Encore: A Standalone Rockstar Novel

by Selena Laurence

"Do you need me to do something with Sara?" I ask, trying not to notice the way his short-sleeved knit shirt molds to his chest muscles. My mind flies back to the way those muscles felt beneath my hands and tongue, and I'm immediately hot and thirsty.

  "We could use your help with a little project we have going on," he replies, a warm smile on his face. "But I'm also just hoping to spend some time with you."

  "We talked about this, Ross."

  He holds his hands up in the air. "As friends, I meant. Don't you like to spend time with your friends?"

  I chuckle. "Yes, I do."

  "Then, there you go."

  We stare at each other for a long moment, our gazes locked, and there's more said in that space in between than in any of our words. I know he still wants more, and I do, too. So badly I can almost taste it—taste him. But I cannot, will not, have my heart broken by this man, so I blink and look away. I can sense his disappointment for a heartbeat, but then he moves on.

  "You still haven't told me what you're doing this weekend. You're not going to want to miss the plans we're making."

  I look at my computer for a moment as I shut it down and try to collect my wits.

  "The fact you and Sara have plans is a really good sign. Tell me about them."

  He explains all of their party planning ideas and how they've enlisted Ali to help with the food.

  "You found something to relate to her over. That's a great step," I tell him.

  He nods. "But while I've been to a lot of parties," he says, looking a touch chagrined, "I haven't really planned any. I'm wondering if you'd be able to have dinner or breakfast or something with us so she can get your advice on her ideas?"

  "I'm not actually a big thrower of parties myself, but I have been in charge of the Illinois realtors’ convention reception several times over the years, and they can get pretty elaborate, so maybe I can advise here and there."

  "Perfect!" He beams. "How about you coming to our house for dinner tonight? Quinn, too, of course. My mom sent me her famous pot roast recipe and she's sworn she can talk me through it over WhatsApp. Sara's never had pot roast, but she's confirmed that eating a little meat while she's here won't kill her."

  I wouldn't agree to it, except Sara's going to be there as a buffer. I wish Quinn would be, too, but he's going directly to his dad's after school.

  "Quinn's at his dad's for the weekend, but I can come help Sara with her plans."

  "And eat my meat?" he asks before chuckling.

  "Oh my God, Ross," I scold. But I can't help laughing with him. This is what makes it so hard to stay away. He's not just sexy, he's charming and funny and a little bit dirty. He's also amazingly talented, and seemingly normal, in spite of the crazy life he's led.

  "Admit it." He leans forward with his elbows on my desk, his gaze hot and penetrating. "You want to eat my meat." His voice has grown raspy, and my heart stutters a few beats.

  "Stop it," I warn, but I can't control the grin that's stolen across my face.

  "Just say it," he continues. "I want to eat your meat, Ross."

  "You're incorrigible."

  "And you're really sexy," he responds. "When I'm away from you, I keep telling myself, 'she can't actually be as sexy as you remember,' but then when I see you the next time, I realize my memory doesn't exaggerate. You're actually sexier than I recall. Every time."

  I feel my cheeks heat and, for a moment, I forget that we're not supposed to be doing this. I lean forward, too, so we're gazing into each other's eyes, only a few inches apart, my chin resting in one palm. His hand slides across the desk and I feel one of his fingers begin to stroke the tender skin on the underside of my forearm. It's like fire trickling over my me.

  "You're not supposed to be saying things like that to me."

  "Not even if it's true?"

  I look at his newly trimmed beard and I can't help but remember the way it felt against the skin of my inner thighs—rough and soft all at the same time. My breath hitches.

  "You're going to break down my resistance here, Ross."

  "That's kind of the idea here, Carly."

  "And when you leave, you'll break my heart," I tell him, getting brutally honest for the first time. Because even though I'd rather not have him hear it, I need to hear it. I need to stop playing with fire, need to stop having fantasies about us somehow making it all work, even though we're worlds apart.

  He cups my jaw with his warm, strong hand. "What if I don't want to leave?" he whispers.

  "But you will. This isn't your life. You're only borrowing it for a bit."

  "Kind of like someone else's jacket?" he asks, his eyes sad now.

  "It'll never fit you, Ross, but I've been wearing it so long it's like a second skin."

  His gaze drops for a moment, but his hand stays put, thumb stroking my jaw. Then he leans forward, up out of his chair so his lips can reach mine. He presses one very soft kiss to my yearning mouth, before pulling away and standing, the desk again a barrier between us.

  "Dinner at seven?"

  "Sure," I answer, my heart hammering inside my chest.

  "See you then."

  And as I watch Ross's back disappear, and my office door closes behind him, I wonder if I'll ever feel like this about anyone again? But then I have to be honest with myself—it's already too late. He's gotten to me, and it's going to hurt oh so bad when he's gone.

  21

  Ross

  My next stop after Carly's office is the grocery store. I follow my mother's list of ingredients to the letter and manage to make it through the store with only a few fan moments. And even those are more like, "Ross Macalester, haven't seen you since you were a kid, you grew up okay," than "Oh my God, it's Ross Macalester, can I have your autograph?" I have to say that Grove City is really stepping up for me. People have been curious, but that’s normal. They haven’t been intrusive or abusive, and it makes me love it here all the more.

  After the shopping, I check in on Sara, who is helping Deanna bake some pies this afternoon. She's developing a real interest in baking and cooking. I brought home this slice and bake cookie dough that my mom told me about, along with decorative frosting and sprinkles, and Sara took to it immediately. Apparently, cookies don't need to be gluten-free and vegan to be delicious. I haven't baked cookies since I was a kid, so I enjoyed it, too, and we WhatsApped my mom when we were done so she could see the results. I'm not sure I've seen her that happy in years. Which makes me realize, yet again, how much life and love I've missed, spending all my time on a stage or a tour or in a recording studio.

  By the time I get back to Deanna’s and Craig's, his giant SUV is parked in the drive and he's sitting on the front porch with two beers next to him.

  "One of those for me?" I ask as I take a seat next to him at the little table between the two chairs.

  "Yep." He hands it to me and I take a long pull.

  "How's the pie baking?" I ask.

  "Not sure. I was told to stay out of the way, and I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dude."

  I laugh. "Agreed. This works for me."

  "You want to stay for dinner?" he asks. "I brought home some ribs, we can grill 'em out back."

  "Thanks, but we have plans."

  He turns and looks at me skeptically. "Plans? Like what?"

  I brace myself for the ration of shit I'll get now. I've told him that Carly's only helping me with Sara, but he seems to have some idea that it's more than that. I try to deny it, but he knows me too well.

  "We're having Carly over for dinner. She's going to help Sara with this party she's planning."

  Craig snort laughs. "Is that so?"

  I flip him off, but he just keeps chuckling and shaking his head.

  "How long are you going to keep telling yourself it's all about her helping Sara?"

  "For the next two weeks because that's all it is, and then I'll be gone."

  And that's when he pins me with a look that says he's not just giving me a little shit anymore.<
br />
  "Why?" he asks. I just stare at him in confusion. "Why will you be gone?"

  "Dude. I have a job. It requires me to be elsewhere."

  "And is that really what you want?" He shifts to face me. "Ross. You've been touring for nearly twenty-five years. And in that time, you've won every award a musician can. You've played to sold out arenas all over the globe. You've been the lead singer of one of the most successful bands of our generation. You've scored movies, your songs play in elevators and on TV shows. And I can't even begin to fathom how much money you have."

  I smile and tip my beer bottle at him. "Enough to send both Mandy and Rob to college, just like I've always threatened."

  He ignores me. "All I'm saying is—what's left? Why keep doing it? I know you love music, but you don't have to keep doing it this way. You're in a position most of us will only ever dream of—you can write your own ticket, live any way and anywhere you choose."

  I stare out at the neighborhood, watching someone trimming their hedges, and another person walking by with their dog. It's quiet, and peaceful, and reminds me of my childhood. It's so completely different from the way I've been living, I can't imagine how I could exist in both places.

  "It's not that simple," I tell him. "I have contracts to honor, bandmates I've committed to, people relying on me."

  "I get that, which is why you ought to make some decisions now, so that in six months, you can be on your way to something different."

  His ideas don't exactly irritate me, but I'm not convinced it's possible to implement them. "What makes you think I want to do something different? I don't recall saying anything about that."

  "Because for twenty-five years you stayed away, you left Christine to raise Sara, and you only kept in contact with me and your parents. But in the last two weeks you've gone to our high school reunion, started this thing with Carly, brought Sara to Grove City, bought a house here, and never once mentioned the band, the tour, or another woman. You haven't talked to any friends, made any business calls, or given the slightest indication that you miss any of it." He takes a long pull of his beer. "I'm not going by what you've said, but by what you're doing."

  It kind of knocks the wind out of me to hear it all listed like that. He's right. I haven't returned any phone calls. I haven't checked in with anyone. I told our agent and lawyers and my bandmates that I was taking the month off, and not to bother me unless it was critical. They haven't, and I don't expect them to.

  The fact is, at this point in our careers, we don't have a ton of day-to-day things. Our publicity stints are built around the releases of albums, our travel is all for tours, we've reached what many would call, legendary status, but we're not the newest hot thing, with paparazzi following us everywhere twenty-four-seven. We have to do something particularly attention-grabbing to get that kind of treatment. It's one of the perks of being a middle-aged rockstar instead of a young one.

  "Okay," I begin slowly. "You have a point, but that still doesn't mean I can just stop my career and hunker down here for the next few decades."

  "And that's not what I'm suggesting. But what if you made this your home base? What if you stopped the constant touring and cut back to one new album every couple of years, and sent Sara to high school here and worked at being a dad, and maybe even someone special to Carly?"

  I scoff. "Dude. Christine would never let me move Sara here."

  "No? After all the years she's tried to get you to be more involved? You don't think she might welcome the chance to take Sara during school breaks instead of doing it all herself? And I guarantee it would be the best thing for Sara. That kid needs out of L.A., like yesterday." He shakes his head. "They don't know how to raise kids out there. Trust me on that."

  I know he's probably right. Not that Christine would so easily let Sara go to school here with me, but that this would be healthier for Sara. Already, I can see what a normal environment with real people is doing for her. She might not be calling me 'Dad' again yet, but she's coming out of her bitter shell a little more each day.

  "I don't know..."

  "And what about Carly?" he asks point blank. "You don't want to see what might happen with her?"

  I give him a wry smile. "I shouldn't."

  "Why?"

  "That whole, band waiting for me, rockstar lifestyle thing. She's made it pretty clear she's not interested in a guy like me."

  "Only because she thinks you're going to leave town in a few weeks and never come back."

  I just nod my head, because I know he’s right.

  He tips his beer bottle to me. "Maybe it's time to change that."

  I don't respond to him, and for a while we just sit there sipping our beers, each deep in our own thoughts—or not, because we're guys. Finally, the screen door swings open and Sara appears on the porch, her puffy bun falling down, long strands of hair around her face. She's flushed, and she has a giant smile on her face. My heart stutters at how genuinely beautiful this kid is. And that almost immediately gives way to utter panic, because there is no way every teenage boy from here to the West Coast won't notice it.

  "Can I spend the night here?" she asks, breathless with exuberance. "We're making pies for the Farmer's Market in the morning and Deanna says she'll teach me how to do a lattice crust and a crust with cut-outs and a braided edge."

  I look at Craig, who shrugs. "Fine with me. One more kid won't even be noticed, plus, she can wipe her own butt, so bonus."

  Sara does the now predictable eye roll, but also mutters, "Oh my God, Uncle Craig," affectionately.

  "And Deanna's okay with this?" I ask.

  "Yes. It was her idea. We might be up late baking. The strawberry rhubarb, especially, takes a long time, and then we have to load them all into the car by six thirty because the Farmer's Market opens at seven. I'm going to be in charge of selling all the pies at the booth, while Aunt Deanna helps her friend with the coffee and the muffins."

  Then she does the most adorable thing I've seen her do since she was a toddler. Her brows draw down and her gaze gets serious. "They really need my help."

  This. Right here. This is why I brought her to Grove City. It's why I asked Deanna and Craig and Carly for help. It's what I wanted for Sara, and it's something I can give her that no one else in her life can. A real community, people who care and show it, not by buying her things, but by spending time.

  "Then you'd better sleep over," I tell her. "It sounds like you're an important part of the booth."

  She grins. "I am. Totally."

  She dances back into the house and I look over at Craig. He keeps his gaze on the street, but there's a warm smile on his face.

  "And that's why you need to reconsider the next few years of your life," he says softly.

  I think he might be right.

  22

  Carly

  I walk up to Ross's porch at seven on the dot. I should have waited a few minutes. Who shows up exactly on time for a dinner party? But I was so nervous, I couldn't stand to be in my house another moment. Thank God Sara's going to be here tonight. If she wasn't, I think my emotions might run away with me.

  Or my lust.

  Or both.

  I knock and hear him yell from inside, "Come on in!"

  I find him in the kitchen, a ridiculous ruffled apron hanging around his neck, and vegetables everywhere. He's mumbling to himself and chopping and squinting at his phone.

  "Hi there. Need some help?"

  He looks up and his face breaks into that smile, the one that's charmed half the women in the world at one time or another. These days, it includes some adorable crinkles alongside his warm eyes.

  "How about getting us some wine?" he asks, then gestures to the rack sitting on the counter to his left.

  I dig out the glasses—the ones I ordered from Ikea for him—and pour us each a healthy serving of Merlot.

  "Is Sara hiding in her room?" I finally ask as I seat myself at the kitchen bar top so I can watch him make a salad.

  He
stops what he's doing, then looks up guiltily. "Oh yeah. In all the commotion, I sort of forgot about that."

  "About what? Your kid?"

  "No, about letting you know she wouldn't be here for dinner."

  Every muscle in me tenses slightly. "She won't be here?"

  "No. God, I'm sorry. You came specifically to help her out. But she spent the afternoon at Craig and Deanna's and Dee asked her to spend the night. They're baking pies for the Sunshine Bakery booth at the market tomorrow. Dee told Sara she can be in charge of selling all the pies and she was teaching her how to bake these fancy crusts. I didn't have the heart to make her come home."

  The tension I feel is pushed aside by what I know is a real victory for Ross and Sara. "Oh my gosh, that's fantastic," I tell him. "She got engaged in something really positive."

  He smiles and it lights up his whole face. "She did. She's excited to learn the new skills, and excited to feel like she's a part of the business. I owe Dee big time for this one." Then he pauses. "But I'm sorry if you feel duped into coming over here. I was so focused on getting the dinner cooked, I just forgot to call and tell you the change in plans."

  I take a deep breath. There's nothing to worry about here, I tell myself. One night alone. In Ross's house. Over pot roast. And wine. But we're adults, and we're friends, and surely I can handle that. Right?

  "No problem," I tell him. "I wouldn't have wanted to miss your debut pot roast, after all."

  He laughs. "Well, we'll see. I had Mom walk me through it earlier. She said it looked beautiful and as long as I don't overcook it, it should be fine."

  We talk some more then, about Craig and Deanna, our favorite foods, a couple of people from high school.

  When he finally pulls the roast out of the oven, it looks delicious and I'm pleasantly buzzed from all the wine.

  We decide to eat on the back deck. The night is cool, but I made sure to get an outdoor heater for the house when I ordered the furnishings. I knew that this time of year it would be possible to use the deck, but might be better with some heat.