Dave froze and then suddenly looked like someone had let the air out of him, the way he deflated and his shoulders slumped. He tilted his head and looked at me with pitying eyes. “Seriously? He did that?”
“See? You get it, why it’s stupid. Why didn’t he?”
“It’s like he’s trying to ruin things. I can’t even...” He laughed humorlessly and then blew out a breath, shaking his head. “First the poster and now this?”
My throat was getting tighter and tighter, but the last thing I wanted to do was cry—I still had to talk to Andy once my dad was done with him and I did not want to do it with red-rimmed eyes and a blotchy face.
I swallowed and cleared my throat. “We’re dealing with it,” I assured him, crossing my arms, determined to stay mad, because mad would keep me from crying. “We’ll take care of it. The band won’t suffer too much.”
Dave frowned. “You think I’m upset because it might hurt the band?”
Not sure what to say to that, I just stared at him as he ran a hand through his hair and turned his head to the side. He was avoiding my eyes more than he was looking down an empty hall.
“Of course I care about the other guys, at least the ones who did nothing wrong,” he said. “But in this case? It’s you I’m concerned about. He did this to you. The person who he’s supposed to...” His voice trailed off.
“He’s supposed to what?” I asked. Of course I could have filled in the rest myself with words like be dating, respect, care about, consult about posting pictures, but in that moment, I felt like I needed to know how Dave would have finished.
Except he’d obviously changed his mind. Even his face had shuttered closed. “No, you know what? Never mind.”
“Dave?” I began, my voice quiet as my eyes flicked over his shoulder because I didn’t want what I was about to ask to be overheard.
“What?” he said, his tone clipped, his eyes wary, like he knew what was coming.
“Do you have a...” Crush sounded like such a juvenile term to use. I shook my head and started again. “Do you like me?”
He swallowed and I saw a second’s hesitation before he decided to play dumb. “Of course I do. We’re friends, right?”
That last word wasn’t so much a question as much as a plea for me to drop it. He knew exactly what I was asking and may as well have said yes, but his reaction told me he wasn’t about to yell it from the rooftops. Not here. Not now. I could hardly blame him—asking him now, in this way, was horribly unfair, not to mention inappropriate—but I’d suddenly been desperate to know.
I looked at him for a long, awkward moment, hoping my fixed gaze would wear him down and he would just say it and get it out there. But no, he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and fidgeted.
Then, when the elephant in the hallway got too big, I buckled and gave in first. “I’d better go so I can meet him in that room. I don’t want to be here in the hall when they come out.”
“Want me to come with you?” he asked.
“Thanks, but no,” I said, giving him a smile.
He nodded and hunched his shoulders, his hands still in his pockets. “I guess I’ll go get some of that fudge.”
I rolled my eyes. “If there’s any left.”
He smirked at me and then without another word, we both turned and headed down the hall in opposite directions.
Ah, Fudge
Too amped up to sit, I mostly paced the room, feeling like a caged tiger as I waited for Andres. It was nervous energy and at some time in the near future I was going to crash—hard—but until then, my adrenaline was keeping me moving and anxious to get it all over with.
I’d hoped to formulate most of my speech so I could get it out with a bit of finesse and without looking like a bumbling idiot. I needed to be prepared; his apologies and sexy looks were going to be distracting.
Except that required me figuring out how I felt, not just about what he’d done (because there was no doubt about how I felt about that), but how I felt about him. And most importantly, how I felt about us.
But even given some time to mull it over while Dad took his turn at him, I realized it all hinged on Andres and what he had to say about what he’d done. What he expected from here forward. How he felt about us.
“Nessa?” he said softly, breaking into my thoughts. I turned from the window toward where he stood by the door. A quick glance behind him told me he was alone; that my father trusted him to meet me on his own was encouraging. Not that he would have thought Andres and I would get into anything physical—nothing like that—just that I was forever his little girl and if he had any doubts that I could handle this on my own, Andres would have had him as an escort, wanted or not.
I pushed away thoughts of how frustratingly, maddeningly good looking he was. How distracting he could be, especially when he wasn’t trying to be a heartthrob. It was like this, when he was just Andy, regular guy, and not a famous, rich and cocky rock star, that I liked him best. But I needed not to think about that, I told myself. Time to sort all this stuff out before we had to get back on the bus. He’s a fridge. A tall, sleek one with many bells and whistles, but still just an appliance, I told myself.
He came into the room toward me, but didn’t get too close; he must have recognized the wariness in me and kept his distance. He blinked several times, his long inky eyelashes, the ones that had been the focus of my attention so many times, having suddenly and shockingly lost their power over me. Instead of being my undoing, they were the cause of my sudden annoyance. Or maybe, and probably more likely, it was the boy attached to them.
In that moment, with him looking down at me, waiting, I realized something had just shifted in a formative way.
I was frozen on the spot, not sure what to do. No, not true—I was sure, very sure what to do. I had never been more sure of anything, in fact. What had me hesitating was that I was afraid. And that thought annoyed me even more.
“We’re done,” I blurted out before I’d even given conscious thought to what I was going to say. So much for finesse, Vanessa.
“But your father said you wanted to talk—”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t mean we’re done talking. I mean you and I are done.”
“What?” he said, quickly closing the gap between us, putting his big hands on my shoulders.
I resisted the urge to shake them off. Barely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spit it out like that, but it’s not going to work, Andy.”
“What’s going on, Nessa? The picture...”
I held up a palm, pressing it to his chest, feeling his heart pound as I kept him at a distance. “I’m sure my father went over it with you why it was a mistake to post.”
He gave me a tight nod, his lips pursed.
“And I’m not about to rehash all that. But as far as us, the picture isn’t what really matters.”
“Yes it does,” he said. “I mean, I understand why I shouldn’t have posted it because of what it does for the band. But you have to understand. I couldn’t let it go. What that girl did pissed me off and was unfair to you. I know it was impulsive, but don’t you see? I did it for you.”
My hand fell away from his chest. My heart was thumping so hard that I could feel it against my ribs. But the second he said that, it felt like it had screeched to a halt. “You what?”
He frowned like he couldn’t believe he had to explain. “I did it for you, Nessa. She was disrespecting you as my girlfriend when she kissed me and then posted that picture.”
“Andres,” I said, disbelieving that I had to explain. “She wasn’t disrespecting me as your girlfriend because not only did she not realize I was your girlfriend, but I am not your girlfriend.”
“Not publicly,” he said.
“No. Not at all,” I pointed out, my frustration mounting. “We are not supposed to be dating on tour. I told you that. I made it very clear.”
“For appearances,” he said, waving me off.
Was he serious? He couldn�
��t be that clueless, could he?
I stepped back out of his bubble. “No, for real. I thought you understood that. We talked about waiting for the end of tour.”
“But that changed—you’re here.”
“No,” I said firmly. “It doesn’t change anything.”
Maybe it was starting to sink in because he cocked his head and frowned. “But we’re together. I thought we were just playing it cool around your father.”
I sighed and leaned back against a desk, crossing my arms. “You think I was only playacting keeping my distance from you so my father wouldn’t get pissed off?”
When he nodded and gave a little one-shoulder shrug like it was obvious, I went on, “No, Andy, I wasn’t playacting. I meant it when I said we weren’t going to date on tour. For real. Maybe now you understand why dating on tour complicates things?”
“But...” he exhaled loudly through his nose as he seemed to gather his thoughts. “I promised I would prove to you that I wanted only you. That’s why I posted the picture.”
“So publicly embarrassing me and going against everything my father told you is your way of proving to me that you want and will be faithful to me?” Not to mention that I was beginning to think what he’d done was also in reaction to the poster of me and Dave. It would bug him no end that people thought Dave and I were a couple. I wasn’t about to bring that up now—no point throwing gas on an already-roaring dumpster fire.
“Yes, but I...” to his credit he stopped talking then, maybe realizing how ridiculous he was being. Finally.
Now more weary than pissed, I felt myself deflate, disappointed that we even had to have this conversation. “Andy, if you knew me at all you’d understand why posting that picture was the exact opposite of how you should have handled things. It felt like you were marking me like a dog marks a bush or a mailbox. I hate to break it to you, but I’m neither a bush nor a mailbox. I’m a person and I really didn’t appreciate you being a caveman alphahole and dragging me into it. Especially so publicly.”
He did not like that, recoiling and taking a step back as if I’d hit him. “Any of the girls I’ve ever been with would have loved me posting that picture.”
Seriously? Just like any other girl would love him pointing out that she was just one of many who came before and would come after?
“I’m not any other girl,” I said, and for some reason, my heart lurched at the suddenly very clear realization that despite his assurances, I was not at all the kind of girl he wanted. “You said you liked me because I was different. Not a groupie. That I would like you because of you and not the rock star thing. You know what, Andy? That’s true. I am different. I’m not the girl who’s going to get caught up in your fame. But maybe that’s the problem.”
His hurt face turned suspicious and he opened his mouth. But I was on a roll and held up my hand before I went on. “No. Let me finish. You don’t want me. Not really. You want to be adored. You want the girl who will hang off you and feel privileged to be with you because of your fame. Well you know what? You can’t have it both ways—the girl who likes you for you but still puts you on a pedestal because you’re a rock star—it doesn’t work that way.”
There was real hurt in his eyes. I had to look away but as I did, the tears overflowed, rolling down my cheeks. I hated that I was crying, and I wasn’t even sure why I was, but I was powerless to stop the onslaught of emotions.
“That’s not how it is, Nessa,” he said, his voice a plea.
“It is. That’s exactly how it is. You may not see it in yourself, but you are every bit the rock star, right down to that insecurity that most rock stars have inside them. They need the acclaim to feel worthy. Well, I’m not going to be your validation. I’m not going to put you on a pedestal.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I wasn’t done speaking anyway.
“So like I said. It’s over for us. Before it ever really began, I guess. But I need your promise that this is not going to complicate things. My father said he would leave what happens from here up to me and I want you to stay on. You’re a good musician and are great for the band. But until Linda can come back, my father needs me. I need to stay focused and that means no drama between us. Please give me your word that you aren’t going to make things difficult and tense for everyone.”
“I only wanted to do right by you,” he said, anguish in his eyes. As he swallowed hard and looked away, I’d never seen him so raw and vulnerable. “No girl, no person, has ever seen me the way you do.” He looked down at his hands. “Maybe I am insecure. Maybe I’m not the confident guy I like to think I am, the one I play on stage. But I thought...” he shrugged as his words trailed away.
It was almost my undoing. I had to force myself to keep my arms crossed and not reach out to him, not fill the tense silence that stretched between us.
“I guess I thought if I posted that picture...” he shrugged again and never finished his thought.
I shook my head. “Just more evidence of why we aren’t going to work. I’m sorry, Andy.” And I really meant it.
He took a long breath but seemed to have run out of steam.
“I need your promise,” I said. “I’m not going to ruin things for my father. Because he’s a pro, he won’t want to mess things up for your career, either. But you need to be committed to the band and that means accepting this—that there’s never going to be something between us.”
He looked up at me and nodded. He didn’t look happy, but he did look resigned. “Fine.”
“I mean it,” I said, putting my tour manager hat on. “He’s not going to tolerate you being a douche, especially not to me. Everyone will suffer if you can’t get over this.” I felt so arrogant, but it had to be said.
His spine straightened as he pushed his shoulders back. “I’m sure I can survive.”
“By playing by the rules, not by immersing yourself in groupies.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your father already gave me the lecture, Nessa. Are we done here?”
Okay, so maybe the groupie comment was one step too far but I wasn’t about to start backpedaling now. Though letting him leave while he was still angry was just going to allow him to take that anger onto the bus—something I wanted to avoid.
“Almost,” I said. “I need to know we’re good. I don’t want tension on the bus. I want it business as usual.”
“You want me to just flip a switch because you say it’s over?”
I have to admit, that he was struggling was a little bit flattering. But I was careful not to let on, needing to be professional about it. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that you need to respect everyone enough to keep it off the bus. It’s way too close quarters for there to be tension between us. I will not allow this to hurt the band and neither should you.”
His face started to morph into a frown as he got more angry, which wasn’t my intent at all.
“I’d like to actually be friends,” I said, trying a different approach. “I like you, Andy, I just...we would not be good at anything more than that. And we both have a lot invested in this tour.”
“Fine,” he said, his body beginning to unclench, which I figured was as good as I was going to get. Once we got some distance from this conversation, he’d realize it was all for the best.
“All right. We’d better get back there; we’re rolling out soon.”
Without another word, he left the room. He started down the hall toward the door that would take him to the parking lot and out to the bus. He realized I wasn’t walking with him and stopped, turning toward me, his eyebrows up in an expectant expression.
“I’m going to use the washroom, I’ll be out in a minute,” I said. When he resumed his path out to the bus, I turned into the girls’ locker room. While I did need to use the bathroom, I also needed a few moments to myself.
Because I’d just dumped one of the industry’s biggest up and coming stars. Andres Castillo, the rock star that a million girls would kill for
a chance at. A guy I now realized I never should have gotten involved with in the first place.
I chalked it up to my dating inexperience that I’d so easily been dazzled by him last summer and again this time—who could blame me, really? It wasn’t the fame that was his appeal (for me, at least), but that this gorgeous guy had made me feel special, delivered heady promises, was a good kisser, and had completely overwhelmed my senses.
And it all began with his ridiculously long and stunning eyelashes.
Seriously, I’d been captivated by body hair. How messed up is that?
Barely five minutes later, I had just come out of the bathroom stall and was in the middle of washing my hands when the squeak of the locker room door announced I had company. My first thought was that it was Andres, Dave, or maybe even my dad, checking to see if I was okay. That I was expecting a male in the girls’ locker room almost made me laugh, but of course, it wasn’t unprecedented to have a male follow me into the ladies’ room. As I rinsed the soap from my hands, I mentally braced myself for whatever was to come.
The sight of my best friend coming around the corner made me sigh in relief.
“Thought you might want to brush your teeth out here rather than fight the masses at the kitchen sink,” she said, putting my toothbrush and a tube of paste down on the counter next to me.
“And fill you in on what went down,” I added as I turned off the tap and reached for a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall.
“Goes without saying,” Sandy said unapologetically. “Also to give you an update on the vibe on the bus. I figured that was valuable information.”
“Very,” I said, reaching for my toothbrush, thanking the best friend gods for making Sandy and I roommates at Rosewood freshman year. “You go first while I brush.”
“Well,” she began. “First things first, you should have hidden the fudge because it’s gone.”
Surprised at her opening (but not at all about the fudge), I laughed, happy to have something to actually laugh about.
Going on Tour Page 12
