quite believe it. Any of it. “Rob’s calling you.”
Tyler frowned over at Rob, who was waving him over from across the room.
“I’ll be right back.” Tyler started forward, glancing back at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Are you kidding me?” I scoffed, tipping my beer at him. “There’s free alcohol!”
He snorted a laugh before heading over to where Rob was standing, waiting for him. They talked for a minute, but I couldn’t hear a word. There was a big screen TV with a very loud hockey game on, and the crowd hadn’t thinned out much. There were still thirty or forty people milling around, eating sandwiches and chips and taking advantage of the free alcohol. I finished my beer and grabbed another one, popping the top off and watching Tyler and Rob, their heads bent in conversation.
Sabrina was nowhere to be seen and I smiled to myself, knowing if there was a parking ticket on her windshield, I wasn’t going to get in trouble for it, even if it cost her a mint, because my little mistake had turned out to be the best thing that could have happened that night. Sabrina was heading off somewhere with Rob Burns, and I was going to expend every amount of energy I had to convince Tyler Cook I was the most irresistible woman he’d ever met.
Tyler and Rob did that guy hug thing, where they clasped hands in front of their chests and pulled each other close so they could slap each other on the back, and then Rob was off, wearing, of all things, a baseball cap and sunglasses. It was full dark outside, and I had visions of him falling down those back stairs, breaking his neck, and ending Trouble’s lucrative career. But then I didn’t have any more time to think about Rob, because there was a bleach blonde bimbo with the fakest tan I’d ever seen sidling up to Tyler, simpering and whimpering and pimpering—okay so there was no such thing as the latter, but if there were, it would involve a great deal of cleavage combined with an equal amount of camel toe—and generally being a nuisance.
Which pissed me off, because being a nuisance was my M. O. The more I watched her—and Tyler’s reaction to her—the more pissed I got. It wasn’t that Tyler was showing interest or anything. He was obviously being nice. He signed an autograph for her. He gave her an obligatory smile when she said something she obviously thought was hilarious and threw back her head and laughed like a drunk hyena. It was his lack of attention to her—and the way he kept glancing my way—that interested me.
