Love of a Rockstar (17 page)

My finger hovered over the ignore button but my need to find out the truth triumphed over my anger toward him.

“One sec,” I said to Nil. Once I was out of earshot, I answered, “Hello.”

“Hey, it’s Luke.”

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to strike an indifferent tone.

“Nothing,” he said sweetly. “I had a break and wanted to hear your voice.”

If somebody told me Luke would turn out to be a romantic, I would have told them to shove it. A.) Because I was a bitch and B.) Twenty-two year old Luke thought playing tonsil hockey in the back of his car was romance at its finest.

“Well, here I am,” I replied.

“I can’t wait for tonight. Is our deal still on?”

Before I found out about Luke’s model girlfriend, I was actually looking forward to watching him in his element. Back when we were together, my fake ID got a lot of use as I played groupie. There wasn’t a show I wasn’t at.

“Can we cut the bullshit?” I asked abruptly.

Luke paused. “Um I guess, what’s up?”

I leaned against the counter, seething mad. Did he honestly think I wouldn’t find out? Luke was a rock star. His personal life was detailed in magazines and blogs alike.

“Your girlfriend is what’s up.” I shot back. A long silence followed on the other end of the line, giving me my answer. The rag sheet actually told the truth. “I can’t fucking believe you,” I said.

“Now wait a second. Where did you get this information?”

“Why does it matter? You have a girlfriend who you didn’t tell me about while you tried to wiggle yourself back into my life.” My voice rose. “I almost gave up Paris for you Luke. Paris.”

“Paris? What are you talking about?”

In my rage, I had given up my secret. Whatever, though. It’s not like it mattered. Luke and I were done. Finn was my future.

“I am moving to Paris with Finn in the next couple of weeks.”

“Are you fucking joking?” Luke exploded. “You’re taking my daughter away from me and moving to a foreign country?”

“You didn’t give a shit about her two days ago. Why does it matter now?” I screamed back.

I slammed my hand over my mouth when I realized what I had just said. A tense quiet followed. When I answered his phone call, my plan wasn’t to fling hurtful words at each other. After a couple of seconds, Luke exhaled.

“I deserved that, but I don’t feel as if this should be discussed over the phone. Come to my concert tonight and we’ll talk after.”

Tears clogged my throat. “I’m sorry, but no. Good luck tonight.”

I hung up the phone, as he was about to convince me otherwise. My good faith in Luke had run dry. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

AN HOUR LATER, I sat down on the couch with a cup of tea in hand. After the explosive confrontation between Luke and me, I needed to regroup. Just as I was about to take a sip from my mug, the doorbell rang. Anxiety skittered down my spine. What if it was Luke?

I shot an uneasy glance toward the door. “Who is it?” I yelled.

“It’s me. Open up.”

At the sound of Camille’s voice, I pulled myself to my feet and opened the door. Her bright yellow coat was blinding against the gray of the sky, which was why it took me a beat to notice the scowl on her face.

“Jonathan asked me out,” she announced.

Why did that name sound so familiar? It was on the tip of my tongue, but it just wasn’t registering. When she saw I was struggling with the name, she clarified it as the guy from the coffee shop. The one I thought she had a crush on. I swung open the door further and invited her inside. Resuming my position on the couch, I grabbed my mug of tea and settled in for some much needed girl talk.

“So is this a yay? Let’s find a new outfit? Or is this more like you need to change coffee shops?” I asked.

Camille let out a heartfelt sigh and fell into the couch cushions. “I don’t know.” Kicking off her shoes, she tucked her feet under her. “I want to say yes, but—”

“But what?” I interrupted. “Does your tongue become lodged in your throat when a sweet good looking guy wants to take you out on date?”

She glared at me. “At least I don’t keep falling into old habits.”

“Luke isn’t a habit. He’s Nil’s father.” The image of his six pack abs flashed into my head. “And he’s fucking hot. Nobody can deny that.”

Sinking further into the couch, Camille became one with it. “He is and so is Jonathan.” A dreamy smile danced on her lips. “His hands look like artist hands, as if they were made to sculpt clay.”

“You know the old axiom,” I laughed. “Big hands, big…”

She smacked my leg giggling. “Hey, I’ve already thought of that.” Camille paused. “A lot.”

“Then I don’t understand. It seems as if you want to jump his bones, which is reason enough to say yes. What’s the hold up?”

Her hands nervously knitted together in her lap, which told me my answer. “You’re scared you’re going to fall in love with him,” I said.

“No!” she exclaimed, but quickly changed her answer when she saw I wasn’t buying it. “Yes. I don’t know. He’s a great guy. It’s just, he’s a barista.”

“I am sure he has loftier goals, Camille. Of which you wouldn’t know about unless you stop judging the book by the cover.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Do you have any chocolate?”

The blatant change in the subject irritated me. Camille wasted her time with douche after douche. She deserved somebody who was a real life prince charming. If she didn’t get off her high horse, her chance at great love might pass her by.

“You know the answer to that question.” I crossed my arms, defiant. “And no, I will not get you any until you promise to say yes to Jonathan.”

“You can’t do that,” Camille whined.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

“This.” I gestured to the lifeless lump on my couch whom happened to be my best friend. “I see you date these assholes who care more about the size of their bank accounts than you. It may be fun in the beginning with the fancy dinners and expensive trips, but it isn’t love,” I said firmly “And you, my best friend, deserve great love.”

“How do you know if you will? What I have with Jonathan might be purely physical,” Camille said stubbornly

I thought about how I used to feel when Luke was around. “Do you feel as if you can’t breathe when his fingers touch yours? Does the scent of him make your head spin? With one look, your knees grow weak and the sounds around you dim?”

Camille looked at me as if I sprouted three heads. “Since when did you become the romantic?”

I shrugged.

When I was little, I preferred cookbooks to fairy tales. Rainbows of food decorating the pages entranced me. Then Luke entered my life and he showed me what falling in love was like. If anybody was to blame for turning me into a romantic, it was him. Those years after Luke left though, my heart had turned bitter. My grandmother’s story of finding her true love again reminded me of the beauty of that kind of devotion.

“Our roles have switched and I don’t know if I like it.” Her mouth scrunched to the side. “Why I am so bitter lately? It’s like every romantic idea I had about love went up in flames with my last disastrous date.”

“Was it with a doctor?”

Camille had a thing for successful men who were assholes. Their high paying jobs blinded her to their faulty personalities. She wasn’t shallow per se, more like her parents drilled a certain type of a man into her brain.

“Nope, a criminal investigator,” she boasted.

“That sounds promising.”

“It was, until he showed up for our date with smudges of blood on his work shoes.” Camille blanched. “I kept picturing the body the blood splatters belonged to. Stabbed to death, bleeding on the linoleum floor.”

I shook my head. “You watch too many cop shows.”

“Maybe, but the textbooks I have to read don’t help.”

Grabbing a blanket from the arm of the chair, I wrapped my body in it and pointed my chin at her. “I just thought of a perk of dating Jonathan. He will always smell like coffee and you love coffee.”

“I do love coffee,” she said thoughtfully. “But it doesn’t change the fact he doesn’t have a career. Although it’s not as if I’m marrying him. One date wouldn’t hurt.”

Although it pushed my buttons that Camille thought only straight-laced jobs were “careers,” I held my tongue. Whatever excuse she gave herself to go out with him worked for me. Stretching out her long legs, Camille propped a pillow behind her head and lay down on the couch.

“So what’s new in your neck of the woods?”

“I have decided to move to Paris.”

Camille raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

I shifted underneath her judgmental stare. “Yes really. Stop being Miss Judgy. I am not doing it because I am afraid of getting hurt.”

“Then why?”

Luke passionately kissing his girlfriend on the beach was burned into my retinas. He didn’t deserve an ounce of my tears anymore, but it didn’t help to feel so…so betrayed. I buried my head into my hands. Camille scooted next to me and put her arm around my shoulders.

“Whatever he did, I’ll punch him in his nut sack.”

A strangled laugh broke from my lips. “Thanks but I don’t think that will help.”

“Name it then. Chocolate, ice cream, romantic comedies, or a hunky man named Roberto with magical hands.”

Tears leaked from eyes as I sniffled. Speaking from experience, nothing in the world would help except distance, which would happen soon enough. Luke was leaving tomorrow to go back on tour. Then it would probably be another four or five years until I saw him again. At that thought, a fresh batch of tears gathered. I lifted my chin and gave Camille a watery smile.

“Shouldn’t the second go-around hurt less?”

She looked at me with pity. “You love him. It will never get easier.”

Through betrayal, heartache, and distance, my heart would always yearn for Luke. He was like a sinful dessert. I knew he was bad for me but I couldn’t help returning for seconds. And thirds.

“Fuck,” I mumbled.

“Was it because you had sex?” Her eyes shined with concern. “Was it my fault?”

I shook my head. “No.” With the back of my hand, I wiped the tears off my cheek. “He has a girlfriend.”

Camille’s grip on my shoulder tightened. I shrugged out of her hold and stood up. My tea had gotten cold on the coffee table before I’d had a chance to drink it. Walking into the kitchen, I stuck the mug into the microwave.

“How did you find out?” she yelled over the whirl of the machine.

A beep sounded and I took out the steaming tea. Making my way into the living room, I sat in the armchair to her left.

“It was on the cover of some trashy magazine,” I replied.

Camille’s face brightened. “Those articles are never true Marlene. You should know that.”

“Yeah?” I blew on the mug. “Then why didn’t Luke deny it?”

She winced. “I think you need more than tea.”

Thanks to her last idea, I almost ended up in bed with Luke. Camille no longer was my therapist.

“Tea is exactly what I need and preferably to lose ten pounds.”

Camille gave me a curious sideways glance. “Since when do you care about your weight?”

“Since Luke’s girlfriend is a backup dancer who looks like a stick.”

She snorted. “Please. You’re probably just as a skinny as her while still enjoying a casual cookie.”

Thanks to yoga, the sweets I ate didn’t stick to me like glue. However, unlike Luke’s girlfriend, my stomach muscles weren’t noticeably toned.

“She probably doesn’t know what a cookie looks like,” I said.

“Or how to make a batch of cookies that taste like heaven on earth.”

I gave Camille a grateful grin. “Thanks.”

Sipping my tea, the warm liquid relaxed me and I settled into the armchair. Although it would be awhile before I felt whole again, there was Paris to look forward to. Finn would be a great boyfriend to have around while I explored the new city since he spoke a little bit of French. Nil and I would have a good life there. My gaze slid over to Camille. But I would miss my best friend.

She picked at a loose string on the blanket next to her. “Hey Marlene?”

“Yes?”

“What happened between you and Luke the day before he left? You never told me.”

I set the mug on the coffee table. “You really want to know?”

Camille stared at me, eyes wide. “Yes I do.”

There was a reason why I never told the story to anybody, because it was mine and mine alone to dissect. To pick out the moment where I could have said something differently or touched Luke’s arm instead of acting cold. After four years though, I’d analyzed it to pieces. Pulling the blanket over my lap, I launched into the story that had changed the course of my future.