Page 8 of How to Love a Rockstar

Sure,my inner voice snorts.You keep telling yourself that.

“You can’t call dibs on a woman,” Indy says.

My gaze falls on Dylan. Indy, Jett, and Gibson’s voices fade away. Despite the chill in the air, he’s wearing a t-shirt highlighting the ink on his arm. I study the ink and notice a few girl’s names. Typical rockstar. He probably has a bedpost somewhere full of notches. Good reminder.

“Nobody better harm my rose bushes,” Gratitude shouts from inside the house.

“Your rose bushes are safe,” I shout back at her.

I wouldn’t dare harm her rose bushes. She’s difficult enough to deal with at work as it is and I haven’t done anything wrong.

“Are you going to stand on my porch all day? I thought you were moving out today.”

“I am moving out. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Do I hear Gratitude the librarian? You live with your boss?” Dylan asks.

I glare at him. “I’m moving out. Or did you forget why you’re here? Did syphilis rot your brain?”

“Syphilis? Does syphilis still exist?”

“As much fun as this is,” Indigo interrupts, and judging by the twinkle in her eye she does think this is fun. “Let’s get you moved.”

I motion to the boxes stacked in the hallway. “This is my stuff.”

“What about your furniture?” Indigo asks.

“I don’t have any. The apartment’s furnished anyway.”

Once all the boxes are stacked in the truck, I rush back into the house. “One more thing.”

I pick up Harry’s cage and make sure he’s steady before returning outside.

Gibson points at Harry. “What the hell is in there?”

“Let me see.” Jett sticks his finger in the cage. “Hey there, what’s your name?” He yelps. “It bit me!”

I roll my eyes. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to not stick your finger where it doesn’t belong?”

Jett waggles his eyebrows. “I’ve never had any complaints before.”

My cheeks flush. “Um… ah...”

Dylan shoves him. “Don’t embarrass, Virginia, asshole.”

I glare at him. Who does he think he is? He’s not my protector.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” I mumble.

“Come on, Virginia.” Indigo herds me toward the truck. “We’ll ride to the apartment. The rest of these jerks can walk.”

“I’m not a jerk,” Dylan proclaims.

“Just an idiot with severe memory loss,” I whisper so no one can hear.

We drive to the apartment building – my new home. My leg jiggles up and down as I wait for Cash to back up the truck.

I can’t wait to have my own place. I can decorate however I want. I can let the dishes pile up in the sink if I don’t want to clean them. Harry can run around without someone screaming he’s trying to kill them. It’s going to be awesome.

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