Dear Rockstar Apple Page 7

  “Come on,” Aimee insisted, snatching the Tyler Vincent album out of my hands and shoving it back into the slot before yanking me toward the front of the store. “I can hear him.”

  I could hear him too. The music was faint, coming from the center of the mall just as they said, like a heartbeat. Aimee followed it and I followed her. The center of the mall was a popular meeting place. There were small climb-on toys set up for little kids to explore while parents sat and watched. A large elevator with a fountain in front carried shoppers between the mall’s two floors.

  Today a stage had been set up, something I’d seen before on a few occasions when they did mini fashion shows or presentations. It had been a big deal several years ago when Rick Astley and Tiffany appeared at a mall performance, before either of them had any real hits. That catchy Rick Astley tune, “Never Gonna Give You Up,” had stuck in my head for months like an ear worm I couldn’t get rid of.

  A stage had been set up and Dale was singing on it.

  But he wasn’t just singing. He was performing.

  I’d seen Tyler Vincent in concert six times since I was fourteen, with all the lights, and the floor-to-ceiling speakers, the costume and guitar changes, but I had never experienced anything quite like this. Dale’s voice called to me, like the wail of a mythic siren or a magical Pied Piper. His singing voice, which I’d heard only once over the phone, with just an acoustic accompaniment, was amplified a hundred, no a thousand times, with a microphone in his hand and a full band behind him.

  “It’s him!” Aimee announced, triumphant.

  Of course it was. I’d known it all along.

  I wasn’t the only one drawn to his energy, like a dark fire, heat lightning at midnight when the air hung so heavy you could barely breathe. Not that I could anyway. My breath had left my body. Girls crowded the front of the stage, hands outstretched, all of them just as transfixed as I was. In one short week, I felt like I knew Dale, I knew where he came from, who he was, what he was about. But this... I hadn’t seen this before. I’d never seen this before.

  He didn’t just exude energy, or even move it—with the force of his body prowling across the stage or the low growl of his voice—he commanded it. He was in complete control, not just of himself and of the band behind him, who played their best because of him—simply because his presence demanded it—but of the entire crowd. There were maybe fifty, a hundred people standing around the stage watching him perform, but I had a strong feeling it wouldn’t have mattered, a hundred, a hundred thousand or a million, Dale could have commanded them all.

  The song was a Police cover, but it didn’t really even matter. It was Dale, pacing the stage like a predator, that hungry, greedy look in his eyes, the one he gave me when we were alone, parked in my car, our breath so warm it fogged the windows, our bodies strung tighter than any guitar strings. It was the same look he gave me before he got out and walked away, denying himself, denying me too. Holding himself back, afraid he would lose control.

  But here, he let that part of him loose to roam the stage, back and forth, his voice calling for one in particular, and yet drawing them all. His gaze moved out into the crowd, like his body, back and forth, searching. It was the hungry longing that brought them all to the front of the stage, clamoring and screaming for him. I’d seen old footage of Elvis concerts, and the Beatles too, girls so overtaken with emotion they cried or sank to their knees, overwhelmed with the experience.

  I’d watched girls faint at Tyler Vincent’s concerts over the years, had seen them jump up on stage only to be taken off by security. But even in that enormous stadium, Tyler Vincent hadn’t elicited in me, or anyone around me, the same feeling Dale did with one dark, heated look.

  “Come on.” Aimee shoved her way through the crowd like a linebacker, clutching her shopping bag to her chest, expecting me to follow. I couldn’t do much else as the crowd parted before us at Aimee’s insistence, filling in behind me as we moved through, as if flesh were water, the crowd all one entity.

  I don’t know how she managed to get us to the front, but she was determined, and there were no security guards here pushing people back into their seats or checking tickets, like they did at the big stadiums during Tyler Vincent concerts. We were front and center and the man on stage had my full, undivided attention.

  From this vantage point, I could see every scuff on his combat boots, his jeans tight enough to conform to the contours of his body. He was pure energy, striding away from us now on stage, holding the microphone up as his body arched, holding one long, glorious note, and giving me and everyone else a flash of that studded belt and the ridged expanse of his abdomen. When he turned back toward us, I saw his t-shirt. It read, “Black Diamond.”

  “He saw you.” Aimee grabbed my arm, squealing and shaking me violently, but she wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know.

  Our eyes met and locked as the song came to a halt, followed by a screaming conclusion from the crowd, girls around us pressing me into the stage, forcing all the air out of my lungs, but I’d forgotten about doing anything so basic as breathing. Dale Diamond had found me, and the hungry, wanting look I had seen him scanning the crowd with was suddenly focused entirely on me. The shift in energy was so sudden and obvious, everyone watching craned their necks to see what—or who—he was looking at.

  He recovered quickly, reaching out to touch a few outstretched hands, melting the front row of girls like one long stick of butter as he moved closer toward me. He couldn’t have planned it, he didn’t know we would be there, but when he reached the spot on the stage in front of me and Aimee, he paused, his eyes never leaving mine. He hadn’t stopped looking at me since he found me in the crowd. He had a look on his face caught somewhere between surprise and anger. I wondered if he was angry at me for being here when he hadn’t told me about it.

  He squatted down in front of me, elbows on his knees, dark hair falling over one eye as he cocked his head and looked at me. Behind him, the band looked nonplussed. The bassist had wandered over to the drummer, and they put their heads together, probably wondering what in the hell was going on. Their lead singer had been distracted. Apparently, this was something new for them. Girls—and they were all girls of various ages, shapes, and sizes—clamored to get even closer, forcing the edge of the stage to dig painfully into my ribs.

  Dale held his hand out and every girl around me grabbed for it. Some of them even managed to get a hold, but he shook them off, annoyed, trying again. This time, I was there to meet him, and he gripped my forearm in his fist, giving a tremendous pull. At first, I thought my arm might tear from its socket, but then I seemed to be floating as my sneakers scrabbled up the stage wall, and I realized the hands around me were pushing me up to meet him.

  He grabbed me under the arms like he was lifting a toddler, pulling me up on stage in front of everyone. If I had been thinking rationally, I would have been mortified, but I wasn’t thinking at all. I looked at him like a stranger, someone I’d never seen before, and he looked at me like I’d been lost to him for a thousand years and finally found. The moment lasted a lifetime, the crowd still sustaining their energy, the cheers growing as Dale slipped his arms around my waist and drew me to him.

  My arms went around his neck as if we had done this a million times before as he pressed his forehead to mine, eyes closing, the deep swell of his breath pulled up from his lungs exhaling sweetly over my face. I was trembling, not on the outside but on the inside, his hands at the small of my back bringing our bellies in together, all of us met and matched in that moment except our mouths.

  I wanted to kiss him right there in front of everyone. I didn’t care who was watching. And they all wanted what I wanted, every girl in front of that stage wishing she was the one up there with him, in his arms, one chosen out of many.

  He opened his eyes and pulled back to look at me, so hungry and wanting. I wanted him too. I wanted him to know it, to feel it. I stretched up on my tiptoes, twining my arms further aro
und his neck, pulling him toward me. Dale ducked his head, bending to bury his face in the crook of my neck.

  Then he grabbed me around my hips and lifted me, spinning me around on the stage to the delight of the roaring crowd.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Hey.” The bassist tapped Dale on the shoulder, shaking his close-cropped, spiky blonde head, pointing to another band waiting at the edge of the stage for Black Diamond to finish.

  Dale remembered himself and where we were, grabbing the mic off the stand where he’d left it, and telling the crowd, “Thank you! Black Diamond will be performing in the MTV Battle of the Bands. Please come out to cheer us on!”

  The crowd went crazy, but I was already there as Dale swept me off the stage, grabbing his guitar leaning against one of the amps as we hurried down the steps. I wasn’t prepared for girls asking for autographs, offering up bellies or hips or cleavage in lieu of paper. Dale refused to sign any skin, much to the chagrin of the mostly adolescent crowd, but he did use a black sharpie on a t-shirt or two. There were Black Diamond t-shirts for sale at a table being manned by a bespectacled middle-aged man with shoulder length hair wearing one of the band’s t-shirts.

  I searched the crowd for Aimee, but Dale wouldn’t let me go, holding my right hand so tightly in his left it started to ache. Finally, the crowd began thinning, drawn to the next band appearing onstage. They were far more bubblegum pop. Rick Astley with less soul, if that was possible. Any act following Dale and Black Diamond would have paled in comparison, but this was like attending a church bake sale after a trip to Disney World. I was just about to insist on going to look for Aimee when she found us. She had also apparently found Matt. Or he had found her. He was shielding her with his body as they made their way through the crowd toward us.

  “Oh my God, Dale, you’re amazing!” Aimee exclaimed, looking just as shiny-eyed as all of the other girls in the crowd. Matt stuck a hand out and Dale shook it. I wasn’t about to start asking why Dale hadn’t invited us to the mall performance in the first place, not here, not now.

  “Great show.” Matt gave Dale a brief nod. “I’m Matt Green.”

  “Thanks,” Dale replied. “So you’re the guy bringing Aimee to the Tyler Vincent concert with us?”

  “That would be me,” Matt agreed, putting an arm around Aimee’s shoulders. Behind us, the rest of Black Diamond were packing up their gear and for some reason, giving me what I couldn’t interpret in any other way excerpt “dirty looks.” I couldn’t fathom why, considering I had yet to meet even one of them.

  “Nice to meet you, I’m Sara.” I smiled at Matt—he was cute, tall and clean-cut, wearing chinos and a navy blue Izod polo, the collar turned fashionably up. Aimee looked so pleased with herself she was practically buzzing.

  “I can give you your tickets.” Dale led me by the hand—he still hadn’t let go—and Aimee and Matt followed over to the t-shirt table where one lone shirt remained. It had a little hole along the underarm seam, which was clearly why it had been left. Plus, it looked pretty small.

  “Hey, Dad, you got those tickets for me?” Dale held his hand out and the bespectacled, long-haired man looked up from putting money in the change box long enough to dig out his wallet.

  “Your dad?” I prompted, blinking up at Dale.

  “Oh, yeah. This is my dad.” Dale made the introductions as he handed two of the tickets over to Aimee, giving the other two to me. “Dad, this is Sara. And her friend, Aimee, and Aimee’s boyfriend, Matt.”

  Aimee blushed at the word “boyfriend,” but I noticed Matt didn’t balk at the term.

  Dale’s dad had kind eyes and an even kinder smile. “Nice to meet you. You can call me John.”

  I looked at the tickets before putting them in my purse. They were front row, center, just as Dale had promised. I tucked them safely away, still stunned.

  “We’re going to get something to eat and then head to the movies,” Dale told him. “Can you take my gear home?”

  “Sure. No more boxes of shirts to load in the car!” John opened his arms as if to show us the nearly empty table.

  Dale’s eyebrows went up. “We sold out?”

  “That one’s ripped.” Aimee noticed it too.

  I picked the white t-shirt up off the table, inspecting the tear. It was small, more like a child’s size. “Can I have it?”

  John waved it away. “Sure.”

  “It’ll be worth a million dollars someday,” Matt joked.

  I winked at Dale. “I can say I knew you when.”

  He leaned over, nuzzling my ear, a warm puff of his breath sending goose bumps down my arm as he whispered, “You won’t need to.”

  I thought my legs might give out right there, in front of everyone.

  “So you’re all right?” Dale asked his father. “The guys will help you load up.”

  “Sure. You two go have fun.” John smiled at me again, that same kind smile that reached his eyes, the sort you knew was genuine. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”

  “You too, Mr... uh... John.”

  Matt and Aimee were off talking about something and Dale was suddenly all business, not barking orders exactly, but definitely telling the band what to do and how to do it. He offered to help them load up all the amps and equipment, but his bass player—the guy with the short, spiky blonde hair—waved him off, saying they’d get it, giving a long, pointed look in my direction.

  I wanted to ask Dale what that was all about but didn’t want to do it while we were in earshot of the entire band.

  Dale turned to me with that decidedly disarming smile, dimple flashing. “I’m all yours!”

  “I doubt that.” I nodded behind him at the gaggles of girls still giggling and goggling over him, comparing autographs and t-shirts.

  “Don’t.” He frowned, making the little dent in his chin appear even more prominent as he slipped an arm around my waist, turning so his body blocked my view of his new little fan club. Whenever he touched me, I got a rush, like a surge of electricity making a bulb burn just a little brighter.

  “Don’t what?” I felt the press of his hips, his thigh between mine, just one hand anchored at my lower back keeping me held against him, just where he wanted me.

  “Don’t doubt it.” His eyes grew dark and glinty, like the ocean at midnight under a full moon.

  “It’s kind of hard not to, when there’s so much evidence to the contrary.” I tilted my head, looking around his shoulder at the group of girls watching us with interest—and a jealousy so heavy I felt it like a weight.

  He pulled my chin back, forcing me to lock eyes with him. “Trust me. I have all the evidence you’ll ever need.”

  “Really?” I teased. “Where?”

  “Do you want me to show you?” He shook his head, but his hand drew me even closer, letting me feel just how much evidence he had to present his case.

  I drew him closer too, whispering a whimpered, “Yes,” into his ear.

  “Oh God, Sara,” he groaned, letting me go as if I’d burned him. “Not here. Not now. Are you hungry?”

  I laughed. “I’m not really dressed for dinner.”

  “You don’t have to dress up for the mall food court.”

  I pouted. “I know, but Aimee bought a new outfit for her date tonight. I was going to dress up for you, at least a little. You’ve only ever seen me in jeans and sneakers and t-shirts.”

  “You look fine.” The way he looked at me, that wolfish hunger in his eyes, turned me absolutely inside out. “Too fine. What the hell are you doing here so early?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You missed the part about buying a new outfit?”

  “Oh. Right. Shopping?”

  “Aimee was shopping. I was following her around holding all the clothes she didn’t want. And you, apparently, were performing in the mall and didn’t tell me!”

  He hesitated, and I waited for his answer, but before he could open his mouth to say anything, Aimee rushed up, grabbing my arm.

  “Come to th
e bathroom with me. I want to change before the movie.” She held up and shook her shopping bag with her new outfit and accessories.

  I shrugged helplessly at Dale as she dragged me toward the bathroom.

  “I’ll be right back!” I called.

  Dale frowned like he didn’t want me to leave his sight, but he didn’t have much choice. Aimee practically had me in a head lock as she dragged me down the long hallway and into the mall bathroom.

  “Matt’s taking me to dinner at his family’s country club!” she exclaimed, pulling clothes out of her bag and yanking off the tags.

  “What?”

  “He wants to take me to dinner. The movie doesn’t start for two hours.” She pulled off her t-shirt, standing there in her bra and reaching for the black, off-the-shoulder sweater dress she’d decided on.

  “I know, we’re wicked early,” I agreed, watching Aimee wiggle out of her jeans, toeing off her Converse sneakers and standing there in her stocking feet as she shoved her jeans back into the bag. “Dale wasn’t happy.”

  Aimee snorted, pulling two boxes out and putting them on the shelf. “Why didn’t he tell you he was playing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Which ones?” Aimee opened both boxes, showing me her choices like I hadn’t been there when she’d picked them out. I pretended to contemplate, but I knew which ones I liked better. So I told her to wear the other ones.

  “Are you sure?” She slipped on the short black boots with the skinny, high heel, turning to look at her profile in the mirror. Her curly red hair was like a river of fire down the back of her black dress.

  “Positive.” I took the shoes out of the other box. “Can I borrow these?”

  She wore a shoe half a size bigger than me, but it was close enough.

  “For what?”

  “Incentive.” I grinned, pulling my oversize t-shirt off and slipping on the Black Diamond one. It was three sizes too small, making it more of a half-shirt, coming down to just above my navel and hugging my breasts like a second skin. Balancing against the sink, I yanked off my socks and slipped Aimee’s new shoes on. They were higher than anything I was used to wearing—three inches at least—a soft, velvet heel with a black strap around the ankle and a silver buckle on the side. Sexy as hell.