Page 35 of How to Be a Rockstar's Girlfriend

It always starts with one beer. Or one shot. Or one glass. Spoiler alert: It never stops at one.

“Burger and a coke,” I tell the waitress since I don’t want her to hear about our ‘deal’.

I wait for her to cross the room before I lean forward to hiss at Gibson, “You promised not to drink.”

He waves away my concern. “It’s one beer.”

I frown. “You don’t get it. It always starts with one beer. It never ends that way.”

“What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal?” I repeat.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “What’s the big deal?”

My anger flares and I forget all about being quiet and putting on a stupid show for his bandmates.

“The big deal is I grew up with an alcoholic mother. Do you have any idea how it feels to be ten and come home from school to clean up your mother’s vomit? Or wake up in the middle of the night to check her breathing to make sure she’s just passed out and isn’t dead?

How it feels for your mom to promise she’ll quit time and time again? She’s doing good so you bring your friends home to hang out only to discover you mom passed out in her own pee and poop in the living room. And if all those things weren’t bad enough, how about the time you bring home a boyfriend and your mom strips off her clothes and tries to seduce him?”

I’m gasping for breath by the time I finish. Gibson reaches across the table for my hand but I shove him away and stand.

“This is over.”

I start toward the stairs but he blocks me. “We made a deal.”

“And you broke it,” I hiss at him.

He squeezes my shoulder. “I won’t drink the beer.”

I raise an eyebrow. I’m supposed to believe this crap?

“I’ll send it back. I promise.”

“I don’t know you well enough to believe your promises.”

“Let’s take it day by day,” he pleas.

Well, crap. I never can resist a man who begs.

“I don’t know,” I hedge.

“You want your uncle in a nursing home, don’t you?”

Damnit. I forgot all about Mercury. He really does need a nursing home. I can’t care for him round the clock. Especially now that I have a job.

Gibson leans closer. “My bandmates are watching us.”

Another thing I forgot about.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

What? We didn’t agree on any physical contact. Before I have a chance to protest, his mouth meets mine. I expect a quick peck, a brief meeting of the lips.

Instead, Gibson nips at my bottom lip. “Let me in, sassy girl.”

“I—”

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