Dear Rockstar
“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.
“Sorry I don’t have a pen,” he apologized with a shrug, glancing at me.
“Here.” She produced a black pen from her purse. “I saw your show. You were so good.”
“Thanks.” Dale smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Funny how I already knew his smiles. “Do you have… uh…”
He made a motion like he was signing his hand but Holly was already pulling up her shirt, exposing her navel and arching her back. Her belly was smooth and flat and tanned, like she’d spent hours in the sun, although how that was possible in the middle of New Jersey was beyond me. Tanning bed maybe?
“Here’s good.” She cocked her hip, smirking at him.
Dale blinked, glancing at me. “You got any paper?”
“I think I have a maxi-pad in my purse.” I glared at Holly feeling like I could have picked her up and thrown her. I felt Dale laughing silently next to me, clearly amused.
“Tell you what…” He tilted the popcorn tub, scrawling his name on the side. “Take this.”
She frowned. “There’s still popcorn in it.”
“It’s all yours.” He shook it at her and she took it that time.
“Well thanks.” She hugged the popcorn tub to her chesty-chest. She was practically falling out of her shirt. “Hey, my cousin is having a party later… do you want to come?”
Dale smiled, but I could tell he was getting tired of her. “Sorry, I got plans.”
“Well okay,” she relented, starting to go, but then she turned back, plucking the pen out of Dale’s hand—he was still holding it—and grabbing that same arm. “If you change your mind, call me…”
Then she was gone, back giggling and squawking with her friends.
“What the hell?” he muttered, rubbing at the black ink on his arm as he turned back to me.
I was burning with anger, telling myself I had no reason to be mad as I sank down in my seat, hugging my Coke.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, leaning over so only I could hear him.
“Don’t worry about it.” I just shook my head and shrugged, sucking up sweetness through my straw before putting my Coke in the drink holder on the other side. “Previews are starting.”
But I was still mad. And he knew it. I heard him swear under his breath as the lights went down. We sat through a trailer for Batman with Michael Keaton, inches away from each other, but no longer touching. I knew I had no real right to be mad, and Dale hadn’t done anything except sign an autograph for a fan. I didn’t even know why I was so angry. I should have been ecstatic, sitting there waiting to see the new Tyler Vincent movie, and instead I was fuming, my hands clenched into fists.
“Hey.” Dale touched my hand, his calloused fingers gently prying mine open, head bent close. “Hey now. Let me in.”
I shot him a sideways look. “Who are you, the big bad wolf?”
“Don’t make me huff and puff.” His breath was soft and buttery against my cheek as he gained ground on my hand, teasing my fingers open.
“The three little pigs are over there.” I jerked my head toward the “Tyler trio” in the middle of our aisle, the three of them squealing as Tyler appeared on the screen twenty-feet tall, shirtless—of course—sweat dripping off his gloriously tanned body, multi-colored lights flashing over his black guitar as he strode across the stage. The romantic comedy about the rock star, starring an actual rock star, starting off with concert footage. How original.
Dale chuckled, twining his fingers with mine, leaving our hands resting comfortably on my thigh. He seemed satisfied he’d repaired our little rift, and he was right, but that just made me madder. All he had to do was flash that smile and take my hand, and I relented, turning to jelly. I was disgusted with myself, but couldn’t seem to stop it. Some part of me just wanted to give into him.
Yeah, the part in love with Tyler Vincent.
Was that it? I’d been trying to convince myself all week that resistance was futile simply because I was conditioned to salivate every time I saw a man who looked even a little like Tyler Vincent. Besides, he couldn’t have hit any more of my hot buttons if he’d tried. Guitar player? Check. Singer? Check. Sexy as hell? Check. And it seemed like no one could resist Dale, if this afternoon’s show and his new fans’ enthusiasm were any indication. But when he set his mind on something and turned his full attention to it?
No wonder I was lost.
On screen, Tyler played to a crowd a million times bigger than Dale had earlier that afternoon, a sight that usually made me swoon, but not today. What was wrong with me? Tyler Vincent was my whole world. But it wasn’t Tyler who was making my belly churn and my breath catch in my chest and my toes to curl in Aimee’s brand new shoes. It was the warmth of Dale’s hand in mine, the shift of him in his seat, the way he glanced over at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, studying my profile with soft eyes.
Dale let go of my hand and I looked at him, surprised. He smiled, putting his arm around the back of my seat, resting his forearm lightly over my neck, his hand cupping the rounded curve of my shoulder under his denim jacket. I gave a little sigh, leaning against him, doing my best to get lost in Tyler Vincent’s world—a place more familiar to me than home—but it seemed the more I tried, the more I was distracted by Dale, the way he had of rubbing his thumb over my shoulder and leaning just a little closer, breathing in deep, like he was trying to take me in.
“You okay?” Dale murmured.
I swallowed and nodded, but I didn’t know anymore. Tyler Vincent was there, right in front of me, the man of my dreams. I should have been screaming and crazy and swooning like the rest of the girls in the theater, but I could barely keep my eyes on the screen, let alone my mind or anything else.
All I could think about was the guy sitting next to me, wondering how had I lost my way in such a short amount of time.
I pulled into the parking lot of our apartment complex, killing the lights and cutting the engine. It was full dark and far too late—Aimee and Matt had insisted on going out to TGIFridays after the movie for something to eat, and we’d stayed talking and drinking Cokes and eating mozzarella sticks until I noticed it was after midnight and told Dale I had to get home or I might turn into a pumpkin.
I made a joke out of it but Aimee gave me a worried look when I mentioned it and she noticed the time. She knew as well as I did—the stepbeast didn’t allow me to go on dates, at least not while I was living in his house, and I had to make up all sorts of excuses to be out that didn’t include boys. My entire relationship with David had been a great big secret, and Aimee had spent most of our junior year covering for me.
“So Cinderella, did you have a good time at the ball?” Dale turned toward me in the darkness, the only sound the ticking of the car’s cooling engine.
“Yes, thanks.” I glanced down at the heels I was wearing. My feet were killing me, but the look on his face had been worth it. “Although Cinderella has to return her glass slippers to her fairy godmother in the morning.”
“They seem to be getting on pretty good,” he said, and I knew he was referring to Aimee and Matt. I’d been surprised how familiar the two of them had been all night long, lots of public displays of affection.
I glanced at my watch. “Aimee’s mom’s at some law conference. She won’t be home all weekend. I imagine they’re getting it on right about now.”
“That’s not what I meant… but you’re probably right.” Dale laughed. I felt his hand brush mine in the darkness. I’d been anticipating it, waiting and hoping for it, and still, it made my breath catch. “Too bad we don’t have a place to be alone.”
“There’s always the back seat.” I was only half kidding, my eyes skipping to the roomy bench seat just a few feet away. Dale followed my gaze, looking tempted, almost as tempted as I was, even if we were parked right in front of the apartment building at one in the morning. The light in our apartment was off, which was a good sign. The stepbeast had probably been drinking all night—typical for a Saturday. Likely he was passed out in the chair. My mother usually just covered him up and left him there until morning.
“Come on.” I leaned into him and he slipped his arms around me, our breath so warm on the cool September night it was already fogging the windows. “Let’s do it.”