Page 71 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

Except I didn’t know what we were waiting for.

“You are going to be a rock star.” I whispered against his mouth, stroking the slight stubble on his cheek. He had discovered how ticklish I was when he rubbed his five o’clock shadow on my neck or belly, and I think he’d stopped shaving so often just for that reason.

“I don’t care.” Dale licked the corner of my mouth, first one side, then the other. “As long as I’m your rock star.”

“Ha.” I rolled him onto his back, grabbing his hands in mine, pinning them over his head, straddling him at the waist. Looking down, everything I could see of him was naked. It made my thighs quiver as they squeezed him, focusing on that deliciously dark line of hair that disappeared under his studded belt. “You won’t even remember me when you’re a big star.”

“Don’t say that.” His face had gone serious. I knew when he really meant it. His usually light colored blue-as-a-summer-sky eyes darkened when he was angry, or serious—or lusting after me. “Besides, I won’t need to remember you.”

“Oh?”

“Damn right. Because you’ll be mine.”

“Too late.” I leaned in, my hair falling around us, a golden curtain, and touched my lips softly to his. “Already am.”

“Are you ready to pass out Tootsie Rolls to trick-or-treaters?”

I sighed. “Well, if we can’t have sex, I guess that’s the next best thing.”

“If that’s the next best thing, we need to work on your social life.”

“I brought my chemistry homework. How’s that for fun?”

“Good. Can you do mine?” He grinned. “I’ve got to practice. It’s only a couple months until the semifinals.”

“I know.” I hopped off him, picking up his guitar. Of course they had made it to the semi-finals. Dale had been nervous, but I knew all along. No one could beat them.

“Are you nervous?” I sat on the bed with the guitar in my lap. I had no idea how to play. The only instrument I’d ever come to was playing was a recorder in kindergarten, and my music teacher ended up asking me to just pretend. That’s how bad I was. But I liked to play around with it.

“Should I be?”

Dale sat up too, sliding his long, slender legs around me from behind, his bare chest against my back. Just the feel of him, his muscular frame, his arms wrapping around me from behind, was enough to make me want him. Not that wanting him was anything new. I wanted him all the time, whether I was with him or I wasn’t. But thankfully, we were together a lot. As much as we could be, given that my stepfather didn’t approve of me having a “boyfriend” and we had to sneak around and lie in order to see each other.

I simply told my parents I’d started working at the theater again taking tickets as an excuse to be gone most nights of the week. The stepbeast didn’t approve of me having a job either—because that meant I had my own money—but that was more acceptable than a boyfriend.

“Like this.” Dale’s hands cupped mine, moving my fingers on the strings, pressing them down with my left hand, and strumming with my right. The guitar suddenly made a beautiful sound, nothing like I had ever heard when it was in my possession.

I glanced over my shoulder at him, incredulous.

“See?” Dale manipulated my fingers some more, strumming, the two of us suddenly one, making sweet music together. “You can do it.”

“Not without you.” God, that was the truth. “I’m certainly not going to be winning any contests. But you are.”

“Maybe.” He was playing now. I let go of the guitar and he continued to play with the guitar in my lap. He couldn’t even see but his hands just knew where to go, how to stroke and slide his fingers over the strings to make the instrument sing just the way he wanted it too.

His voice in my ear, singing an old Bob Dylan tune, something with a little country twang, surprised me. His voice was rough, a little like Dylan, but sweeter. Rough and sweet. That was Dale. For some reason, it made me think of Tyler Vincent, which was unusual, because even knowing the concert was coming up in another month, I hadn’t thought about Tyler Vincent much at all in the past few months. He was still papered all over my walls, I still listened to his music when I drew or painted, but it was Dale who filled my thoughts.

What was Tyler Vincent doing right now? I imagined October in Maine. Halloween was probably snowy. Was he taking his youngest son, Ian, out to trick-or-treat? I imagined Tyler Vincent as a very good father. A little like Dale’s father, John. I could tell how much John loved his son, in spite of his misgivings about Dale’s ambition to be a rock star. What parent wouldn’t want to give their child an education, a fallback position? Only one in a million people were good-looking enough, smart enough, lucky enough, and talented enough to ever make it in the music business.

I just happened to know that Dale was one of those. One in a million.

“That’s beautiful.” I leaned back against him, feeling the music thrumming through my belly as he played the guitar sitting in my lap, his voice filling my ear. He was playing and singing just for me, a one man concert. I was the luckiest girl who had ever lived, and I knew it. I would have known it even if I hadn’t seen hordes of fans rushing the stage, trying to touch Dale, to be a part of him, to feel his energy, just for one brief moment.

When the song ended, Dale kissed my cheek and put the guitar down again, leaning it against the night stand before wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me back onto the bed. I rolled with him, letting him curl himself around me from behind so we were spooning together in the middle of his bed, not kissing, not doing anything but laying there, breathing together as if we were one entity.

“Did you know Tyler Vincent didn’t even start playing guitar until he was in college?” I asked softly. It slipped. I had been thinking of him and it just... slipped. I tried not to mention him when I was with Dale. He usually got a hard look on his face, like stone, but he wouldn’t say anything about it. He would just look at me—and make me feel guilty I’d mentioned him at all.

“Oh yeah?” Dale murmured in response. “I think I read that somewhere.”

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