Page 30 of How to Be a Rockstar's Girlfriend

Just us.

My brow furrows. Just us? We didn’t agree to any dates.

Why?

The band isn’t buying we’re dating.

Shit. I can’t say no now.

What time? I’ll meet you.

I’ll pick you up at six.

I pause. I don’t want him picking me up. I need to keep my distance from the sexy rockstar to remind myself this relationship isn’t real. But I can’t deny Gibson showing up at the house will help convince Uncle Mercury he’s my boyfriend. And maybe pressure him into picking a nursing home.

Okay.

I shove my phone in my back pocket and slam the car door. As I make my way to the garage, the side door opens and a man steps out. I nearly stumble at his appearance. He has long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. And he’s wearing a tie-dye shirt with a pair of bellbottoms.

I wave in greeting.

“You must be Mercy. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

My nose wrinkles. “How do you know my name? And why were you expecting me?”

“This is Winter Falls.”

I wait for him to continue but apparently he thinks he’s answered my questions already. I think not.

“I need more of an explanation.”

“You’ve never lived in a small town before?”

“Nope. I’m from Kansas City.”

“Everyone knows everyone’s business in a small town.”

Bryan said the same thing at the bakery but I didn’t believe him. I guess I should have.

“And everyone knows I’m a mechanic?” I haven’t been running around telling people what my occupation is.

“Nah. Your uncle told me.”

“If this is a set-up for you to give me a job because you owe Mercury a favor, I’m not interested.”

“It’s not. But I think you’ll be interested once you see what I have in my garage.” He waves to the building.

Dang it. I am curious. My hands are itching to dive into an engine. I’d even do an oil change for funsies at this point. I’m having withdrawals. I’m used to having my hands on an engine every day. I miss the smell of oil and grease. The puzzling to figure out what’s wrong. The touch of steel and iron.

“Lead the way.”

He grins. “I knew I was going to like you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a very likeable person.”

He chuckles as he shows me into the garage. My jaw drops to the floor at the sight of the classic car in front of me.

“No way,” I mutter and run to the Camaro. “What year is she?”

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