Page 18 of How to Catch a Rockstar

They don’t understand. I can never be in a relationship with a woman.

Chapter 7

Tuna salad – not the problem in this story no matter how much Aurora wishes it were

Two months later

Aurora

“Damn him!” I shout as I slam my phone on my desk.

The receptionist chuckles as she sets a plate on my desk. “Which Sinner has your panties in a twist now?”

Thank goodness for Dani. Dani and I are the only people in the office who don’t swoon every time one of our rockstar clients appears. I think rockstars are assholes. She thinks rock music rots your brain.

She’s also a grandmother who’s been married to the love of her life for thirty years. She has no interest in our famous clients. Except to look at. They’re pretty eye candy according to her.

I roll my eyes. “Jett. Who else?”

She sighs. “I pity the woman who falls for him. He is not a rockstar who wants to be caught.”

My heart clenches at her words. Because she’s right. I’ve known Jett for ten years now. I know exactly how he feels about love and commitment.

And yet, I can’t help myself from wanting the man. From obsessing about him. I fell for Jett the first time he sauntered into a room and smirked at me with those piercing blue eyes.

Unfortunately, crossing the line and getting naked with each other hasn’t cooled my obsession one bit. Instead, it’s intensified. I swear when I’m lying in my bed at night, I can still smell his scent on my pillows and feel his heat surrounding me.

Obviously, my infatuation is a one-way street. Jett hasn’t answered one phone call since our night together. He’s never been very communicative but this is ridiculous. I can’t do my job if he refuses all contact with me.

Dani nudges the plate toward me. “I brought you one of the sandwiches left over from Mike’s meeting.”

“You’re an angel. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning.”

I snag the sandwich from the plate but as soon as the smell of tuna salad hits me, my stomach protests. I drop the sandwich to clutch my middle.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I mutter.

I breathe deeply through my nose to settle my stomach but inhaling brings the tuna smell back. My stomach gurgles, and I spring from my chair to sprint for the bathroom. I barely make it to a stall before I lose the contents of my stomach.

Dani pulls my hair away from my face and rubs my back as I heave into the toilet. “There, there,” she murmurs. “Let it all out.”

When there’s nothing left in my stomach to purge, I collapse on the floor of the restroom. “I don’t have time to be sick,” I whine.

Dani hands me a wet paper towel. “Are you certain you’re sick?”

I point to the toilet. “Did you miss the part when I puked my guts out?”

“You were perfectly fine until you smelled the tuna.”

“Maybe the tuna was bad.”

“As if Mike would ever allow any food that isn’t fresh in one of his meetings.”

I stand and straighten my clothes. “What are you trying to say?”

She pours me a glass of water and hands it to me. I rinse my mouth with the water a few times before she responds.

“Could you be pregnant?”

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