Page 6 of How to Catch a Rockstar

“Gee, thanks,” he says as I hand him the signed picture.

I grin. “Always happy to meet a fan.”

Aurora pats Steve’s arm. “Thank you for your help.” She taps the handlebars of the wheelchair. “Get in, Jett.”

When I go to protest, she narrows her eyes at me. “Fine,” I grump as I settle in the wheelchair.

She begins pushing me into the hallway where three of our security team are waiting. I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course, they’re here. Our security team is pretty much glued to our asses. Except when we’re in Winter Falls.

The inhabitants of the small town in Colorado where my teammates have settled down don’t care about our fame. In fact, they drive anyone out of town who dares to bother us. It’s pretty awesome to walk around a town without worrying about being recognized. Too bad it’s also boring.

The security team escorts us to the service elevator and through the back hallways to the rear entrance where a car is waiting for us.

I settle in the backseat and Aurora sits next to me. I sigh and lean my head back. I can finally breathe now that I’m out of the hospital. The antiseptic smell in hospitals makes me queasy. Which is saying something since I’m the one tasked with cleaning the toilet on the tour bus.

“Great, just great,” Aurora grumbles.

“What now?” I murmur but don’t bother to open my eyes. “Are we there yet?”

“Nope. And it’s going to be a while.”

“Why? What’s going …”

The question dies on my lips when I open my eyes. There are fans gathered at the gated entry to my house.

“How did they know I’m in town?”

Aurora purses her lips. “Someone from the hospital must have notified the press.” She leans forward and taps the driver on the shoulder. “Initiate Plan B.”

“Which hotel is Plan B?” I ask.

She scowls. “Not a hotel.”

“Whatever.” I shrug. Wherever it is will be fine. I might give Aurora a hard time, but the woman knows how to do her job.

Chapter 3

Shoebox – an item slightly smaller than Aurora’s apartment

Aurora

We stop in front of my apartment building. Here goes nothing. Jett is going to have a hissy fit when he realizes where he’s staying. But I can’t have him being interrupted by screaming fans when he has a concussion. He needs peace and quiet. And it’s my job to give it to him.

Stan, the security guard, jumps out of the passenger seat and opens the door.

“Let’s go,” I order Jett when he doesn’t move.

“This isn’t a posh hotel,” he mutters as he steps out of the car and scans the area.

There aren’t any posh hotels in my neighborhood. It’s not a horrible neighborhood per se. But it’s certainly not posh by Jett’s standards.

“Nope. It’s my apartment,” I say as I follow him out of the car.

Stan escorts us into the building and up to my apartment. I unlock the door for him and he checks there are no randy fans waiting to jump out from behind my Ficus plant.

“You’re good, Ms. Sharpe.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve told you to call me Aurora a million times.”

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