Page 26 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“So he’s amazing, not to mention gorgeous, and I made an absolute fool of myself in front of him!” she cried.

“You did not. It couldn’t be that bad.”

“You weren’t there!” she choked. “He pulls up in a red Firebird—a red Firebird!—and the car is hot enough, but the guy? Oh my God, have you seen Carrie’s brother? Matt Green? Do you remember him?”

“Ummm…” I vaguely remembered him from high school, a nice-looking guy, tall, with short sandy hair, basketball player. He was a senior when we were freshman.

“So he pulls up and he starts talking to me, and I didn’t even know it was our ride, I just thought it was some cute guy who pulled up and was hitting on me, and Carrie and Wendy were just standing there grinning and not saying anything.”

“So he liked you?”

“I thought he did.” Aimee morosely crunched more Cheetos. “But that was before the bee.”

“The bee?” Uh-oh. Aimee was deathly afraid of bees—like I was afraid of spiders. She wasn’t even allergic, she was just terrified of them and freaked out every time she saw one.

“It was huge! And I screamed like an idiot and started running around and swatting at it but it was chasing me and I ended up tripping over Carrie’s bag. Now I’ve got a hole in the knee of my new Jordache jeans and I can never talk to Carrie’s brother ever again.”

I was trying hard not to laugh at the image. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as all that.”

“Sara! He teased me the whole way home!” Her voice dropped an octave as she imitated him. “‘You know, you should BEE more careful’ and ‘I do BEElieve this is your house, Aimee.’”

I snorted laughter. I couldn’t help it. “Did you tell him to buzz off?”

“Oh my God, I hate you.” More crunching.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, swallowing my laughter, but I couldn’t help myself. “I was just kidding… honey.”

“Sara!’

“Okay, okay…” I relented, trying to make her feel better. “Don’t they say if a guy teases you, that means they like you?”

Aimee scoffed. “Yeah, in grade school! We’re not in grade school anymore!”

“I suppose that embarrassing moment was Cheeto-worthy,” I admitted. “Just don’t throw them up, okay? Promise me?”

She just kept on crunching. “Do I get to meet this Dale guy?”

“I’m giving him a ride to the academy on Monday. You can meet him then.”

“Argh!” She gave a strangled cry. “I’ve got a stupid group therapy session Monday morning. Hey, invite him to the lunch table! Then we can all meet him.”

I groaned. “Oh, yeah, like I want Carrie and Wendy ripping him to shreds?”

“Come on, you wimp. Just do it.”

“Fine. Listen, can I let you go? My paint is drying. Besides, you’re just droning on and on…”

“Oh shut up!” she snapped. “Can I see it before you send it?”

“Yeah—if you let me finish it!”

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled. “I’ll see you and your man at lunch on Monday!”

“He’s not my—” I started to protest, but she’d already hung up.

Here I’d been thinking about Dale Diamond and didn’t even know it. How was that possible? I picked up my brush and palette, just standing there, staring at my painting. I’d been ready to paint, but now I couldn’t stop thinking about Dale and his wry smile, the way his dark hair fell over one eye, that little dent in his chin and matching dimple in his cheek.

He wasn’t just a sexy, Tyler Vincent look alike, but a musician like him too! Aimee, a firm believer in fate, tarot cards, and all things psychic, clearly thought it was an obvious sign from the universe, but I knew better. More likely, it was just a diversion, something to distract me from the direction I really wanted to go.

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