Page 4 of Taming His Rockstar

Chapter 4

The best thing about finishing a tour is that I get to have a few weeks to myself before the label starts disturbing me about what I plan to do for my next album. The worst thing about finishing a tour is that I get to have a few weeks to myself with no idea what to do. Three days after doing nothing but lounging on the beach and pretending to read the new novel Jane promised me was so interesting I would be unable to put it down, I start wondering why I was so eager for the tour to be over. At least on the tour, I knew what I had to do every night. I had an itinerary to follow, which meant I didn’t need to worry about deciding what to do. I ‘m terrible at making up my mind. A funny fact, considering how many people assume and depend on me to be decisive. It’s not that I don’t make decisions. I do. After very lengthy and well-detailed research, including a breakdown about the pros and cons of every single move I’m about to make.

This is okay when I need to make big moves, like starting a fashion line or buying shares in a company. It usually means I rarely make mistakes. But it doesn’t stop at making business decisions. I’m bad at deciding almost anything. I hate restaurant menus because there are always like ten things I want to try but can’t because my stomach just can’t consume them. I hated having to pick my outfit myself and largely leave that in the hands of Jane when I’m on tour. But on break, there is no Jane to come up with amazing outfits effortlessly thrown together. Today, I had spent almost an hour deciding what outfit to wear to lounge on the beach. And this morning, I experienced a small crisis when I opened the fridge and instead of finding the milk I normally use, I saw three other brands I have never seen before. I just hate making decisions without knowing for certain if they are the best of the available lots. One thing I know for certain, though, is the decision to come spend some time on the beach may have not been my best one. But I don’t know where to go next, and slowly, I begin to feel the itch at the base of my spine. That itch I always feel right before I go and do something impulsive and reckless. The last time I felt that itch, I got married to a man I barely knew in a chapel in Las Vegas I could never find again. It cost me a mint to get my freedom back, and now I fight hard to keep it. Across from me, a man winks at me. He’s wearing swimming trunks, and his hair is wet from the ocean. He’s sexy and hot, and I can feel my juices stirring and my itch getting worse. Before I do something I’ll regret, like wink back and call him over or get on my knees and ask if he’ll marry me, I pick up my phone and call Jane.

“Come get me before I pull another Michael.”

Jane doesn’t ask any questions. “I’ll take the next flight out,” she says like a true friend. “The boys need a vacation, and Travis is going back on the road with some of his old buddies.”

“Again?”

“It’s just for a couple of days.” Jane pauses, and even though she’s trying to play it cool, I know just how much she’ll miss him. “Besides, with him gone, I can spend all my time with you. I don’t know why you chose to go to California in the first place.”

I’m starting to wonder that myself. It seemed like a good idea to take a break from anyone at first, but now I’m starting to regret it. Not like I’d let Jane know that. It’s bad enough that Travis is not here to sap off some of that boundless energy she seems to never run out of. On the one hand, it means that she will be here to dump all of that energy on me. On the other hand, it means she will be here to dump all of that energy on me. I look up and find sexy beach boy still staring at me with a look that says he is just waiting for me to give him the first sign, and he is going to gobble at it. I feel that itch climb just a little higher on my spine.

“Get here fast, okay?” I say to Jane. “And don’t forget the cookies.”

* * *

Jane doesn’t forget the cookies. It’s the first thing she gives me when I pick her up at the airport.

“Stella said I should say hi,” she says as I collect the Tupperware dish from her and immediately open it. “She also said I should tell you that she misses you.”

I immediately feel guilty. “Is that what she said?” I ask, mouth full of Stella’s special cookies.

Far as I know, I’m the only one she bakes them for. She used to have a son in the army, and she would bake them and send them to him as part of his care package. But he died in action, and ever since, I’m the only one she bakes them for. I met Stella back when I was still seventeen, living alone and playing guitar for a local rock band in dive bars and small venues. Stella lived in the apartment next to mine, and slowly, she became like the mother I never had. Things didn’t start out rosy between us at first. She hated the noise I made with my guitar and threatened to report me to the cops many times after guessing rightly that I was too young to be living alone. Then one night, she heard some noises coming from my apartment and walked in to find me having a nightmare. The next day, she knocked on my door with my very first batch of Stella’s special cookies. And after that, she always looked out for me. It was in her arms I cried every time a record label told me I wasn’t good enough for them, and when my first boyfriend broke my heart, she offered to go help me break his head. Then offered me her cookies after I said no. She was the first person I called after I signed my first major contract, and next to Jane and her boys, she is the only family I have left. I offered to move her out of the old building she used to live in so many times, and she always refused my help. So, I bought the building and renovated it, paying special attention to her apartment. I figured she knew I was the one, but she never mentioned it, except to send a special batch of her cookies on the day the building was finished. Normally, I stop by every once in a while, but it has been a long time since I stopped by to visit, even though I make sure to call regularly.

“No,” Jane answered my question. “She said to tell you that your voice sounded a little tired in your last show, and that you should take a lot of rest. She also said to tell you not to forget to take two teaspoons of apple cider vinegar—”

“And one teaspoon of honey for my voice,” I finish for her. “I know. I’ll call her later.”

Jane shakes her head as she pushes the last of her luggage in the trunk of the car and walks around to join me in the front.

“I thought you were going to come with the boys?”

“Dropped them off at my mom’s. They need a vacation, and she misses them.” Jane checks her makeup in the overhead mirror. “Win for me, and a win for you.”

“I don’t understand how not seeing my godsons is a win for me?”

She gives me a grin that has the right hint of naughty. “It’s a win for you because now you won’t have to worry about finding a babysitter when we go out and party all night.”

“Wait . . . ! What?” I turned to look at her. “We are not going out to party all night.”

“Sure, we are. Why else did you think I came here?”

“Because you wanted to spend some time with me?” I reply, already shaking my head when I see the look in her eyes.

“And I will spend time with you. Only we will be doing it in a club or a bar or somewhere we can get drunk and flirt with hot boys.” She waves her ring finger. “Well, I can only drink and flirt. But you, maybe you’ll get lucky and find someone who’ll let you sit on their face.”

“Jane!” I exclaim, looking around as if I’m scared someone can hear her, even though we are in a locked car with the windows up.

“What?”

I sigh and grip the steering wheel. “You know, you do this all the time.”

“Do what?”

“Get hypersexual when you’re away from Travis.” I turn to the road and start the car. “It’s like all the energy you’re supposed to use to have sex with him you pour on me.”

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