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

Chapter 28

Bitch – a name you should never call Mercy

Mercy

I hesitate at the door to Gibson’s house. We agreed we’d meet up tonight but I haven’t heard from him since before lunch. Am I being a stage five clinger by coming to his house this way?

Whenever I’d question Zeke where he was when we were dating and he wouldn’t answer his phone for hours, he’d claim I was clinging. He couldn’t breathe because I was suffocating him.

I scowl. I’m not a clinger. Zeke was an asshole. He said I was a clinger to avoid telling me where he was because he was a big fat cheater.

Gibson isn’t Zeke. He’s kind and considerate.

I raise my hand to knock, but the door flies open before I can.

“I was wondering how long you were going to stand there,” Jett says.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I was thinking.”

He steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. Alarm bells go off in my head. Why is he stopping me from entering the house he shares with Gibson?

“I need to prepare you.”

Those alarm bells are blaring now. My heart pounds as fear races through me. Is Gibson with another woman? Is he cheating on me? I clutch my chest. “What’s going on?”

Jett scratches his chin. “Um…”

“Tell me already.” The suspense is killing me.

“We went to the brewery for lunch.”

“And?” I push.

“And um…”

“This is not you preparing me. This is you freaking me out.”

“Mercy!” Gibson shouts from within the house.

“Damn,” Jett mutters before he opens the door and motions for me to enter. “I’ll be somewhere else. Fender is next door if you need him.”

“Why would I need Fender?”

He shrugs as he retreats to the porch steps.

“And where are you going?”

He waves. What he doesn’t do is answer.

“Mercy!”

I inhale a deep breath and march into the house. Whatever the problem is I can handle it.

I find Gibson laying on the sofa in the living room.

“You’re here!” He attempts to stand but stumbles and ends up rolling off the sofa onto the floor. He laughs. “Oops!”

“Are you drunk?” I ask.

Here I thought he was hollering for me because something was wrong and he needed me. Not hardly.

“Drunk? Nah. I just had a few beers.”

I wait until he manages to sit up and lean against the sofa before speaking. “A few beers?”

“At the brewery.”

I contemplate how to respond. I know accusing him isn’t the way to go. “You promised not to drink while we’re dating.”

“It was only a few beers.”

I’m not an idiot. I know the difference between someone who’s had a few beers and someone who’s drunk off his ass. With my experience I could write a dissertation paper on the difference.

“If it was only a few beers, why are you lying on the floor?”

He staggers to his feet and stumbles toward me. He attempts to throw his arms around me but I step out of his reach. He sways to the side and I catch him before he falls.

“Come on. Let’s sit on the sofa.” I wrap an arm around his waist and help him to the sofa. Good thing I have lots of experience moving drunk people because he does not make it easy for me. Coordination is not his friend right now.

“You had more than a few beers,” I accuse as I stand above him.

“What’s the big deal? It was only a bit of comfort.”

I know better than to ask but I do anyway. “Why did you need comfort?”

He scowls and reaches for the beer on the coffee table. I swipe it before he can grab it.

“Dad called. He wants more money.”

“And you decided to have a drink to make you feel better after you talked to him.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

I understand all too well.

“And how many beers did you have?”

He shrugs. The movement causes him to pitch to his side. He might not be slurring his words but he’s clearly drunk.

I eye the door. I can go home and come back tomorrow when he’s sober. But I’m not a chicken. And tomorrow the situation will be the same.

I sit on the coffee table and place a hand on his thigh.

“You have a problem, guitar man.”

“Yeah, my dad’s an asshole.”

He’s not wrong but I’m not discussing his dad now. “I meant your unhealthy attitude with alcohol.”

“I’m not an alcoholic. I’m not your mom. I had a few beers. What’s the big deal?”

I inhale a deep breath and try again. “You had more than a few beers and you promised me you wouldn’t drink.”

“I didn’t promise to never drink again.”

“You promised not to drink while we’re dating.”

His nose wrinkles. “The whole time we’re dating?”

This is a waste of time. I know better than to try and reason with a drunk. Reasoning with a drunk person is more difficult than convincing a kid chocolate’s bad for them. Either way. It’s a complete and utter waste of time.

“Yes, the whole time.”

I stand. I’m wasting my time here. Gibson isn’t going to listen to me now. I gather the beers on the table and march to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

I don’t answer as I open each can one by one and pour the contents down the drain.

“You can’t throw away my beer.”

I don’t answer him. I place the cans in the recycling bin before turning around. It’s time for me to go home.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks when I reach the door.

“Home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You throw away my beer and then walk away? What the hell, Mercy?”

“Fender is next door. I’ll ask him to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m not a child. I don’t need anyone to keep an eye on me.”

“Okay.” It might sound as if I’m agreeing, but I’m not. I’m still warning Fender Gibson’s drunk and alone.

“Will you stop being a bitch?”

I cringe at the word bitch. I freaking hate the word. It’s a trigger for me since my mom loved to scream at me for being a bitch whenever I tried to help her get sober.

“What did you call me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Bitch.”

Oh goodie. We’ve reached the nasty drunk portion of the evening.

“Please don’t call me the b-word.”

“Bitch.”

I was wrong. I can’t do this. I can’t handle this problem.

“I love you, but I can’t do this.”

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t be a bitch to me.”

Tears well in my eyes but I sniff and hold them back. I will not cry in front of Gibson. I will not let him see how his words are killing me.

I open the door. “Goodbye, Gibson.”

“Where are you going? You need to buy me more beer since you threw away the ones I bought. Don’t you dare leave me here!”

I slam the door. I can’t listen to this.

“Mercy!” Leia hollers from the house next door.

I wave at her and turn in the opposite direction. I can’t talk to her now. Not when my heart is breaking.

“Mercy!” She hollers again. “Don’t make me chase you.”

I increase my pace as the first tears fall down my face. I don’t want anyone to see me this way. Especially not my new friend who has a perfect life with her perfect rockstar.

My perfect rockstar was an illusion. I knew better than to fall for him. I knew I should have kept my heart encased behind a brick wall.

But what did I do? I fell for his charm. I believed I could be a rockstar’s girlfriend.

When will I learn my lesson? I need to start making better decisions about men.

Forget that. I need to stay away from men period. End of sentence.

I don’t need a man. I have my business, my uncle, and my friends. I don’t need anything more.