Dear Rockstar Apple Page 12

  “No way,” I exclaimed. “Did you tell your dad?”

  “No.” He shook his head, lips pursed. “I didn’t know what to do. I talked to her and she told me to shut my mouth. Said it was none of my business what she did, and I was old enough to understand.” He laughed bitterly. “Old enough to understand.”

  He stopped talking as more kids came to the door. I opened it, handing them Tootsie Rolls silently. Dale continued eating them and making tiny airplanes.

  I sat back on the sofa. “So when did your dad find out?”

  “He didn’t.”

  I gaped at him.

  “She left him. She got the idea in her head this jerk was going to ditch his wife for her and she left us. Told my father some story about how she was unhappy. She probably was. Anyway, she never told him.”

  “He still doesn’t know?”

  “No and please don’t say anything. It’d kill him.”

  “How many people have you told?” I asked him softly. He threw his airplane and it joined mine, littering the carpet.

  “Counting you?”

  I nodded.

  “One.”

  I moved the bowl from between us and slid over until my hip touched his. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

  “You should have to get a license to have a kid,” Dale said bitterly. “Some people were never meant to have any.”

  “I’m glad they had you,” I said softly. “I’d be lost without you.”

  He turned to me, his heart in his eyes. “I love you, Sara.”

  I closed mine, feeling tears behind them. It was the first time he’d said it. The first time either of us had spoken anything like it out loud.

  He tilted my chin up and I knew he was waiting for an answer, but I couldn’t. It filled every fiber of my being, my love for him. It was so big it eclipsed everything, even the one thing in my life I counted as the most important. I wanted to tell him, but the words seemed too small to really express how I felt.

  Instead, I touched my lips to his. His mouth was soft, and he tasted sweet—like Tootsie Rolls. He ran a hand down my hair to the small of my back, pressing me as close as he could. His mouth slanted across mine with more feeling than I’d ever experienced, and I let him kiss me, hard and long, my body thrumming and alive and full of him, oblivious to everything else.

  “Oh, Sara.” His lips trembled against my neck. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t stand it. I can’t... I can’t...”

  He kissed me again before I could ask or even catch my breath, but as suddenly as it had started, it ended, and he disentangled himself from me.

  “I’ve got to practice.”

  He went to his room, shutting the door behind him, leaving me alone with a bowl full of Tootsie Rolls, wondering what in the hell just happened.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Can’t sleep?” Aimee whispered in the dark. She was in her twin bed and I was on the floor in a sleeping bag, our usual arrangement when I slept over.

  “No.” I was watching shadows on the ceiling, tree branches moving in the moonlight.

  It was the night before the Tyler Vincent concert. Of course I couldn’t sleep. It was like the night before Christmas, only better, especially since Dale had procured front row seats.

  But I wasn’t thinking about Tyler Vincent.

  “Want me to tell you a story?”

  I smiled at Aimee’s suggestion, also a time-honored tradition, although maybe we were getting a little too old for it. It was like watching cartoons on Saturday morning—you could see yourself doing it and knew it was silly and immature, but there was something familiar and undeniably comforting about it anyway.

  Aimee was a writer. She’d been the editor of our high school paper until part way through our senior year, when she’d ended up in treatment for her anorexia. Her imagination knew no bounds, and she loved to tell stories. It had started one night during a sleepover like this. We’d stayed up watching MTV until two in the morning, waiting for Tyler Vincent videos, drinking Tab and eating Funyuns. Neither of us could sleep, too excited for the concert the next day.

  That’s when Aimee had first asked, “Want me to tell you a story?”

  And she had, a story about meeting Tyler Vincent, but not just meeting him. We rescued him from some dangerous situation, for which he was immensely grateful, and of course rewarded us immediately with lifetime access to all his shows. As we grew older, the stories got better—far more involved, sometimes bordering on dirty, depending on her mood and our level of tiredness, which inevitably broke down our inhibitions—but whatever happened, Aimee was always nice enough to let me have Tyler in the end for a happy ever after.

  “No, not tonight.” I rolled over in my sleeping bag toward her bed with a sigh.

  “Whatcha thinking about?”

  Things I shouldn’t have been thinking about.

  Tomorrow was the Tyler Vincent concert and we had front row seats and the only thing I could think about was Dale.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.” I heard her smile. “Did I tell you Matt asked me to his brother’s wedding?”

  Only a few hundred times.

  “I know. I helped you pick out the dress remember?”

  We’d spent less and less time together this year, often only seeing each other at the lunch table and talking on the phone a few times a week. Aimee was busy with her first real boyfriend—ever—and I was busy with Dale. And Tyler.

  “Can you believe we’re old enough to get married?”

  I froze in the dark. “Did Matt... propose?”

  It was quiet and then she burst out laughing. “No! Oh my God, no. Can you imagine?”

  I had been, for a moment. Matt was older than us—twenty-two, almost twenty-three. His brother, the one getting married, was twenty-six. It was possible. And the way they’d been together, constantly together it seemed, it wouldn’t really surprise me.

  “Although...” Her voice lowered. “We did get... physical.”

  My jaw dropped, and I think my heart stopped too. I sat bolt upright on her floor. I could only see her outline in the darkness.

  “Are you kidding me? You and Matt? When? Where? How?”

  She laughed at my reaction. “You didn’t ask me why.”

  “Well that one’s obvious.” I grinned.

  “Here at my house. In my bed. Just after Thanksgiving, when my mom was still out of town.”

  I’d wanted to spend Thanksgiving with John and Dale, but we’d spent it with my stepfather’s family in upstate New York, his pothead mother and her crackhead husband and a myriad of siblings I could still never get straight because we only saw them on holidays, but my mother insisted I come anyway. “It’s the only family we have,” is what she always said, but as far as I was concerned, having no family would be better than having a family like his.

  At least it sounded like Aimee had a far better holiday than I had!

  I settled myself back in the sleeping back, stunned. “And?”

  “And...” She hesitated, and I waited, breath held. “It was sweet. He was very sweet and gentle. Kept asking me if I was okay. It hurt at first. He’s not... small.”

  I flushed in the darkness. “Well the first time does hurt.”

  “But the next time... it was... wow.”

  “The next time?” I grinned. “When was that?”

  “About twenty minutes after the first time.”

  We both cracked up.

  “So what about you and Dale?” Aimee was up on her elbow. “What’s it like? You haven’t told me anything!”

  There was a good reason for that. There wasn’t anything to tell.

  I hesitated, not wanting to admit the truth. But I wasn’t about to make anything up either.

  “We haven’t... yet.”

  “What?” Now it was her turn to sound shocked. “You’re kidding me?”

  “No.” I sighed, rolling onto my stomach and pressing my cheek to the pillow to try and cool it. I’d been mom
entarily distracted by Aimee’s news, but now I was thinking about Dale again and that inevitably made me hot. Hotter than hot. My face felt like it was burning up, and that was nothing compared to the rest of me.

  “But... why not? It’s not like you’re still...” Aimee paused, and I filled in the blank in my head. No, I wasn’t a virgin. There was no real reason to wait. “Unless... oh my God! Is Dale... a virgin?”

  “No.” I laughed. “Hardly.”

  We’d had that discussion, he and I. I told him about David, and the one guy who had come after him, Brian, who hadn’t lasted long—a month or so—and we’d only had sex once. I didn’t worry about pregnancy anymore. I didn’t have to. I was on the pill now, thanks to Aimee’s mom. Linda Wells was a single mother and had insisted, when she took Aimee, who was having so much trouble regulating her periods—of course that had to do more with her fluctuating weight than anything hormonal—that I come too.

  She’d pretended to be my mother and had signed all the paperwork and I’d gone and filled the prescription every month since. I was supposed to have some sort of regular exam to get more, but I never had. I didn’t know if it was some sort of mistake, but I didn’t question it. I filled the prescription, hid the pills in my room, and took them faithfully every day.

  Of course, Dale had told me about the girls he’d been with—fewer than I’d expected, honestly, but far more than me. I had to ask him every detail about them, what they were like, how long they had dated, had they done it? How many times? I told him it wasn’t fair, he only had two guys to agonize over, but I had a whole harem to think about—eight girls in total—when it came to him. Of course, that’s when he reminded me of Tyler Vincent and I shut my mouth.

  “So then... why?” Aimee asked again, sounding genuinely curious.

  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly. I had my ideas, but I didn’t know, not for sure. “I think he’s afraid of things going too fast. He wants it to be different than it’s been... for him and for me... in the past. I think...”

  I smiled into my pillow, remembering the way he’d looked at me when he’d told me he was renting a limo to take us to the concert and he had a “surprise” for me afterward.

  “I think he’s a closet romantic. I think he wants it to be... perfect.”

  Aimee snorted. “You could be waiting forever.”

  “Feels like it sometimes.”

  But I had a feeling my wait was almost over.

  ~*~

  “Left me standin’ on the porch too many times

  Kept the boys in the band waitin’ at the bar

  His voice inside yellin’ out my crimes

  Ain’t comin’ to the door no more I’ll be waitin’ in my car

  Are you daddy’s girl or are you gonna be mine?

  Lemme know now girl cuz I just ain’t got the time...”

  The screams were deafening. Bodies pressed all around us, and I had to hold onto Dale to keep from losing him. Aimee, next to me, screamed along with the rest of us girls in the first few rows who had squeezed up here.

  “Are you daddy’s girl or you gonna be mine...?” Tyler Vincent sang right above us now. When I reached out and touched his boot, he winked at me. I thought I was going to keel over right there. Aimee grabbed my arm and squealed her approval. Matt, behind her, had his arms around her waist.

  “Are you having a good time?” Dale practically had to yell to be heard.

  I didn’t do anything but beam back at him, no words for how grateful I was to have the experience of a Tyler Vincent concert, front row center. I looked at him, curious about the expression on his face. This was what he wanted to be—this was what he wanted to do. This was what he was clearly born to do. I could see it in the longing in his eyes.

  Tyler Vincent was talking to the audience now, and things had quieted down so we could hear him.

  “This is a little song I wrote about what it’s like to be a rock star.” He took a long swig of water. “Sometimes it’s like Living Out Loud and you guys make it all worth it, I got to tell ya.” The roar of the crowd really was deafening then. “There are good things about being me.”

  “I want to have your baby!” a girl from behind us screamed clearly.

  “Like that.” Tyler laughed, and the band started to play behind him.

  There was more laughter, more screaming.

  “But sometimes...well, be careful what you wish for...”

  I could have sworn he was looking right at Dale.

  “Last time we met you said be careful what I ask for

  Before you left you whispered that the door’s always open

  Barely heard you with my handlers shovin’ groupies out the back door

  If I’d known what I was tradin’ for the life of a rock star

  Wanted more than these work jeans ripped and faded

  Wanted more than four am gigs and six am time clocks

  Now my guitar’s shiny new but I’m old and jaded

  And I can’t get enough of what I never really wanted...”

  I watched Dale, thinking. About being a star. About being a fan. About what each of those meant. His look was far away. I tried to imagine it—him being up there on stage, with girls screaming they wanted to have his children—girls he didn’t even know.

  “I got what I wanted

  Now that I’m livin’ out loud

  I can’t hear the music

  Above the noise of the crowd...”

  I leaned my forehead against Dale’s shoulder. What would it be like, being the girlfriend of a rock star? Having him gone all of the time, or traveling with him, dealing with the jet lag, the alcohol, the drugs? The extreme highs, the extreme lows... Could I handle that? Could I handle girls like me and Aimee screaming at Dale and pasting posters of him on their walls?

  Of course, maybe I’d never have to worry—not too many people made it big. But Dale was different. He had the talent... and the determination. All he needed was one little break and he just might be a rock star. With thousands of adoring fans. Fans like me. Fans who just wanted to “be his friend...” but who really wanted to be a part of his life.

  We swayed with the crowd—it was impossible not to. Aimee leaned back in Matt’s arms, smiling. Dale put his arm around me. I nudged him, and he looked at me quizzically. I just shrugged and smiled.

  “You and your obsessions,” he said close to my ear.

  “You’re just as bad,” I told him, realizing it for the first time myself. “You want to be the object of obsessions.”

  He looked at me for a long moment and I could tell he was thinking.

  Then he grinned and said, “You’re right. We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

  ~*~

  “Are you ready for your surprise?”

  The limo dropped Aimee and Matt off at Aimee’s house, and while I expected it to head west, toward the apartments, instead it headed north. The driver seemed to know exactly where he was going.

  “Is it Tyler Vincent wrapped up in a big bow?” I teased. “Because I don’t think you could top tonight otherwise.”

  “Ouch.” Dale put his hand over his heart, pretending to be mortally wounded. “I rent a room at the Waldorf Astoria, so we can spend the night together, and you want Tyler Vincent instead?”

  “Oh, Dale.” I immediately regretted my words. Besides, even though I was on a high from the concert, my mind hadn’t exactly been on Tyler Vincent. It had been on Dale. “Oh my God. You’re kidding me?”

  He grinned, shaking his head and holding up his first two fingers. “Boy Scouts honor.”

  “You were never a Boy Scout.” I laughed, sliding across the seat and wrapping my arms around his neck.

  “I was too!” he protested. “I even got my merit badge!”

  “We’re really going to New York?” I whispered, looking out the tinted windows at the world going by. I’d only ever been into New York City itself once before, on a school field trip. Although I had a feeling I wouldn’t be doing much sigh
tseeing on this one. Not that I cared.

  He nodded, looking at his watch. “Should be there in about forty minutes.”

  “Mmm, then maybe we should start now,” I murmured, sliding my hand up under his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of his belly. “That’s a long time, and there’s a lot of room back here.”

  “I’m not objecting.” He slipped further down on the white leather seat, his hips at the edge, pulling me into his lap.

  I straddled him, leaning down to kiss him, the soft, familiar press of his lips meeting mine, his hands moving up the soft skin of my bare thighs. My skirt was short, far shorter than I was used to or allowed to wear, but I’d changed at Aimee’s, both of us doing our best to draw all of the masculine attention, and of course, one male in particular—Tyler Vincent himself.

  It had been quite successful, at least on the first count. Dale had given me his jacket, insisting I tie it around my waist during the concert, and I’d humored him, but he didn’t seem to mind the shortness of my skirt now that we were alone. His hands stroked my thighs as we kissed, a slow rhythm, up and down, driving me crazy. His tongue made lazy circles with mine, teasing, playing with me.

  “I’m not sure I can do this for another half an hour,” I whispered against his neck, feeling his hips grinding into mine. I felt how hard he was for me.

  “I could do this for days,” he whispered back, hands on my hips, moving me in circles against the denim crotch of his jeans.

  I moaned, shaking my head, but he captured my mouth again, kissing me as he rolled me onto the seat, on my back, his thighs spreading mine, forcing them to open around him. His lips grazed my throat, tongue bathing my collarbone, tracing the line of it to the hollow of my throat, making delightful circles there.

  He was so hard, God, so damn hard. I wanted him so much I couldn’t stand it. I reached for him, feeling the hot denim rub against the crotch of my panties, but he grabbed my wrists like he always did, pinning my arms above my head and kissing me dizzy.

  “Please,” I gasped, cupping his face in my hands and sucking on his lower lip.

  Dale shook his head, not giving me what I wanted, but giving me a little more, his tongue teasing the seam of my lips open, flicking the side of my mouth repeatedly until I was writhing beneath him, another matching set of lips between my legs swollen and wet for him, aching for more. Then he slipped his tongue into my mouth, forcing my lips to open to him, making his tongue hard and thrusting it in and out, slowly at first, then faster.