CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I’m a little apprehensive, waiting in line to get into Dustin’s latest show. There are only four more gigs in the city before he moves on to Boston.
Honestly, I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the many bouquets of flowers he sent since our last disastrous almost-date two nights ago. My apartment would make a great venue for a wedding ceremony right now. Roses as far as the eye can see.
What is it with rich guys and roses?
And it isn’t just the flowers either. He must’ve sent at least twenty or thirty texts later that night, apologizing for coming off like such a jerk. We talked things out, and he admitted that he felt jealous and threatened by Matt’s presence across the hall.
Needless to say, it took all of my self-control not to respond with two simple words: No duh.
It had been pretty obvious to me at the time that he was freaking out because he was jealous and unsure of Matt’s place in my life.
I might not have a ton of experience with men, but I know what a jealous man looks and sounds like—and I knew at the time there wouldn’t be any convincing him otherwise, which was why it was just as well that he left.
But that is in the past. This is now, and I’m waiting in front of the club for the doors to open.
It’s so funny. I was just as excited as these women when I first saw Dustin perform.
Wondering what he would be like, what he would sound like, even what he would look like now.
Remembering all the music from my youth, all the days and nights I’d spent pining for him, listening to his songs and wishing he were singing to me.
And now, here I am. Smiling benevolently at them since I happen to know what it’s like to kiss him. To be touched by him, to have him want me. All these poor little peasants can live in their dream worlds. I know what it’s really like to spend time alone with him.
I have to admit, I’d like to know a lot more about spending time with him. It seems like something always gets in the way. Either my stupid principles or a certain golden retriever who lives across the hall.
I’m starting to wonder if we’re ever going to get the chance to take this to the next level before he’s out of town. Maybe it’s just not meant to be. Maybe I was only ever meant to be a quick hook-up while he’s in town.
And I need to be okay with that.
Am I okay with that?
Before I know it, we’re moving into the room where he’ll be performing.
This is much nicer than where I’ve seen him perform before.
He told me that since things are going so well and he’s been getting great feedback and reviews, his agent was able to talk some of these club owners into giving him bigger rooms and more tickets.
It’s still a far cry from where he used to be, but I can already see how his situation is improving.
It won’t be long before he’s right back up on top. I’m sure of it. And I can’t help but glow with pride as I take my seat at the front of the room—at a table reserved for me.
“Why does she get to sit up front? There aren’t supposed to be reserved tables here,” one of the women at a nearby table asks this question to no one in particular, raising her voice loud enough for me to hear it.
“We waited outside for two hours to get in first, and we’re not allowed to have the best seats? ”
“Maybe she’s his girlfriend,” somebody else suggests.
I try to pretend I can’t hear the way they snicker and whisper. Let them whisper. Wouldn’t they feel stupid if they knew the truth? That I’m not just obsessing over the past. That the man’s tongue has been in my mouth, for God’s sake.
I have to admit to myself, if to no one else, that dating him full-time would be a full-time job, point-blank.
I don’t know if my self-esteem could handle it, any more than I could handle the idea of thousands or even millions of women lusting after my man.
If I’ve learned nothing else from this experience, I’ve learned that much.
I doubt Maggie would care about the personal lessons I’m learning, however.
She wants a book out of this, a book which I’m slowly but surely putting together.
Maybe when this is all over and I stop dating for the sake of my writing, I can write a memoir about all the different men I dated and how they all taught me a lesson or two.
Depending on how long this experiment of mine lasts, it could be a pretty epic collection of stories. Good thing I’ve been taking notes all along.
When the lights go down, that familiar rush of energy hits me from all sides, and I have to smile.
Yes, he can be an insufferable jerk, but I’m proud of him.
He’s insecure, just like everybody else in the world.
There’s another lesson brought to life: it doesn’t matter how popular a person is or how much success they’ve seen in the past; we are all just trying to get by, and there will always be insecurities we can’t let go of.
Because really, at the end of the day, there’s no comparison between Dustin and Matt. At least, not on paper. Sure, Matt probably makes good money doing what he does, and of course he’s hot. Women must find him sexy because Lord knows he’s successful enough with them.
But Dustin? He’s got that magic, the charisma that oozes from him the second he takes his seat and smiles out at the audience. The man sparkles and smolders at the same time; it’s like he’s not even human.
I wish there were a way I could describe the sound of dozens of pairs of panties melting all at once because I would love to put it in a book.
“Hi, everybody. Thank you so much for being here with me tonight. It’s so good to see you and know I have fans like you out in the world.”
There’s that indescribable sound again. I’m surprised there are any panties left to melt at this point.
“It means the world to me that you care enough to be here. I hope I make it worth your time.”
They’re eating out of the palm of his hand. And he knows it. I have to commend him; he’s getting better at working the small crowds with each show. As good as he was at first a couple of weeks back, it was nothing compared to now.
I’m familiar enough with the music to follow along—at least, until he surprises me at the end of the first set.
“This next song is very new. So new that I just wrote it in the last few days. You’ll be the first people to hear it performed.”
He scans the room, finally landing on me with a grin. “It’s for somebody special who was kind and patient enough to be here tonight. I’m not an easy guy to get along with, but she’s one of the good ones, and she has come out to support me anyway.”
I’m dying. I am dying where I sit. They’ll have to come with a body bag to take me away because there’s no way I’m walking out of this club at the end of the show.
I can think of worse ways to go.
He strums across the strings, humming softly before launching into the lyrics. “She’s there with a smile when the world has turned its back. She’ll stand up to me when I’m on the attack. There are times when she sees me, and I want to hide. She doesn’t deserve the hurt that’s inside …”
RIP, Kitty Valentine. I mean, I’m basically a puddle at this point.
The best part though? The very best part? That is when the song is over and the audience applauds and I can just feel those women from that nearby table staring at me. Especially when Dustin looks at me again and smiles, and I smile back, completely overwhelmed and emotional.
There’s still that tiny, petty part of me that’s glad they heard that and glad they know it was about me.
No. I could not handle being this man’s girlfriend. No way. I don’t even know if I’d like myself very much after a while.
The second he leaves the stage for his fifteen-minute break, I’m surrounded by at least seven or eight women.
“Are you dating him?”
“Oh my God, how did you meet? What was it like?”
“What’s it like, being with him?”
“Oh my God, if he sang a song about me, I’d die.”
“Okay, all right, enough.” A tall, dark-haired man I don’t recognize shoos them all away and rolls his eyes once they wander off and leave us alone together. He’s wearing a suit jacket, a tailored shirt, jeans. Nice but casual. And not the sort of person I’m used to seeing at these shows.
Usually it’s just groupies wearing Crazy 4 You T-shirts.
“Uh, thanks?” I manage.
He even sits down, which strikes me as being a little forward, but I’m too grateful to him just now to care very much about what he chooses to do.
“I’m Todd Everett.” He extends a hand, and I nod in understanding as we shake.
“You’re Dustin’s agent.”
“Guilty as charged. And you’re the girl he wrote that song about. He’s been talking a lot about you. I’m glad I finally got the chance to put a face to the name.”
I feel like there’s something I should say, something positive.
“This is nice.” I gesture around me to the room, which is a far cry from that dingy little basement where some random guy threw up in the corner and their idea of dimming the lights was turning them out completely.
“I can tell that you must really be hustling to get him in front of people.”
“Name recognition helps.” He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I have to admit, I didn’t recognize your name the first time I heard it. I had to do some digging.”
Somehow, this strikes me as funny, though he doesn’t chuckle when I do. In fact, he looks downright annoyed.
“Digging?” What could that possibly mean?
“He explained to me the connection, why you went to see him in the first place. My lawyer. Your friend at the law firm.”
“Oh, sure.” For some reason, the hair on the back of my neck is standing up, and I feel slightly sweaty.
Something’s not right here. This person doesn’t like me, and I don’t know why. I’ve never been very good at dealing with people who don’t like me.
“I did a little asking around. So, you’re writing a book about him and didn’t think we’d find out, huh?”
And there it is. I imagine it’s something akin to the feeling of being on an elevator and having it suddenly drop or going down the first hill on a roller coaster. My stomach sinks until I’m pretty sure it’s left my body.
I have to be careful to keep my voice low as I lean closer to him. “No, I’m not writing a book about him. Where did you get that idea from?”
“From my contacts at the firm. I know what you do for a living.”
“So does Dustin.”
“I know. We’re both aware of what you’re doing.”
“Hold on a second.” Was I not just riding high, like, less than a minute ago?
How did everything turn around so quickly?
“I think some wires might’ve gotten crossed here.
I’m not writing a book about Dustin. Not at all.
Anything I write is completely fictional.
Now, am I writing a character with the same career as Dustin?
Yes, I am. But not once is his name mentioned, not the group, not even the city we’re in right now. None of that.”
All of a sudden, he smiles, and it’s like I might as well be sitting across from a different person. “I don’t think you understand. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. In fact, it would be great for his brand if a romance novel involving him came out in the next month or so.”
He might as well have started speaking in a different language.
“I don’t think you understand, with all due respect.
Like I just said, the book doesn’t directly involve him.
I like Dustin a lot, I love spending time with him, and the characters in my book will go through slightly similar situations to what I’ve observed while I’ve been with him.
You know, what it’s like for him to be swarmed by fans, who expect somebody from the past, not who he is right now. That sort of thing.”
“So, you’ll never mention his name?”
“No! Not at all. I’ve done everything I can to separate the two of them. My character and him, I mean.”
“Okay. So, what? His name will be used for promotion? Based on the relationship between you and him, I mean.”
What is this guy not getting?
“No. And honestly, I would think a lawyer would have told you that. I’m not allowed to use him that way.”
“Let me understand.” He props his elbows on the table, folding his hands under his chin.
I don’t like this guy. I really don’t like him.
“You were using your experiences with my client to write a book that you hope is going to sell all these copies or whatever. But he doesn’t get anything out of it. Not even a name drop on a promotional tour?”
“For one thing, I don’t do promotional tours.” I shrug. “For another thing, you’re making it sound like I’m some sort of mercenary or something when nothing could be further from the truth. I really like Dustin. I’m not trying to use him to sell more copies, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“What I’m worried about is him not getting anything out of this. Why don’t you understand? Or are you deliberately playing dumb?”
“Are you serious? I thought he and I were seeing each other. I didn’t think he wanted to get anything out of it but spending time with me, getting to know me.”
He blinks hard, like he doesn’t understand. “Do you really think he’s hanging around you because you’re such a sweet person? You don’t think there are hundreds of other women he could be with right now? The way you’ve been stringing him along …”
This is an honest-to-goodness nightmare. The room seems to tilt out of control until I find myself gripping the table in an attempt to keep from sliding around.
He’s never liked me? He only used me to further his comeback?
“Excuse me, but I’ve had enough of this.
” I shoot up out of my chair before he can see me cry, and the legs scrape across the floor loudly enough to attract the attention of a few people around us.
“If he asks where I went, you tell him I want to talk to him. But away from you. I never want to see you again.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Todd snickers as I turn away. “You won’t.”