Rock Starred: Love My Way (10 page)

"Me?" I asked, shaking my head. "I'm pretty sure you started it."

Peter grinned and brushed his lips against mine. "I admit it. It's all my fault."

When we stepped off the bus, we were greeted by another small cluster of fans asking to have CDs and posters signed. Peter obliged, being polite and posing for a photo while I stood to the side and waited.

We then made our way through the back door of the club. Peter grabbed the first crew guy we ran into. "Hey, Mo. I want you to meet my girlfriend, Katie. Can you tell Hunter that I need an all-access laminate for her? Right away."

We continued down the hall to the band's dressing room. "Just ignore Elliot if he's being a dick," Peter mumbled into my ear.

Mo lumbered toward us with my credentials. "Here you go, man. Anything else?"

Peter looped the lanyard over my neck. "Make sure she has whatever she wants tonight. And can you make sure the dressing room bathroom isn't disgusting? I don't want her having to deal with that."

I smiled sheepishly, fully recovered from my minor panic on the bus. It was so adorable to have him want to take care of me. He took my hand and we stepped into the dressing room, the same set-up as Miami, with a similar array of girls hanging around.

One woman stood out among them all, with long, sleek black hair, full red lips and impeccable, radiant skin. She had to be a model—her exotic brown eyes and perfect posture were annoyingly breathtaking. She'd perched herself on the arm of a chair next to Stony, rubbing his shoulder and smiling at him as they talked.

She turned and looked at us, her face lighting up like a beacon when she saw Peter.

He strode over to her and gave her an embrace that seemed a beat or two too long from where I was standing. "Sasha," he said. "It's so great to see you. Can't believe you missed the show in DC. We had a killer party."

Stony didn't seem to care that his bimbo and Peter had taken such great interest in each other. Sasha flipped her shiny hair over her shoulder and clung to Peter's arm. Every millisecond with her hand on him felt as though it was an eternity.

He turned to me. "Katie, this is Sasha."

Sasha continued to hold on to him, her fingers pressed against the bare skin of his arm. "Hi," she said, in the snottiest tone I could imagine. To her, I was probably just unwanted competition. "So, Peter, tell me about the party in DC. Did Amber show up? She told me she was going."

My insides knotted as I listened to them chat, Peter laughing at something she said. I'd gone from feeling as though I was his prized princess to a third wheel. He hadn't even introduced me as his girlfriend.

One of the roadies stuck his head in the room. "I need everybody to clear out. Band goes on in ten minutes."

Peter kissed Sasha on the cheek and said, "Please tell me you're going to be here after the show. I'd love to catch up some more." He then turned back to me. "Mo should be out in the hall. Ask him to walk you to the side of the stage." He gave me the same peck on the cheek that he'd given to Sasha.

Trying to hold my head high and let things roll off my back, I found Mo and he was happy to escort me, only after we waited for Sasha since she was apparently coming along too.
Great.
She and I said nothing to each other as we followed Mo, the awkwardness hanging in the air like a thick cloud.

We stood waiting in the wings before the band went on, the NYC crowd much louder and more animated than the one in Miami. Sasha was a few feet away from me, applying lipstick while looking in a compact mirror. Inferiority washed over me and I felt as if I was a teenager again, exactly the way it felt to stand next to one of the beautiful, popular girls in the school bathroom. I remembered what it was like to think no boy would ever like me, that no guy would ever even notice I existed. I’d grown out of that stage years ago, but some of those old feelings never completely go away.

The band came up behind us and my heart flip-flopped at the sight of Peter winking, but then it dragged when he waved at Sasha too.

It was a struggle to enjoy the set, my whole body on edge from the mere presence of Sasha.
What is my fucking problem? She's just some random girl he knows. Big deal. He asked me to go on the road with him.
I focused on the rock 'n' roll version of Peter coming to life. I focused on simply refusing to acknowledge my fears and insecurities.
Those things don't help me. I'm stronger than that.
I focused on my need for oxygen when I caught myself holding my breath.

Two hours later, as the band finished their second encore, I was no less agitated. My skin bristled, my neck ached and my stomach had soured.
We just need to get out of here. Then I'll be fine. Fresh air, a night together and it will all be back to the way it was.

Peter dashed off after the set saying he really needed to pee and I made my way back to the dressing room by myself. Sasha had disappeared when the band finished and the pettiest parts of me hoped she'd come down with a horrible case of the stomach flu.

Mo stood guard at the dressing room door and informed a handful of other women and me that we would need to wait ten minutes or so until the band finished changing clothes. I considered asking for an exception, reminding Mo that I was a girlfriend and not a groupie, but I also knew that it would be in my best interest to befriend the crew when I went on tour, so I kept quiet.

After a few minutes, the dressing room door swung open and you could hear the sound of the many voices inside. Elliot grabbed the brunette closest to him and pulled her into the room. Everyone else pressed ahead and I got stuck behind the rest of the pack. I approached, anxious to get Peter and leave as soon as possible. That's when I saw them through the crowded room. Peter and Sasha were sitting next to each other on a couch. Her hand was on his knee. She was talking animatedly and he was smiling and laughing. I froze when I saw the look of utter adoration that crossed his face. He put his arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed her forehead.

Oh God. This is what it's going to be like. Me fighting with other women for him. I can't do this.

I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. For fuck's sake, don't cry.

The radio in the cab played mariachi music of all things. My head felt as if it weighed fifty pounds, as if I were wearing one of those mascot costume heads. I begged the driver to get me home as quickly as possible, but we got stuck at every red light imaginable. Sitting in traffic, the idling taxi rumbling, my phone buzzed with a text.

Where are you?

I stuffed my phone in my bag and struggled for air. I'd done what I'd known I wasn't ready for and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd walked right into it. I should have left it all in Miami where it belonged.
You aren't built for this. You aren't built for love.
The tears rolled down my cheeks and I swept them away with the back of my hand as if that would erase the collateral damage of allowing Peter into my heart.

Unwilling to wait for change, I left the driver with a ridiculous tip. I stole away into my building and flew up the stairs, collapsing against the door once I was inside, sliding all the way to the floor.

My head went between my knees as my lips quivered and shook. My cell phone rang and my heart sank to my stomach when I saw Peter's name on the caller ID.
I can't talk to you. I can't hear you tell me that you have a thing for that woman. I can't hear you tell me you ever did.

My phone beeped, announcing that I had a message. I stared at the screen, debating what to do, when I got a text.

Where are you?  Mo thought he saw you leave.

I chewed on my fingernail.
Fuck. What do I say?
I held my phone to my forehead and it beeped with another text.

Worried. Did you go home?

Max hopped down from my bed and sauntered over to me, his tail waving in the air. He rubbed against my leg, flopped down on the floor and began giving himself a bath. I kicked off my shoes and tucked my knees under my chin.
It's okay. Breathe. You're going to be fine.

Still worried. Please answer. Are you ok?

I cursed my phone. I cursed Peter's boundless capacity for sweetness. This wasn't going to play out as things had with Brad. Peter actually had the balls to tell me to my face or at least over the phone that he'd found someone else. His words haunted me. He'd said he wouldn't let the right girl get away again. He'd never actually said that I was that girl. I'd been stupid to assume that I might be.

Still worried. Coming to your place.

I had to reply.
Don't. This won't work.

Too late. In cab. What does that mean?

It’s me. Not you. Can't deal with the groupie thing.

My phone rang—Peter again. I let it go to voicemail. The real reason that this was so difficult was because I wasn't actually angry with him, or at least not that much. This was all me. I was pissed at myself for letting him get too close, knowing I couldn't handle it. I wasn't ready for this yet.

Please answer. You are freaking me out. Groupie thing?

My heart pounded and I longed for a fast-forward button, just get past this, let him go on his way and leave me alone to try to get over him. I was going to have to start the process of falling out of love. Again. Talking to him wouldn't solve a thing, it would only give me one more memory that would be impossible to erase from my brain.

Tell cab to turn around. You obviously like her.

Too late. I'm here. Who are you talking about???

I got up to my feet and tiptoed to one of the tall windows overlooking the street. I peered down from behind the curtain and there he was, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, phone in one hand, looking directly at my window. He shrugged and his eyes pleaded with me. He pointed at the door and stepped out of sight, ringing the buzzer a second later.

Fuck.
I ran over to the intercom and pressed the button. "It's okay. You don't need to tell me to my face that you want to be with Sasha. I get it."

The intercom buzzed.

Fuck.

The intercom buzzed.

I pressed the button to speak. "Please stop buzzing."

My phone beeped and I pulled it from my pocket.

Not leaving. Sasha is a friend. Nothing more.

I'd heard that one before. That was exactly what Brad had told me about Misty, the woman he ran off with. The woman he married two months ago. Exactly the same excuse, word for word. A friend.
Stop being so flipping paranoid. She's just a friend
. Except that Misty was far more than that.

She looked like more than a friend.

I didn't get an immediate response, and I wondered if I'd convinced him. Thirsty, I dragged my feet into the kitchen for a glass of water. The ice cream called to me from the freezer, but I swore I wasn't going to fall back into old self-destructive patterns. I had to learn from this. I had to continue to grow and be a better person. Gwen had been right about one thing. I was going to be alone for my entire life if I didn't find a way to get over my trust issues. She'd been wrong about the timing, clearly I wasn't ready for a relationship, but her overall idea was a good one. I had to let life happen.

My phone beeped again.

Sasha is Tony's sister. Have known her forever. Not leaving. Will stay all night.

I crinkled my forehead.
His sister?
But she's gorgeous and he's a Neanderthal.
I sighed, in no way comforted by his answer.

Yes. His sister.

I groaned as my stomach sank. How could I be more of an idiot?

See how fucked up I am? Run while you can.

You are not fucked up. You just think you are.

Before I had the chance to correct him, he sent more.

Not running. Staying.

I blew out a noisy exhalation.

Save yourself. Go to Boston.

You can't hide forever. I ate the mint chocolate chip.

I strode back into the kitchen, opened the freezer, and slammed it shut.

I can live without ice cream.

You sure? I'll wait.

I crept back to the window and sure enough, there he stood with his arms crossed, leisurely pacing in front of the building. My heart was unbearably heavy. I didn't have the strength to carry it around anymore. I watched him—knowing I might not ever find a better guy, someone patient, understanding and funny. He'd even told me that he was falling in love with me.

I went to my closet and changed into pajama pants and a tank top. I trudged back to the other side of the loft and flopped onto the bed.
He said he was falling in love with me and I'm messing it up by being a psychotic bitch who isn't capable of getting out of her own head.
My eyes fluttered shut, but the only image I was left with was Peter—his electric smile, those smoldering blue eyes, kissable lips. I could see him laughing, making fun of himself and me, playing with Max, rolling over and saying that he couldn't get enough of me.

My chest ached just thinking of what he'd achieved in a short amount of time. He broke through my exterior, he got to my core, and I let him in there. I wanted him there because something in the universe told me it would be okay this time. Both my head and my heart wanted him, but they had been wrong before. Tragically wrong.

I rolled over and looked at the clock. It was after one a.m. He'd been out there for nearly an hour. I crept back to the window and he was leaning against a lamppost, hands stuffed in his pockets.

I sent him a text.
You're so stubborn.

Told band to go to Boston without me.

What? Why?

Not leaving until we talk.

The sound of a siren approached, the screeching wail getting louder. I watched as Peter turned in the direction of the noise. He covered his ears, lights flashed and a police car zipped down my street, weaving through the few cars in its way. Peter returned to his phone.

Thought you called the cops.

Funny.

I shook my head. There he was, on the sidewalk, now stuck in New York. He'd let the band go to Boston without him. I sent him another text.
If we talk, what would we talk about?

Us. Is there anything else?

Five minutes.

Hurry.

Five minutes.

I buried my head in my hands and walked away from the window. Looking in the mirror on the wall, I saw the same Katie I saw every day—confident and in control on the outside, scared and insecure on the inside. I never used to let anyone other than Gwen see the inside, but I had let Peter see me. He wasn't scared. He didn't pity or dislike the inside. He liked that part of me. He was falling in love with that girl. And that girl had fallen in love with him.

I picked up my phone.

Buzzing you up.

I hurried to the intercom and pressed the button. I opened my apartment door, but the stairwell was silent.
That's weird.
I ran back to the window in my apartment to a sight even worse than Peter and Sasha on the couch.

The sidewalk was deserted. He was gone.