CHAPTER SEVEN
This isn’t really happening.
It can’t possibly be happening.
Clearly, I’m at home, dreaming. It’s a wildly vivid dream, I’ll grant you, but a dream nonetheless. Yes, I’m making this all up in my head. Because I can’t truly be standing in the narrow hallway outside Dustin Grant’s dressing room.
I have to remind myself to rub my hands on my jacket to get rid of the sweat because he’ll inevitably want to shake my hand.
Right? Isn’t that how normal people usually greet each other?
Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening.
My teenage self would … honestly, I don’t know what she’d do.
Scream a lot, most likely, before passing out.
Now, I truly understand why all those girls used to pass out during Crazy 4 You concerts. And I’m not even a teenager anymore. I’m a grown woman, college-educated, four times at the top of the New York Times Best Sellers list. There is absolutely no excuse for me to fall to pieces over this man.
This man with those absolutely ridiculous eyes of his.
Focus, Valentine. You’ve got this.
But do I? I’ll soon find out.
He answers almost as soon as I knock on the door. I wasn’t sure he would even hear me—I’m so timid, and my knock was so quiet. Was he waiting? No, that couldn’t be.
The second we’re face-to-face—like, really face-to-face—I completely blank out. Seriously. It’s like I have amnesia about everything in my whole entire life. Who am I? Why am I here?
And then he smiles, and things get worse. I’m almost positive I’m going to faint.
“So, you’re my watchdog. I knew I had to meet you and thank you for standing up for me out there.” He holds out his hand, still smiling, still showing off those dimples of his. “Dustin Grant.”
“No kidding.” I giggle and immediately wish I could take it back. Not exactly the ideal way to start things off. I hold out my hand to him, hoping I wiped the sweat away. “Kitty Valentine.”
He blinks hard, eyes narrowing. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Why? Have you heard of me?” I can barely get it out; I’m giggling so hard.
Good God, he’s going to think I’m a complete space case. This will be the last time he ever invites a fan back to his dressing room, I imagine.
So, what do I do? Easy. I keep talking because that always makes things better. “I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to ever have heard of me or anything. I’m not anybody that important. Just a writer. No big deal.” Shut up, Kitty. Shut up. Stop talking. You’re only making it worse.
I’m sure Dustin has probably seen worse though. He’s actually sweet, smiling a little as I continue digging myself deeper with every word.
“I find your name interesting. You say you’re a writer?”
Is it possible for a human face to spontaneously burst into flames? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what my face is trying to do. “Yeah, no big deal. Nothing like what you do.”
He chuckles a little at this. “Or what I used to do. Like you witnessed a little while ago, a lot of my fans live in the past.” He then steps back, waving an arm. “I’m so rude. Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable. I want to know all about this writing you do.”
That, I cannot believe. Why would he want to know about me? I’m not that special. I’ve never made anybody faint just by appearing in front of them. But I step into the dressing room anyway because who wouldn’t? Besides, I’m here on a mission.
Calling this a dressing room is a real stretch.
Sure, it’s a room, and I guess Dustin got dressed in here, but I’m thinking it normally serves as a closet.
If it doesn’t, it should. There’s barely enough room for both of us to stand.
Dustin pulls up a chair, gesturing for me to take a seat while he perches on the edge of a little shelf holding various hair products, concealer—those sorts of things.
“You know my secret now.”
“Your secret?”
He gestures to the products on the table. “I wear makeup onstage.”
“I’ll be sure to tell all my friends.”
“So, you said you’re a writer?”
Darn it. I smack my forehead. “Oh, don’t worry! I’m not here to write, like, an exposé on you or anything like that. I hope you didn’t get that idea.”
The funniest thing happens. He literally looks disappointed. At least, that’s the impression I get when his face falls a little.
“Oh. I see.”
“I’m a novelist. I write romance novels.”
He gets another funny look, and again, I get the feeling I’ve said too much. Yes, this is obviously where he’s going to decide I’m not worth his time. That’s usually the way it happens once somebody finds out what I do and thinks it’s a joke.
I’m so sure this is about to happen. In fact, I’m halfway to my feet and prepared to console myself with the fact that he has no room to talk. Who does he think he is? God’s gift?
“A romance novelist.” A slow smile spreads over his face, lighting it up. “That’s probably the coolest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
Oh. That’s not what I expected at all. “You think so?” I can’t help but still feel a little skeptical.
“Hell yes! Seriously, that’s awesome. And you said something about me hearing about you before, right? Does that mean you’re a big deal?”
Here I go again, wanting to giggle like an insane person. I’m discussing my career with none other than my adolescent fantasy. “You could say that,” I offer with a shrug.
“What does that mean?” He’s teasing me, trying to draw it out of me.
Is this even happening? What is my life?
“It means you could say that.” Oh my God. Am I teasing him right back? Who am I?
The funny thing is, it feels so natural, like we’re old friends already.
Granted, I’m way more familiar with him than he is with me, having spent years fantasizing about what it would be like to be his wife.
Back when I was so young, it never occurred to me I’d want to be anything else.
Happily ever after meant a trip down the aisle, followed by a bunch of babies.
Actually, that’s still what happily ever after looks like for me. But there’s also happy in between and happy for now, which is definitely something I would not refuse if the man in front of me suggested it. It’s one of the reasons I’m here. The chance to get to know this man, his life, his world.
Though for now, there’s still hesitation on his part.
I’m just a fan, and he’s holding himself back from me.
That’s okay. This is more than enough for the time being, much more than I ever would have imagined as a kid.
There’s nothing worse than knowing for sure that you’ll never get to be with the object of your affection because he might as well live on another planet and has no idea you’re alive.
Oh, how much do I wish some of the girls from middle school were here right now? I would love to rub it in their faces.
To my horror, I realize he must’ve said something when I wasn’t paying attention, too busy fantasizing about rubbing this in the faces of girls who haven’t thought about me in years.
He’s waiting with a sweet, expectant expression, those eyes of his still boring holes into me.
I have to fess up. “I’m sorry. I’m spacing out. My fifteen-year-old self is screaming in the back of my mind, and I can’t seem to quiet her down.”
He laughs, which is a relief. I guess he’s used to it by now. “I asked if you had any plans tonight, someplace to go after this.”
Hot diggity dog. I’m in. This is it. Oh my God, I’m sort of going on a date with this absolutely gorgeous, talented, charming person.
I practically have to sit on my hands to stop them from shaking. “No, I don’t have any other plans.”
His eyes sparkle. They literally sparkle. “Good. Because I want you to come out with me. Would you do that?” And then the dimples show up, and they’re for me because he’s smiling at me.
Again, I’m hit with the almost-certain feeling that I’m imagining all this and that it can’t possibly be happening. But that doesn’t stop me from answering, “Yes?”
For the first time since I came into the room, it looks like I’ve knocked him off his game a little. “Is that a question? Or are you agreeing?”
“I’m agreeing!” Great, and now, I sound like I’m screaming. I really wish I could go back and start this all over again, but I can’t. “Yes. I would very much like to come out with you.” I manage to sound like a mature, sane person this time.
“Great.” He stands up, and I do the same. “Just give me a minute, would you?”
I nod. He can have all the time he needs.
He lifts his brows. “I mean, could I have a minute to get myself ready? Alone?”
Yep. I knew I would do something else to embarrass myself. “I’m sorry. I swear, I’m usually much better at acting like a normal person than this.” That’s pretty much a lie, of course, but he doesn’t need to know.
He chuckles softly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck with his eyes downcast. “No worries. Not to sound too full of myself, but I get it a lot. I mean, I can’t understand why anybody would care all that much about me, but you’re not the first person, so it’s okay. You don’t have to feel weird.”
He has no idea what a good job he’s doing of convincing me that I wasn’t wrong for being so madly in love with him all those years. My instincts are good, even back then. I know quality when I see it.
I duck out of the room before I have the chance to say anything that could embarrass me any more and use the opportunity to text Hayley.
It feels kind of mean, reaching out to her about this when she can’t be here, but I have to tell somebody, and something tells me she would never forgive me if I didn’t give her the play-by-play.
Oh my God. We’re going out now. I don’t know where, but does it matter? He’s a dream. Even better-looking in person.
She must’ve been waiting to hear from me because barely five seconds pass before she’s typing a reply. Oh my God, I hate you so much. See if you can grab something of his for me.
I have to work hard to keep from laughing out loud, especially because I know it would come out as one of those high-pitched laughs, totally unhinged. I’m sure he’d be able to hear me in the dressing room, and I’ve already embarrassed myself enough.
What did you have in mind? I ask her.
I don’t care! A napkin, whatever. Anything that has his DNA on it.
Okay, now, she’s starting to make me nervous.
What do you plan on doing? Making a clone?
No, I just want a little piece of him for myself. Don’t make it weird.
I’m the one making it weird?
I’ll see what I can do, I reply since that’s the best I can say. It would be one thing if I even thought she was joking, but I get the feeling that she’s not.
Who am I kidding? I would probably do the same thing if our places were reversed.
It’s not long before the door opens, and Dustin beams his beautiful smile on me. “Ready?”
I’m not entirely sure I am ready, but there’s nothing to do but say, “Yes.”