Page 137 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

I held him and he held me, words unnecessary, our hearts way ahead of us. They always had been, from the very beginning. We couldn’t do anything but hang on and hope to catch up.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Are you sure your parents aren’t coming home?” Dale followed me into the apartment as I shut the door behind me.

“I told you, they went to upstate New York to visit my stepfather’s family. Something about borrowing money. That’s two hours away, so we have the place to ourselves for a while. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Sure.” He followed me into the little kitchen, sitting on the chair next to the closet.

“We have water, milk, a half a Pepsi.” I frowned, eyeing the sparse fridge contents. “Or we have my father’s stash.”

“Liquor?” Dale raised his eyebrows.

“Nope.” I opened the closet door and Dale let out a low whistle. “Juice. Orange, grapefruit, apple, you name it. This is what he used to deliver, before he got fired.”

“He got a discount on it?”

“Yeah,” I said bitterly. “The five-fingered kind. That’s why they fired him.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So, what’s your poison?” I waved my hand toward the boxes stacked five high, four across and three deep.

“Apple’s up top. Let’s split one.”

I pulled out a bottle and got two glasses and some ice, carrying them toward my room.

“Are you excited?” I asked as I opened my bedroom door.

“I really finally get to see it today?” Dale nodded toward the veiled canvas on my easel.

“Today’s the day,” I agreed, setting down our drinks. “You ready?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had anyone do a painting of me. It’s kind of weird,” he said, trying to peek under the cover.

I slapped at his hand.

“Not yet!” I pushed him down on the bed. “I’ll do it. When I’m ready.”

“You’ve only kept me in suspense forever,” he groaned, laying back and pulling me with him. He tried to kiss me but I wouldn’t let him.

“Okay.” I got up. “If you really want to see it, let’s do it.”

I went to the canvas and pulled off the sheet. Dale blinked, staring quietly, studying it carefully. I waited, chewing on my nail until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Well?”

“Well...” He cleared his throat. “It’s not exactly what I was expecting.”

“I know.” I threw up my hands. “But I was experimenting. Every time I tried to put you down in portrait form I couldn’t do it.”

He studied it, frowning, speechless. It made me nervous.

“This,” I nodded toward the abstract. “This is really you.”

“Here...” He pointed as he spoke. “This is my music, right?”

He touched the misshapen music note.

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