Page 23 of How to Be a Rockstar's Girlfriend

Mercury barks out a laugh. “Girl don’t drink. Don’t you know that?”

Gibson raises an eyebrow at me and I shrug. I’m not explaining to him how I don’t drink since my mom’s an alcoholic. It’s none of his business. This whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing is fake.

Except my body’s been humming in anticipation all day knowing Gibson would be here tonight. I ignore it. I don’t have any experience ignoring my body’s desires, but how hard can it be?

“These are for you, honey bun.” He shoves the flowers into my hands.

I lift the bundle to my nose to smell them and immediately sneeze.

“Crap. Are you allergic to flowers?”

Mercury snorts. “Those ain’t flowers. Those are weeds. Chicory weeds if I’m not mistaken.”

I sneeze again and Gibson snatches the weeds from me.

“You can’t buy cut flowers in Winter Falls, so I plucked these myself.”

He plucked them for me? How sweet. No. Not sweet. He’s playing a part. This is all an act. It’s not real.

Gibson runs outside and returns with empty hands.

“What did you do with the wine?”

“Left it on the porch since no one in this room drinks.”

I nod. Good. He’s not drinking. I wasn’t sure if I could believe him when he said he wouldn’t drink as part of our deal. But I had to try. Mercury doesn’t know much about my life but he knows my mom’s a drinker. He would never believe Gibson’s my boyfriend if he drinks.

“Shall we sit?” I indicate the table.

Gibson moves to help Mercury, but my uncle bats him away. “I can walk on my own.”

Gibson scratches his chin. He appears lost and confused as he watches Mercury slowly hobble to the table.

“Sit here, young man.” Mercury taps his cane on the chair next to him. “Your name is Gibson and you’re in one of them rock bands?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

“No, sir.”

Oh crap. Mercury isn’t going easy on Gibson. I need to hurry up and serve the food before Uncle Mercury figures out Gibson isn’t my boyfriend.

“Do you—”

“Dinner is served!” I announce loudly to cut off my uncle’s next question. “I hope you enjoy pasta.”

Gibson’s eyes are full of relief as he answers, “I love pasta.”

“It’s fettucine alfredo.” I set the dish in the middle of the table and serve everyone before sitting across from Gibson.

“What about saying grace?” Mercury asks as I lift my spoon to my mouth. Gibson’s spoon clatters to his plate.

I frown at Mercury. “We don’t say grace.”

He chortles. “But look how scared rock boy is.”

Gibson’s mouth is gaping open and he’s frozen in his chair.

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