Dear Rockstar Apple Read online

  Aimee saw me and waved. So did Matt. But when he turned back to the front, she mouthed, “Call me!” with her thumb and finger up to her ear like a telephone. I had a feeling she didn’t want to talk about the movie we were about to see, and strangely enough, neither did I. Dale smiled, tipping her a wave and she waved back, turning around and talking to Matt again.

  “Popcorn?” He tilted the tub toward me and I took some, although I was still full from Manchu Wok. “I can’t see a movie without popcorn. It’s like listening to a Walkman with only one headphone.”

  “I always have to finish it before the movie. Too much noise and distraction otherwise.”

  “No problem there.” Dale tossed a piece of popcorn up and caught it in his teeth.

  “Show off.”

  “So tell me something...” Dale tried his popcorn trick again and missed this time. “How long have you been a Tyler Vincent fan?”

  I shrank from the question, knees up, down in my seat—the same position I’d met him in, I realized, tucked behind my desk, trying to hide myself behind a notebook.

  “Oh I don’t know, a while.” I sipped my Coke, looking around the theater, trying to sound casual. Most of the audience was female, some in groups, others with their boyfriends or, if they were a bit older, presumably, their husbands. This was Tyler’s third movie in five years. His first ever was a romantic comedy, which had done okay at the box office, his second an action/thriller that bombed, so they’d obviously decided to go back to what worked.

  His fan base was undeniably mostly women, some who started listening to him in their teens, way back in the late sixties when he first hit it big, singing long-haired, silly love songs like Paul McCartney and the Beatles. But the Beatles had broken up and stopped singing. Tyler Vincent just rolled with the changes, reinventing himself. When MTV had debuted music videos in 1981, when I was about fourteen, his had been one of the first they played, a single from his new album.

  And suddenly Tyler Vincent was a star again in his mid-thirties, with fourteen-year-old girls screaming at his concerts and a brand-new fan base to run and see him on the big screen. They didn’t do close-ups—he was in his early forties now—but they still loved filming him shirtless, which made all the girls in the theater go crazy. Not that his age had ever mattered to me, then or now.

  “Well you’re not alone—obviously.” Dale offered the popcorn to me again and I took a handful this time, just to keep my mouth full and avoid talking. “Probably twenty years’ worth of fans sitting in this theater.”

  “True,” I agreed carefully. “Not many rock stars can say that.”

  Dale shrugged. “Aerosmith’s making a comeback. What’s old is new. At least it’s not New Kids on the Block. I couldn’t stand it.”

  “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 sat across the aisle from us and I did a double-take, noticing one of them 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 way 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...”

  She proceeded to write something on his inner forearm before Dale could protest, looking at me for the first time, and I knew she’d seen us get in trouble for writing on the tables in chemistry that first day. She’d seen me write my number on Dale’s hand.

  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 in the day, a sight that usually made me swoon, but not today. What was wrong with me? Tyler Vincent was my entire world. But it wasn’t Tyler who was making my belly churn and my breath catch in my chest and my toes 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 Dale distracted me. He had a way 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 I had 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 my 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.”

  He lowered his head to my shoulder, gathering me up even closer, breathing me in again like he did. I loved when he did that.

  “No.” His voice muffled in the denim of his jacket—I was still wearing it. Then he lifted his head, pressing his forehead to mine. “No backseats for my Cinderella.”

  “Then one of us has to get a castle before I... die.” I took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the heat of his body, the way his hands moved lower on my back, up under the jacket, seeking bare skin. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I kept asking myself how I could possibly feel this way, after just a week, but it was a ridiculous question, because I’d fallen in love with Tyler Vincent in an instant. Or... I thought I had. I was beginning to doubt any other feeling but this one, whatever this overwhelming, heart-bursting-open emotion was, the one only Dale made me feel.

  He chuckled, eyes flashing almost silver in the moonlight. “You won’t die.”

  I lifted my face to his and whispered, “The least you could do is kiss me.”

  “Do you want me to?” He traced a finger over my lips, sending a hot rush of blood through me.

  “Can’t you tell?”

  His smile rose up to his eyes slowly, darkening them. “I like to hear you say it.”

  “Yes.” So close. His finger still pressed to my lips. His gaze there too. “Yes, I want you to kiss me.”

  “Mmm.” His finger was wet with my saliva now and he rubbed it against my mouth. “Say it again.”

  “I want you to kiss me.” I groaned.

  “Say please,” he whispered, his gaze never leaving my mouth.

  “Please.” My hands moved lightly over his neck and shoulders, broad and strong under my fingers.

  “Pretty please,” he insisted, a smile playing on his lips.

  “Pretty... pretty... pretty please.” I leaned nearer with every word, my mouth so close to his either of us could have bridged the gap in an instant.

  I heard him swallow. “That was a very pretty please.”

  “Thank you.”

  Then he was opening the passenger side door, letting the cool night air in. “Come on, let’s do this right.”

  “Where are you going?” I wailed.

  “Come on.” He ducked his head, waving me out of the car. “I’m going to kiss you at your front door, like Prince Charming should.” />
  “Not a good idea,” I mumbled, grabbing my keys and my purse—leaving the shopping bag on the floor in the back, deciding I’d get it in the morning—and following Dale.

  “No, doing it in your car isn’t a good idea.” Dale grabbed me around the waist as I came to the front of the car, giving me a long, hard squeeze. “We might just end up in the back seat.”

  “Would that be such a bad thing?”

  He groaned. “Stop tempting me.”

  “Make me.” I slid my hand up under his t-shirt, hearing him gasp.

  “Come on.” He grabbed my wayward hand, heading toward the front door. It was a security door—you weren’t supposed to be able to get in without a key or pushing a buzzer—but it had been broken long ago. It was the only way into the building.

  “Okay...” I stopped, pulling backwards to slow him. “Here we are.”

  “No.” He grabbed the knob, yanking the door open. “Not this door. I said your front door.”

  “Dale...”

  He led me down the stairs. “Down here, right? Which one?”

  “Shhh, it’s late,” I whispered, pointing to my door.

  “Oh right,” he whispered back as we stood in front of my apartment. “We don’t want to wake Cinderella’s evil stepmother.”

  I hadn’t told him anything about my family.

  “In my case, it’s stepfather.”

  He cocked his head, frowning. “Really?”

  I just shrugged, but I think he saw the truth on my face.

  “Come here.” He drew me closer, arms around my waist, and I slipped my arms around his neck. Then there was nothing else in the world but us. The heat of his body warmed me instantly, and I turned my face up to his, eager, but he was in no hurry, his mouth lowering to caress the soft, sensitive skin of my neck, brushing my jaw, my cheek, teasing me, making me wait and wait, until I thought I was going to keel over.

  “Dale,” I whispered, my hands moving through his hair, thick and soft. “Please...”