Page 55 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

I didn’t see Aimee and Matt while we were standing in line buying tickets and popcorn, but I spotted them once we were in the theater. Dale wanted to sit near the back and he picked our seats, letting me in first and sitting on the aisle himself, but Aimee and Matt were up near the front—where she and I usually sat, so we could see Tyler Vincent up close and personal. For some reason, with Dale next to me, I didn’t regret not being any closer.

Aimee saw me and waved. So did Matt. But when he turned back to the front, she mouthed, “Call me!” with her thumb and finger up to her ear like a telephone. I had a feeling she didn’t want to talk about the movie we were about to see, and strangely enough, neither did I. Dale smiled, tipping her a wave and she waved back, turning around and talking to Matt again.

“Popcorn?” He tilted the tub toward me and I took some, although I was still full from Panda Express. “I can’t see a movie without popcorn. It’s like listening to a Walkman with only one headphone.”

“I always have to finish it before the movie. Too much noise and distraction otherwise.”

“No problem there.” Dale tossed a piece of popcorn up and caught it in his teeth.

“Show off.”

“So tell me something…” Dale tried his popcorn trick again and missed this time. “How long have you been a Tyler Vincent fan?”

I shrank from the question, knees up, down in my seat—the same position I’d met him in, I realized, tucked behind my desk, trying to hide myself behind a notebook.

“Oh I don’t know, a while.” I sipped my Coke, looking around the theater, trying to sound casual. Most of the audience was female, some in groups, others with their boyfriends or, if they were bit older, presumably, their husbands. This was Tyler’s third movie in five years. His first ever was a romantic comedy, which had done okay at the box office, his second an action/thriller that bombed, so they’d obviously decided to go back to what worked.

His fan base was undeniably mostly women, some who started listening to him in their teens, way back in the late sixties when he first hit it big, singing long-haired, silly love songs like Paul McCartney and the Beatles. But the Beatles had broken up and stopped singing. Tyler Vincent just rolled with the changes, reinventing himself. When MTV had debuted music videos in 1981, when I was about fourteen, his had been one of the first they played, a single from his new album.

And suddenly Tyler Vincent was a star again in his mid-thirties, with fourteen-year-old girl screaming at his concerts and a brand new fan base to run and see him on the big screen. They didn’t do close-ups—he was in his early forties now—but they still loved filming him shirtless, which made all the girls in the theater go crazy. Not that his age had ever mattered to me, then or now.

“Well you’re not alone—obviously.” Dale offered the popcorn to me again and I took a handful this time, just to keep my mouth full and avoid talking. “Probably twenty years’ worth of fans sitting in this theater.”

“True,” I agreed carefully. “Not many rock stars can say that.”

Dale shrugged. “Aerosmith’s making a comeback. What’s old is new. At least it’s not New Kids on the Block. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Even for me?” I teased.

He gave me a wry look, eyebrows raised. “Maybe for you.”

His response filled me with warmth. So did the touch of his thigh on mine, denim against denim, and I could have sworn he was sitting that way, legs sprawled out, just for that reason. The theater was filling up, but it was opening weekend, so I wasn’t surprised. Three girls as across the aisle from us and I did a double-take, noticing one of the was Holly Larson from our chemistry class. She gave Dale an appreciative look and a wave and he waved back.

“Open.” Dale turned to me, a piece of popcorn aimed at my mouth.

I obeyed, sticking out my tongue, and he threw the popped kernel with perfect accuracy. It landed right in the middle of my tongue. I pulled it in, chewing and laughing.

“I bet you can’t do that again.”

“Is that a challenge?” He raised his eyebrows, picking out another piece of popcorn. “Open.”

I opened my mouth, waiting. He aimed again but I made it harder this time, not sticking out my tongue, and the piece hit my chin, bouncing off. I glanced down and saw it stuck right in the V of the Black Diamond t-shirt.

“Want me to get that?” he offered, grinning.

I rolled my eyes, picking the popcorn out of my cleavage and, instead of eating it myself, leaning over and pressing it to his lips. Dale opened his mouth, taking it gently, his eyes flashing, devilish. It made my belly clench in response and my breath quicken. Damn he was sexy.

And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. The three girls—Holly Larson included—were loud, giggling and squealing, likely about the movie and Tyler’s appearance in it, but I saw the Holly kept looking over at Dale, watching him digging through the tub of popcorn.

I leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Don’t look now, but I think they’re talking about you.”

“Holly Larson?” He glanced in their direction. “She’s in my English class. Did you know she had to give up her baby last year? She didn’t even have a choice. Her parents forced her.”

“I heard rumors.” I took a sweet drink of Coke to wash down my own bitterness, refusing to look over in her direction.

“Hey, Mr. Rockstar, can I have your autograph so I can say I knew you when?”

We both looked up, seeing Holly Larson herself standing next to Dale. Her smile was all for him. She didn’t even look at me.

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