Date With A Rockstar (12 page)

“You don't have a chip?” Jeremy asks when the host leaves.

My wrist. Shit. “Nope. I don't have any money.” I try to sound like I don't care and I think it works.

He laughs. “Well, I think I have enough to cover lunch, so don't worry.” Enough to cover lunch for a million years. I exhale and the tension in my back releases. My being poor isn't a big deal.

I tap on the menu. Whoa, they even have seafood and steak. Meat is expensive.

“You should get the steak,” Jeremy says. “Since I'm paying and all.” His tone is light and joking.

“Very funny. Maybe I will.”

“Do you like beef?” he asks seriously.

“I've never tried it.”

He reaches across my side of the table and punches the selection button for me. “I insist.”

“What else should I order?”

He leans over again and hits a few more buttons. I smell ocean water in his hair and I want to touch him so badly. “Do you want to approve my choices before I send them to the kitchen?”

“No, I trust you.”

He punches in his own selection and then focuses back on me. “So, you already know all about me. Tell me about the mysterious Monet.”

“Hey, I only know you from interviews. That's not exactly a deep understanding.”

He shrugs. “Okay, we'll trade questions. But, uh—” He narrows his eyes. “You're not one of those girls who's going to sell every word I say to the tabloids are you?”

“Oh, God. I would never. Do girls do that to you?”

He quirks a half-smile. “Can I count that as your first question?”

“Sure, but I want more.”

He raises his eyebrow like “more” could mean anything. “I've had a girl hide a mic on her and sell the recording to
Celeb.
It's not so much anything that I said was private, but man, she was with me just to score a payout. It was insulting.”

Ah, so I guess now would not be a good time to mention needing money for the cure to Fluxem. “I'm sorry that happened. The girl was a complete idiot.”

He shrugs. “I've met a lot of nice girls since I became famous, and also a lot of shallow ones. People definitely treat me differently now.”

“What do you think of the girls in the competition?”

“You do realize that's another question.”

Damn.
“So, I'll owe you two?”

“I'm keeping count.” He taps his fingers on the table. Short nails, long fingers. All of a sudden I can't believe how close I am to him. “I don't know enough about the girls in the competition until I go on more dates, but what I said on the commercial for the show wasn't all crap. I wouldn't mind meeting a nice girl, but after my sister's brush with skin cancer when she was younger, I'd do the show just to help other kids like her. Skin cancer is no joke.”

“Did your sister get diagnosed when she was young?”

“She was six. Most of my childhood was overshadowed by her treatments and trips to the doctors.”

“Hmmm. That must have been hard. Not as much time for you, I would assume.”

He shrugs. “I think that's why I took up music initially. I just wanted to excel at something. Sounds so stupid to be jealous of my sister with cancer, but in my little kid mind I just wanted a reason for people to think I was special, too.”

“I don't think that sounds stupid at all. Now that you're so famous, I doubt anyone will ever ignore you.” At a table behind us a man and woman stare at Jeremy's back, talking in hushed voices. When the woman realizes I noticed, she pretends to look out the window and drink her coffee.

Jeremy ruffles his fingers through his hair. “Which is the funny thing. Now that I've been getting all this attention for the last few years, I'm done with it. I'd rather work behind the scenes. Find a nice, quiet girl that doesn't want to just be with me
because
I'm a rockstar.”

I stare down at the table.
I'm a nice, quiet girl.
“Is your sister okay now?”

“Yeah, she's fine. But it makes me pay attention to how much time I spend outside, especially when I travel.” He sits back in his chair, relaxing.

I try to follow his lead and recline in my chair, but my legs bounce and I'm too amped up.

“I'm glad she's better. Did she go to the facility in Boston?”

“Yeah, that's why I really want to give back, you know?” He glances at my foot sticking out from under the table and smiles.

I nod.

“At least Key West has a dome. Clean air and sun protection. Cities like this are the best. But enough
serious talk. I believe you owe me a few questions.” He lifts an eyebrow and leans into the table.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Everything?” he suggests.

“That would be pretty boring,” I tease.

“I doubt that.”

I don't know what ideas he has about me, but I'm neither exciting nor mysterious. “I'm average.” Wait, I'm trying to win a competition. I should've been less honest.

“No one's average, not really. How about work? What do you do?” His eyes wrinkle at the corners slightly, like he's figuring out everything about me and remembering it. I pin my legs together and force them still.

“I just graduated. The last job I had was sorting database files for the library, but they ran out of funding for the project.” That was over three months ago. I should've gotten a new job by now. “But I haven't found a new job yet.”

“What do you want to do?”

“There's a difference between what I want to do and what I can do, you know?”

“Well, what do you want?”

“In a perfect world, I'd go to college and study art.”

“And in this world?”

“Get an entry-level job until I can save up enough money to get my bartender's license.” He frowns. I don't have many choices. “It's an okay job and there are still plenty of people who want a person to hand them their drinks rather than a machine.” I smooth my hair back self-consciously.

“I'm sure you'd be good at it. But I think you should go for art if that's what you want.”

I frown. I agree, and maybe that's why I haven't been doing anything for months and latched onto
this contest as the answer to my problems rather than getting out there and working. But then I never would've gotten to meet Jeremy.

“I didn't mean to make you sad.” He reaches over the table to touch my hand. The sound of the camera zooming in shakes me out of my reverie. Crap. I hope they don't broadcast the fact that I don't have a job. I thought I was safe with the microphone gone, but the camera probably records sound, too.

“How about you? Do you want to spend your whole life making music?”

He laughs and flips his hair back. “I don't know. I'd like to at least keep composing, but I've been thinking about going to school for a real job.”

“Music's a real job. You certainly get paid for it.”

He shrugs.

“What else do you think you'd be good at?” I ask.

“I thought maybe I'd go for medicine.” He shrugs again and shifts around in his chair.

It's strange to see him unsure of himself. He's always so confident on stage.

“I bet you'd be great at that.”

He smiles at me and his warm brown eyes drag me in. He'd be the most popular doctor ever. The waiter arrives with our food. Steak, with…an unknown vegetable and…a pretty pink drink. Jeremy has the same thing on his side of the table.

“What are they?” I ask, poking at the green circles.

“Fiddleheads. They're the tender top part of a new fern.”

I point at the drink.

“Sparkling lemonade.”

I try the green circles first. The flavor is light, buttery, salty, and fresh. Next I cut into the steak. Disturbing juice leaks out, but the texture is completely unique. I chew hard. Vegetable spread only requires swallowing. This is so much better.

“You're so easy to please,” Jeremy says, watching me as he takes a big bite.

“Thanks?”

“Absolutely. It's a nice change.”

A change from what? An ex-girlfriend? Fiona Wilde?
I keep eating even though Jeremy is watching me.

“I'm trying to think of a good second question.” He props his head on his hand. A mannerism I've never seen on TV or anywhere. I'm truly having lunch with Jeremy. Crazy. I hope he doesn't ask about other guys or sex. Oh, crap, what if he asks what my favorite sexual position is, like they always do in
Celeb?
I swallow my steak and wash it down with the lemonade.

“What do you do in your free time?”
Phew.

“Well, you already know about graffiti-style scratching from my interview.” As opposed to the illegal stuff I do for The Metal Society. “Other than that, not too much. I like mixed martial arts.”

“Watching or practicing?”

“Both.”

“Are you any good?” I like how his voice gets a little cocky.

“Want to find out?” I lean closer to the table in mock challenge.

He smiles and narrows his eyes. He's about to speak when a screech fills the restaurant.

“Jeeeereeemy! Are you filming the show now?” Then-bam-there's a girl at his side. Then another. They're lining up. Derek races across the restaurant from his perch at the front entrance. He pushes himself between the girls, but they squirm around him, reaching for Jeremy. I clutch the edge of the table to keep from being thrust out of the way.

“Will you sign my lower back?”

She leans across my food, giving me a view of Jeremy's name tattooed just above her butt before presenting him with the image. Her face is even with
mine while she waits for him to sign. We glare at each other.

“I don't have a pen on me.”

There's some shuffling around while one of them comes up with a marker. I take a sip of my lemonade even though the girl stays in my face. Then Derek slaps her on the back. “You're all done. Move along.”

Thank you,
I mouth.

Jeremy scrawls his name on a few other magazine clippings. They step a few feet back, but they're not retreating.

“I guess that's the end of our relaxing lunch.” The few waiters and waitresses stand off to the side, watching the fans. All they have to do for a tip is set the food on the tables. They're clearly not going to help with crowd control. Jeremy scans his chip as the bill displays on our table. “I'm sorry, Monet.”

“It's okay,” I mumble as I stand up from the table. The girls are blatantly staring at me. “She's a contestant,” one of them whispers. Another shakes her head and smirks like I have no chance. Derek corrals them on one side of our table while we slip out. I keep my head down and follow Jeremy's feet out of the restaurant. I step through the moon. I wish our lunch hadn't been interrupted. I peek at Jeremy through my lashes, and from the sullen look on his face, I think he does, too. I guess the girl's tattoo wasn't that impressive.

“Is this what it's like being you?”

“Sometimes.” His face has no hint of expression, but the corners of his eyes are sad. We walk back out to the street and I wonder if he would talk to me more if we had kissed in the water.

The cameraman pulls his gear onto the escalator behind us. The camera's pointed down, so I assume the recording has stopped. The assistant waits for us by the limo. “About time. You need to get ready to go to the museum.”

I wish I could go to the museum. Jeremy holds open the door while I slide in. He sits next to me, tracing the lines on the palm of his hand. I want his good mood to come back.

“I don't mind about the autograph scene. I know that's part of your job.” I nudge him with my shoulder.

He looks over at me. “It's just that I have no control over shit like that. We were talking, and those girls didn't even realize they were being rude.”

I set my hand on his arm. I'm shaking with nerves. “I know you're more than just a guy on stage.”

He covers my hand with his. “Yeah?”

“Of course. I mean, you're putting up with a dating show to help cancer patients. I've only known you for a little while, but I think even without the fame, you'd be a pretty awesome guy.”

“Thanks.” He breathes deep and gives me a partial smile. On stage he always seems so confident; sitting here next to me he's still gorgeous, but I know the other Jeremy is just a show.

He traces my knuckles with his finger and tingles dance up my arm. I want to say more, but the silence feels right. Comfortable.

We arrive at the hotel entrance all too quickly.

“Thanks for the day,” I say, not letting my sadness show in my words. My date is over. I climb out of the limo, reluctantly letting go of his hand. He slides out after me and closes the door. “And thank you for almost teaching me to swim.”

“Hey, anytime. Just as long as you don't sit down next time.” His eyes tip down to mine for a second and he pauses like he might say something. He looks at my lips and I tuck them in.

“I had a great time. Thank you,” I say.

His hand brushes mine and then he squeezes gently. Not a handshake, but not holding hands, either. My fingers flex toward his as he pulls back. He
gives me his crooked half-smile before Derek and the production crew step in between us. They start filling him in on his schedule for the rest of the night while I walk into the hotel.

I stand in the hotel lobby for a minute, glancing out the window, waiting for another smile, but I know he's busy. I go back to my room to change.

Shelley Anne waits on her bed in a meditative pose. “How did the date go?”

“You were watching, what did you think?” I kick my shoes off and sink my toes into the plush carpet.

“Honestly, it was kinda hard to tell. Maybe if we'd had the dialogue—”

“Oh.” She's not even crying, so my date must not have been too heart-wrenching. I hope that doesn't mean the viewers at home aren't going to like me.