Page 7 of How to Be a Rockstar's Girlfriend

“What in tarnation are you doing?”

I jump at Mercury’s booming voice and whirl around.

“What do you think I’m doing?” I motion to the sheets on the floor.

“Looks like you’re getting rid of my curtains.”

“Those are not curtains. Curtains are not attached to the window with masking tape.”

“It keeps the sunshine out just fine.”

My nose wrinkles. “Why do you want to keep the sunshine out? I practically need a flashlight to make it to the bathroom in the middle of the day with the hallway light on as it is.”

Despite accusing me of wanting to put him in a nursing home, Uncle Mercury said I could stay with him. I jumped at the chance. Staying here gives me time to figure out my next step. Not to mention my uncle should not be left to his own devices.

“Someone’s prone to exaggeration,” he mutters.

“Come on. It’s nice with the sunshine pouring in. You can sit in your chair and feel it on your face.”

“I don’t want to feel sunshine on my face.”

I bite my tongue before I lash out in frustration. If you look up crotchety old man in the dictionary, you’ll find a picture of my great uncle. I can’t do anything right. His coffee’s too hot, his soup is too cold. The list goes on and on.

I’m used to my family not approving of anything I do. But Mom normally grumbles once and then checks out. Of course, she checks out with a bottle of vodka so her behavior isn’t exactly good either.

“We’re going to be late,” Mercury announces.

“Late for what? I’m not taking you to the bar again. Trick me once, shame on you. Trick me twice, I’m an idiot.”

“Hospital.”

“Hospital? What’s wrong? Do I need to phone an ambulance? Is there a hospital in Winter Falls? I don’t think we can make it far with a golf cart.”

Yes, golf cart. Since Winter Falls is anti-cars, the preferred method of transportation is a golf cart. I’m not sure how long I can stay in a town that hates cars as much as I love them.

“Calm down, woman. We’ll use my car.”

“You have a car? I thought no one in Winter Falls was allowed to own a car.”

He grins. “I am.”

I wipe the dust on my pants off on my jeans. “I’ll get changed.”

“No time.”

“Can I at least go to the bathroom before we leave?”

“Make it quick.” He doesn’t wait before starting for the front door.

I rush to the bathroom. When I see myself in the mirror, I squeak. My hair is a mess of curls and there are streaks of dirt on my forehead. I braid my hair before washing my face.

I hurry out of the room to discover the front door open. I grab my phone and scurry after Mercury.

When I step on the porch, I don’t see him. He better have not left without me. He shouldn’t be running around by himself.

I hear the roar of an engine and excitement fills me. This isn’t some golf cart. Nope. The porch vibrates with the vibrations of the V8 engine. What kind of car is Uncle Mercury hiding? And when can I drive it?

A black Dodge Charger drives around the corner. No way. No way does Uncle Mercury own this car. He’s supposed to be a hippie who hates anything bad for the environment.

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