Page 70 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

He pulled me into his arms then, cradling my head against his chest, and I felt the steady, beautiful beat of his heart.

“Me, too,” he whispered into my hair. “Oh God, Sara… you could hurt me right now more than I’ve ever been hurt...and I’ve only known you a week. If I stay, knowing you’ve built your life around some guy who doesn’t even know you exist... do you know how vulnerable that makes me?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” I felt more tears building in the back of my throat and I willed them to stop. “And I have a feeling I will.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, holding me so close he was crushing me. “So should I go?”

I shook my head, sobbing. “Do you really want to go?”

There we were. An impasse.

“I guess the better question is…” He lifted my chin, eyes searching, my face full of tears and God only knew what else, but he looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Do you want me to stay?”

His face was inches from mine, eyes glinting, too bright.

“Stay,” I whispered.

I felt him let out his pent-up breath and his arms went around me, strong. I could hardly breathe, but I didn’t care. He buried his face in my hair and I breathed him in too, his scent, a smell that was completely and utterly Dale.

“I can’t believe you came back,” I whispered as we rocked together on my bed. “Why did you even come back?”

“Because…” His breath moved warm against my ear, sending shivers through me. “You’re mine. I knew it the first time I saw you. I will always come for you, Sara. Always.”

I couldn’t respond, there just weren’t words, so I kissed him, pressing my lips fully to his.

He held me close, whispering my name.

We stayed like that a long time, not talking, just hanging onto each other. I couldn’t have foreseen anything like this, I reasoned, snuggling closer. Dale sighed softly, and I held onto him, knowing that whatever happened, nothing would ever be the same again.

Part Two

The Headliner

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Happy Halloween!” John opened the door when I knocked and I laughed when I saw his costume.

“Crocodile Dundee?” I guessed.

“That’s right, mate!” He gave me a thumbs up, doing his best Australian accent as I came into the apartment, shutting the door behind me. “Dale’s in his room. Are you sure you two don’t want to go out to a party or something?”

“We’ll be fine here giving out candy,” I assured him, heading back to Dale’s room, following the sound of the guitar.

I opened the door without knocking, finding Dale sitting on the bed, shirtless and barefoot, playing his acoustic. He looked up when he saw me, smiling, but didn’t stop playing as I closed the door, leaning against it, just watching him. He still took my breath away, two months into our relationship and every time I saw him, it was like flashbulbs and noisemakers went off in my head, alerting me the world’s best party was about to begin.

The song was familiar and he played beautifully, hair falling across his face as he looked down, moving his fingers over the strings, playing the chords. Thank goodness there was a door to lean against, because for me, seeing him shirtless and barefoot with a guitar in his lap was like dangling raw meat in a tiger’s cage. I wanted to jump him right there. The last note of the song hung in the air as he peeked up at me, still smiling that dimple-making smile, his gaze starting at my face and sweeping downward—just jeans and a t-shirt, nothing fancy, but he looked at me like I’d walked in wearing an evening gown.

He always looked at me like that.

“Your father is dressed up as a Crocodile Dundee,” I remarked, moving forward toward him—toward the bed.

“I know.” He rolled his eyes, setting his guitar aside, leaning it against the nightstand, and holding his arms out to me. “Thank God he didn’t decide to go shirtless.”

“Or as Boy George.” I went to him, toeing off my sneakers as he tumbled me backwards onto the bed. Dale had a double bed. It was like swimming in the ocean after playing in the kiddie pool compared to mine.

“God forbid.” He captured my mouth before I could say another word, tasting like Tootsie rolls and Gatorade, a combination I had noted sitting on his night table. His lips, as always, were soft, inviting me to open to him. John didn’t care what we did in Dale’s room. Dale was an adult—that’s what John said—and what went on in Dale’s room was Dale’s business. It was so foreign to me to come across a parent who didn’t try to control every aspect of their child’s life—even if that child wasn’t technically a child at all anymore.

Not that we did anything in Dale’s room that we didn’t do outside of Dale’s room. So far, in spite of my myriad of attempts at seducing this gorgeous man in my arms, we had done nothing but kiss. Just kiss. When my hands went to stray, he caught them and trapped me, kissing me into submission until I was so dizzy I forgot where they were headed in the first place. When his hands moved to those places I longed and ached for him to touch, just my response seemed to remind him he wanted to wait.

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