FanGirl Squeal (RockStars of Romance Book 1) (10 page)

“I love him so much.”

“He’s so sweet.”

“He said your friend, Cash.”

“OH MY GOD…CASH!”

We were both giddy and talking over each other. I was barely
holding it together.

“This was exactly what I wanted,” I muttered. “I just wanted
him to know that we think he’s…” I couldn’t even finish the thought. I just
broke down in tears.

“Don’t cry, Banana. If you cry, then I’m going to cry and
you know how I feel about crying in public places.”

“I…can’t…help…it!” I wailed.

“Stop!” Amy demanded. “You still have to open the boxes.”

I sat on the floor of the foyer in front of the two boxes
with my iPad so Amy could see.

“God, I love technology,” she murmured as I ripped off the
purple wrapping paper.

“Dolce and Gabbana!” we both screamed when the wrapping
paper revealed the smooth black box and gold lettering.

“Is it shoes?”

“It can’t be shoes,” I replied. “It’s too big. Besides, how
would Cash Myers know my shoe size?”

“Maybe Tracy told him.”

“I don’t think so,” I said doubtfully while lifting the top
of the box. “We’re not that close. She was just my RA at UCLA for a couple of
years.”

I pulled out a royal blue leather tote and gasped.

“Is that the…”

“The Dolce and Gabbana Miss Escape bag we saw in Vegas. Yes
it is!”

“That’s a $2500 bag.”

“And it’s mine!” I squealed as I hugged my new favorite bag
against my chest. “Amy, it’s sooooo beautiful. I wish you could feel it.”

“I am so jealous of you right now.”

“I know,” I laughed. “I’m sorry.”

“Open the big box before I die over here,” Amy pouted.

I gently lowered the box to the floor. It was super heavy. I
lifted the lid and moved the air packets out of the way.

“It’s a guitar.”

“A what!?” Amy screeched.

I didn’t repeat myself. I recognized the limited edition
Cash Myers guitar case. I unzipped the case because the box was too heavy for
it to be empty. Lying on the felt was a replica of Cash’s red and white strat.
His signature graced the headstock.

“I’m done,” I said over and over. I couldn’t take my eyes
off the priceless treasure sitting in front of me. “I’m officially done.”

“You’ve always wanted that for your office.”

I looked at Amy’s face and tears were pouring out of her
eyes. I began to cry too. This was too much, way too much to take in all in a
matter of minutes. The flowers, the email, and now gifts.

“I don’t deserve this,” I told Amy.

“Yes you do,” she snapped. “You do so much for his fans.
Whenever someone needs a pre-sale code for tickets, you make sure they get it.
How many trips have you organized so that we could get together and go to
shows? Hell, you gave up your chance to meet him so that Michaela could. Did
you know that he is paying for her to get better treatment? You know that would
never have happened if you hadn’t given her your pass. You’re generosity might
just save that child’s life. You are the reason so many people have awesome
Cash Myers memories, so don’t ever say you don’t deserve it.”

“You’re the one who had the idea,” I cried. “You also do a
lot. Who came up with the t-shirt idea? And you put that together that cruise
we went on last year and didn’t even go yourself.”

“That’s the difference,” Amy said. “I do it for my friends.
You do it for anyone who says they’re a fan. Banana, you deserve it. I’m really
happy that Cash gave you that guitar. But I have to go. My husband just walked
into the gym and I’m supposed to be in my yoga class. I will call you as soon
as I get home.”

We ended our call and I just sat in the hall staring
aimlessly at Cash’s gifts. The moment was surreal. I re-read his email. My
finger hovered over the reply button.

Did I dare?

My parents taught me manners and proper etiquette. They’d be
so displeased if I didn’t say thank you.

I hit reply.

Cash,

Thank you so much for the flowers, bag, and especially
the guitar. I will cherish them forever. Actually, I wasn’t expecting anything
to come from that gift since 49 other people had a hand in it too. We really
just wanted to show our appreciation. All I really did was execute the idea
that my friend had.

You’re very kind to send the guitar. How can I ever repay
such a wonderful gift?

Sincerely,

Savannah

I tossed my phone onto the sofa and turned on the
television. I turned to
Chopped
to see if there were any good-looking
guys cooking and was about ten minutes into watching a really handsome chef
when my email alert went off. Thinking it was Ashley with yet another reminder
about what I should and should not do at my parents’ anniversary celebration
next weekend; I picked up the phone, already thinking of an angry response.

Savannah,

I had a feeling you weren’t expecting anything from it.
Tracy mentioned that you’d be totally shocked. Which is why I did it. I admire
your humility, but you executed something that meant a lot to me. I’m glad you
liked the gifts. As for the others, I’d like to put together an event for all
of you. I have it on good authority that you’re pretty good at organizing
things for my fans. I’d appreciate your help if you have the time.

PS-Delete some of your Facebook friends so you can accept
my friend request. Better yet, what’s your personal page? ;)

Okay, this is oddly exciting
, I thought as I replied
to Cash’s email again. I’m actually having an email conversation with Cash
Myers. Is this my life?

Cash,

I’d love to help plan something. Do you have anything in
mind? Also, you want to be my Facebook friend?

Savannah,

Facebook friends is a start. As far as the event, I have
no idea. Maybe we can discuss it after your interview??? You still want to hook
that up? I’m in New York for a couple more weeks due to prior obligations. Can
you come here?

I’m going to be in New York next weekend for my parents’
anniversary. Will that work?

Cool. I’ll have my manager set up the meeting.

Oh God! This is truly happening. Cash just agreed to do an
interview with me.

I’m going to faint was the last thought I had before I
actually fainted.

After the fuss Troy made after finding me passed out in the
foyer, it’s been really hard to keep my other reason for going to New York a
secret. I hadn’t told him that I was going to interview Cash during this trip.
I said I had to work, which is true too. I’m covering the launch party of some
Basketball
Wives
star’s new champagne for another website. I’m getting paid to go to a
party that I was going to end up going to anyway for my own site. That’s fine
with me.

Not telling Troy about Cash was definitely a good idea. I
was freaked out enough and he’d already started planning our nuptials after
seeing the flowers, bag, and guitar that Cash sent. I haven’t told Amy either.
I just want to keep this moment to myself. Especially after my last email
exchange with Cash.

As he promised, I did receive an email from his assistant –
or manager’s assistant, I don’t know – setting up the interview for the day
after I arrived in New York. I wasn’t expecting another email from Cash. I know
I’m reading too much into his words. He’s just really captivated with the book
and wants to talk about it with someone who knows the letter writers
personally.

Or maybe he’s bored in the city. He’s never lived there
before.

I don’t know what it is but he ended his last email with
can’t
wait to see you
and I’ve had butterflies in my stomach for two days. I
haven’t even been able to eat. I haven’t gotten any sleep. Every time I close
my eyes, I see Cash’s face and his sky blue eyes staring back at me, invading
my personal space. The first time I encountered him kept playing in my head, an
infinite loop of the awkward budding *fangirl* that I was. What if he
remembered? The idea was too dreadful to comprehend.

My plan is to be in New York just long enough to attend my
parents’ anniversary party, go to the launch party, and do my interview. Five
days is my hard out. Although I love New York and miss Harlem so much, five
days is about as much I can handle when my family knows I’m there. Sometimes I
can sneak into the city on occasion without alerting the Fords.

This time, Dr. and Dr. Ford and their perfect daughter know
that I’m coming to the 30
^th
wedding anniversary party. Ashley
planned every detail of the weekend and they’re trying to monopolize all of my
time. I refuse to sit through more than one dinner and one visit to the house
and listen to my parents question every choice I’ve made in the last two years
or my relationship status. I’m staying in a hotel too.

I’m certainly glad that my parents are celebrating thirty
years of married bliss. I hope to do that myself one day. They deserve the
elaborate party that Ashley put together without any input from me. However,
she expects me to pay half and that’s just not going to happen. I didn’t even
get to decide between chicken or fish so what makes her think we’re splitting
the cost of this? Joke’s on her. I gifted my parents a five-day cruise. Ashley
Ford-Houston is not getting a dime of my money.

I have to be at the airport in less than two hours and my empty
suitcase stared angrily at me from the center of my bed. Nothing is more foreboding
than an empty suitcase when there is a time restraint and I should have packed
days ago.

“Troy!” I yelled in a panic filled voice that I knew would
get his attention. “Help!”

I heard Troy’s heavy footsteps rushing across our hardwood
floors and breathed a sigh of relief when he stopped in my doorway.

“What are you in here screaming about? Do you need a
paramedic?”

His eyes followed mine to my unmade bed and empty luggage.

“No ma’am,” he shook his head. “Why aren’t you packed? You
don’t even have panties in there! You could have at least packed your
unmentionables.”

I grabbed Troy’s hand and pulled him into my bedroom. “I
know,” I whined. “Help me.”

“First of all, go change. Aren’t your parents picking you up
from the airport?”

“No. Ashley is.”

“Even worse. Miss Thang, that outfit is not going to work.
You look like a bike messenger. What is it with you and tacky ass concert tees?
I don’t get it. Some days you look absolutely flawless. Then there are days
like today when you act like your fashion sense left you stranded on a pitiful
island with a bunch of Nickelback roadies.”

I shrugged. “Some days I feel flawless and some days I have
too much on my mind to care. This is one of those I don’t care days.”

Troy smacked his lips. “Don’t come crying to me when Ashley
Ford-Houston, Attorney at Law has a conniption fit over your cutoff shorts and
Maroon 5 t-shirt.”

“Dude, I couldn’t care less what Counselor Ford has to say.
What am I going to wear to this party? It’s formal.”

“You knew this a month ago,” Troy grumbled, but walked into
my walk-in closet anyway. I started throwing panties, bras, and toiletries into
a smaller bag. I snuck a few pairs of boy shorts, flip-flops, and t-shirts in
there and zipped it before Troy came out of the closet. He was carrying what
seemed like every dress I’ve ever bought. He laid them on the bed and gazed at
the pile.

“Shopaholic, why do you always act like you don’t have
anything to wear?”

Troy gingerly picked through the pile, holding up dresses to
me and making decisions without any input from me. He folded three or four long
summer dresses, a couple of short party dresses, and in lieu of my preferred
jeans, he added a couple pairs of capri pants and flowy tops. I wasn’t
disappointed at all. He’d packed for my entire trip in less than thirty
minutes.

I dry-swallowed an Ambien and kissed the kittens goodbye.
Since I haven’t been sleeping, I’m hoping the Ambien will help me sleep the
entire four-hour flight. Troy loaded my bags into his Mercedes and we were off
to the airport.

“Please don’t fight with your sister this trip,” he
lectured. “This weekend isn’t about you and Ashley. And who is doing your hair
since you didn’t come by the shop?”

I lazily patted my curls. There’s not much anyone can do
with my hair. My natural hair is not a statement or an act of rebellion as my
weave-wearing sister claims. I just love the way my hair grows out of my head.
I’m not cutting it. I’m not chemically straightening it, and I’m not getting a
weave. My grandmother has hair like mine and she is the most beautiful woman on
Earth to me.

I smiled at Troy. “I don’t know. That gown you packed doesn’t
necessarily go with my ‘fro. Maybe I’ll let Aunt Charlene give me a blowout.”

“That would be fierce. I’d like to see you with straight
hair. I don’t think I have since high school. And I don’t have to remind the
selfie Queen to take plenty of pictures, do I? Wait a second!” Troy shouted. “Did
you say Aunt Charlene? She’s coming to the party? When did she and your mother
start speaking again?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really sure if my mother knows she’s
coming.”

“Hmmph,” Troy scoffed. “That’s not going to end well. Your
momma and Charlene…that’s going to be you and Ashley in a few years if you don’t
get it together.”

I couldn’t agree more. Ashley and I are history repeating
itself. My mom and her twin, Charlene, are oil and vinegar. Better yet,
gasoline and a flamethrower. Ashley and I are just like them, except the longest
Ashley and I have gone without speaking is a couple of months. Aunt Charlene
stopped speaking to my mother for years…five years to be exact.