How to Be a Rockstar's Girlfriend: a fake dating, small town, rockstar romantic comedy (Cash &

Chapter 5

Bad boy – the last person you should make an agreement to fake date

Mercy

Gibson has a proposal for me? A proposal to help me with my uncle? I’m all ears.

Or, at least, I’m trying to be. It’s hard to concentrate on the words coming out of his mouth when all I want to do is stare at him. From top to toe Gibson Lewis is catnip to me.

He has light brown hair mussed up to make it appear as if he just got out of bed. I want to run my hands through it and muss it up even more. I bet if I tug on the ends, he’ll moan in pleasure.

I wonder what it would take to get those light brown eyes to darken with passion. Perhaps if I scraped my fingernails along the shadow of a beard on his chin. And those cheekbones. Holy batman. I could cut glass on those cheekbones.

I continue my perusal of his body. He’s lean but I could feel his strength when he snatched my wrist.

All of the above makes for a very, very pretty package, but the icing on the top is the tattoos. He’s covered in them. I do love a bad boy. And those tattoos spell bad boy in all capitals.

Good thing I’m on a break from men because Gibson Lewis has heartbreak written all over him. Heartbreak is always the end result when you fall for a player. Ask me how I know.

“Are you done?” He winks.

“Done what?”

He motions toward his body. “Realizing how sexy you think I am.”

“This is a bad idea.” I whirl around but he stops me again.

“Don’t you want to hear my proposal?”

I scowl. “Not if it’s sexual.”

He sighs. “It’s not.” He winks. “Unfortunately.”

Told you. Player.

I cross my arms over my chest and his gaze dips to my breasts. I drop my arms and plant my fists on my hips instead. “You said you can get my uncle off my back.”

He clears his throat. “I do have an idea.”

I motion for him to proceed.

He glances around. “Not here.”

“Dude, if this is some way to get me into your bed, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I don’t sleep with men I don’t know.” Anymore. “And I don’t do one-night stands.” Much.

He waves toward the bakery, Bake Me Happy, which appears empty since everyone and their brother is standing on Main Street waiting for the parade to start.

“You’re buying me the biggest latte they have and a chocolate muffin,” I order as I march toward the bakery.

“Yes!” The man behind the counter shouts when we enter.

I scan the room but there’s no one else here besides us. I approach with caution. I’ve known a lot of crazy in my life. I can handle this.

“Hello,” I greet.

“Hi, Mercy,” he says and I rear back.

“How do you know my name?”

He winks. “Everyone knows your name.”

It’s confirmed. He’s crazy. “Mm hum.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m Bryan, and I’m not crazy.”

Everyone who’s crazy says they’re not.

“I know your name because you’re new to Winter Falls.”

Now, I’m interested. I step closer. “Because I’m new to town? Is there a town bulletin?”

He giggles. “Yes, it’s called Facebook.”

“Hey.” Gibson joins me at the counter. “I’m on Facebook but I didn’t read anything about Mercy arriving in Winter Falls.

“Duh. Rockstars don’t check their own social media.”

“Rockstar?” My nose wrinkles. “Who’s a rockstar?”

Bryan points to Gibson. “He is.”

“You are?”

Gibson grins. “I’m the rhythm guitarist for Cash the Sinners.”

“I’m guessing by the way you said the name you think I should know the band Cash the Sinners.”

Bryan laughs. “But you don’t. This is precious. Absolutely precious. We need to re-do the odds calculations.”

“The odds calculations?” What in the world is going on here?

“Never you mind,” he sings.

I shove my questions and concerns about this small town away. Winter Falls can be as kooky as it wants. I’m not here to stay. I’m here to move my uncle into a nursing home and sell his house, and then I’ll skedaddle. Too bad my uncle cottoned onto my plan within minutes of my arrival.

“Can I get the biggest caramel mocha latte you have and whatever chocolate treat you recommend? The ‘rock star’ is buying.”

Bryan motions to the display case. “Pick out what you want. We don’t have much left since the tourists nearly picked us clean.”

I study the treats and my mouth waters. There are chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal raisin muffins, slices of carrot cake, and raspberry brownies. I want it all.

“She’ll have one of each,” Gibson orders from behind me.

I start to protest but why bother? It’s not as if I’ll get a chance to come into town often – dealing with Uncle Mercury is a full-time job – and these goodies appear scrumptious.

Gibson places a hand on my lower back and tingles erupt where he’s touching me. I don’t revel in those tingles. Nope. I’m on a break from men. Especially rockstars who think they’re god’s gift to women. Tingles be damned.

I settle in a chair at the table furthest away from Bryan. I’ve known the man for a grand total of five minutes but he has eavesdropper written all over him. As someone who’s been dubbed nosy for most of her life, I can spot a fellow busybody a mile away.

I wait until Bryan places our coffees and treats on the table before speaking.

“Well?”

Gibson merely stares at me.

“What’s your proposal?” I ask and pick up my coffee for a sip.

“We date.”

I sputter and my coffee flies out of my mouth straight at Gibson’s face. He grabs a napkin to wipe the liquid away.

“Your fault, dude. You should have waited until I wasn’t drinking to reveal your idiotic idea. In case this is unclear.” I lean forward to hiss at him. “I’m not dating you.”

Hurt flashes in his light brown eyes but I ignore it. No way is a rockstar truly upset I turned him down. His pride might be. But the man himself? Nope.

“I don’t want to date you either.”

“If you don’t want to date me, why did you say you want to date? Is the rock music rotting your brain? You should listen to country. It’s way better.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to listen to someone cry about losing their man or their job and being broke.”

Guess he doesn’t want to hear about my life then since he literally described my recent past. Lost my man? Check. Lost my job? Check. Broke? Check. Add in the part about the man stealing the woman’s business and it’s a perfect match.

“Country music is about real people with real feelings not banging on the drums.”

“I don’t play the drums. I play the guitar.”

“Whatever.” I throw up my hands. “Us dating is obviously not going to work.”

“Which is why we won’t be dating.” He leans close to whisper, “We’ll pretend to date.”

“I don’t want…” I trail off when I realize he said pretend. I can pretend. I can pretend until the cows come home and are all milked.

Wait a minute. He’s a rockstar. Allegedly. Why would he want to fake date little old me? What’s he getting out of this?

“Why?” I ask.

“Why what?”

I huff. “Why do you want to fake date me?”

“I have my reasons. Does it matter? This will help you with your uncle. Don’t you want to help your uncle?”

What I want is a man to be honest with me for a change.

“Tell me what your angle is or I’m out the door.” I glance down at the goodies on the table. “As soon as Bryan boxes all these up.”

He purses his lips as he thinks about it. I grab the brownie and shove it in my face while he figures out a way to lie to me. You know he’s going to lie. No way some rockstar will tell me the truth.

I’m starting on the cheesecake when he finally speaks.

“I want my bandmates off my back.”

“Have they been pressuring you to get a girlfriend?”

“Not exactly.”

I wave my fork at him. “You think some more about whether you can be honest with me while I finish this up.”

He blows out a breath. “Fine. They think I drink too much.”

I freeze with the fork poised at my mouth. He’s a drinker? This isn’t going to work. I’ve had enough of dealing with people who prefer a bottle over me.

“I’m not an alcoholic,” he grumbles.

“And I’ve never heard those words before.”

“I’m serious.”

I set my fork down and wipe my mouth with the napkin as I contemplate this. I have an idea. It’ll probably piss him off, but better he loses his shit now before we begin this charade.

“If we do this.” He grins but I hold up a hand. “I said if.” He motions for me to proceed. “There will be ground rules.”

“What rules?”

“No drinking and no other women.”

“No drinking at all?”

I shrug. “If you can’t handle it, it’s fine. I won’t tell anyone about this conversation.” I make as if to stand. He places a hand on mine to stop me.

“Fine. But I have rules, too.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’ll go to all social activities with the band.”

“I have my uncle to care for. I can’t be at your beck and call.”

“You’ll come to as many social activities as possible. You’ll pretend to be besotted with me. And you won’t use your uncle as an excuse to hide away.”

Damn him. He’s covered every angle. I rack my brain, but I can’t think of any other way to get my uncle to agree to move into a nursing home.

I hold out my hand. “Deal.”

“Deal.” We shake, and I ignore the tingles erupting on my skin from contact with his. This is fake. It isn’t real. It’ll never be real. I don’t date bad boys anymore.

“Now finish your goodies and I’ll tell you all about the band.”

I make a face. “I don’t listen to rock music.”

“If you were my real girlfriend, you’d know about the band.”

He has a point. “Go ahead, fake man of mine. Tell me all about your life. I’m dying to hear it all.”

Unfortunately, I’m not lying. At least, not completely. I am curious about this man sitting in front of me. I do love me a bad boy.

No. No more bad boys.

No more men.

I’m on a break from them.

Now to get my hormones on board.