Rock Starred: Love My Way (8 page)

"Every day?" Gwen asked.

I grinned, cradling the phone on my shoulder as I dried some silverware. "A dozen, every day." In all honesty, I'd been wondering if perhaps Peter would eventually send me every lavender rose in the tri-state area.

"Does he say the same thing on the card every time?"

I stifled a laugh. That morning's bouquet came with a note asking if I'd had a chance to stock up on loofahs. "No, he says different things."

"Like what? And why are you giggling?"

"I don't know. It's all sweet and romantic." I stopped short of more, wanting to keep Peter's sentiments to myself. Those notes were our secret, our silly inside jokes, and that made me feel closer to him. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it was something. "Is that good enough?"

"Not really, but you're entitled to be secretive. I have to say I'm impressed that you aren't freaking out yet."

 I pursed my lips. "I think I'm doing really well." The truth was that talking on the phone was easy. Aside from overcoming a few jitters about phone sex, it had been effortless. I was still nervous about what would happen when I saw him again, as eager as I was for it to happen. Would it be as amazing as it had been in Miami or was that just the excitement of something new? Would he still want me when saw me again? The way he wanted me in Miami?

"So what are you going to do for Peter? I mean, in exchange for the flowers, aside from the obvious. Sexual favors and whatnot."

"Cute. Real cute. I actually made a print for him. It's beautiful."

"What's it a picture of?"

"I went through everything from the day I photographed the band. I found one shot of him that's breathtaking." My voice caught in my throat. "I converted it to black and white and layered it with one of my New York photos that he said he liked. I hope he likes it. I sent it to arrive at his hotel tomorrow morning."

"Sounds serious."

"It's just a print." In reality, I'd spent hours on it, most often distracted by the beauty of his features. "I wanted to do something. He's so sweet to me."

"It's not an accusation. You made him a gift. That sounds serious to me." Gwen said something off the line and I could hear another voice in the background. "Katie, I'm sorry. I gotta go. Ted's got dinner ready."

"Back to the normal Sunday routine? That's good."

"We're hanging in there," she said, plainly hedging her answer. "Hey, are we still on for dinner Friday?"

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

 Peter called me late that night after they'd played.

"How was the show?" I asked.

"What can I say? Cleveland rocks. What'd you do all night?"

"Answered email, checked in on Mrs. G downstairs and ate ice cream for dinner."

He groaned. "Sometimes I think you're trying to torture me. I love ice cream for dinner. I do it at all the time at home. It's harder to get away with it on the road. People look at you funny."

I grinned and curled up on the couch, where Max soon joined me. "Not everyone can appreciate the benefits of such a meal."

"What's your favorite flavor? No. Wait. Don't tell me. I want to guess. Hmm..."

I giggled. "Don't overthink it."

"Strawberry. No. Cookie Dough. No, I'm thinking you're more complicated than that. Mocha almond fudge."

"Nice try. Mint chocolate chip."

"Dammit. Bet you can't guess mine."

"Rocky Road," I answered without hesitation. It just seemed like the obvious answer.

"That's cheating. You didn't even stop to think about it."

"Am I right?" I rolled to my back, which annoyed Max, but he quickly settled on my stomach.

"Yes. You're right. It's been my favorite since I was a kid. I used to beg my mom to buy it, but we didn't always have money for things like that."

"Do your parents still live in Chicago?"

"I moved them out to the suburbs a few years ago. I put them through the wringer when I was growing up. I figured it was the least I could do."

"You bought them a house?"

"I did. It's not huge or anything, but it's paid for and my dad has a yard to mess around with. My mom is just happy to have a kitchen where everything works."

"Wow. That's so great," I said, amazed by the scope of his generosity. "My mom still lives in the same house in New Jersey that I grew up in. My dad passed away a few years ago."

"Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"Nope. Only child."

"Me too. Isn't that funny? That we're both only kids? I probably wouldn't have gotten in so much hot water if I'd had a sibling to rat on me."

"Why? What did you do?" I asked, trying to conjure an image of Peter as a teenager—probably even lankier, hair too long, same spellbinding eyes.

"Jesus, you name it. Smoking dope, skipping school, vandalism. Stupid-ass shit. My parents both worked all the time, so I was pretty out of control. It wasn't until a friend loaned me a guitar that things turned around. I took to it right away and the rest is history. I guess you could say that music saved me, more or less."

We were both quiet after his admission. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my own breathing. "I was the same way with the camera. I took a class in high school and I couldn’t stop once I’d started. It was the only thing I wanted to do. My friends all thought I was completely obnoxious, taking pictures like crazy all the time."

"And a star is born."

I shook my head. "You’re way too generous. I’m a photographer, not a star."

"Of course you’re a star. Let me ask you this. What is it about rock stars that you find appealing?"

"Are we talking other rock stars or you? Because it’s not the same thing.”

"I actually prefer to think of myself as a musician, but that’s beside the point. What’s the appeal? Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”

I shrugged. I’d never really thought about it before. The attraction was visceral and in Peter’s case, defied description. "There’s just something sexy about somebody who is able to express things creatively. Just put everything out there. It’s a total turn-on. But that doesn’t apply to everyone. Not every musician is a rock star. At least not a real one, like you."

"Not every photographer is a star either. But you are.”

"You’re sweet, but I’m just doing what comes naturally. I think I’m lucky more than anything. So many people go through life and never find that one thing they’re good at. I don't even want to think about what I would be doing if I hadn't picked up a camera."

"I don't want to think about that either. If it wasn't for that camera, I never would've met you."

I immediately knew the other half of the equation and it was scary to think about. I could’ve gone my whole life and never met Peter. Where would that have left me at that moment? On my own, that’s where. He was the one guy who’d managed to lure me out of my self-imposed exile. "If it wasn't for that guitar, I never would've met you," I said quietly. Goose bumps dotted my arms. "Some people would say that's fate."

"What about you, Katie? Do you think its fate that we met? Because I do."

After a very long workweek, Peter sent his usual dozen flowers on Friday, taking me to a grand total of 144 roses. Some had faded, but there were still vases in the bathroom, next to my bed, on the kitchen counter. I'd brought a dozen to Mrs. G, but then she only wanted to hear about the notes he'd sent with them. I had to give her the G-rated version of most. She was sure I was a fool if I didn't beg Peter for an engagement ring the instant he got to town.

"I'm running out of space," I said when he called before Slump's show in Philadelphia. "I can't guarantee there'll be anywhere to sit when you get here tomorrow." I slipped a silver hoop earring in my other ear, getting ready to go out to dinner with Gwen.

"I'm proving a point. And I don't plan on doing any sitting while I'm there."

I smirked at myself in the bathroom mirror and ran my fingers along the edge of the white granite vanity. "What time are you getting here?" My pulse quickened just realizing how close we were to finally seeing each other. There was excitement accompanied by an edge of uncertainty, as I worried that the reality might not live up to everything I'd built in my head.

"We can't bring the bus into the city until right before sound check. That's at three. I'm trying to get out of it, but Elliot has some new song he wants to work on. Maybe you could come and watch. It would be boring, but we could torture each other with knowing glances."

 My cheeks flushed and I laughed. "Okay. Well, we can talk tomorrow morning and work it out. I should go. Gwen hates it when I'm late." I grabbed my purse and keys, wondering, for what felt like the hundredth time, how I'd been lucky enough to find him.

"Say hi from me. Miss you."

"Miss you too. Have a good show."

I ran down the stairs and hopped in a cab to the restaurant, a little Spanish place with the best sangria, a favorite spot for girls' night. Only a minute or two behind schedule, I'd still arrived after Gwen. She sat at a round table in the center of the dining room, an enormous pitcher filled with red wine and slices of orange and apple before her.

The restaurant was packed and noisy, people chattering and laughing while glasses clinked and waiters in short red jackets and black pants maneuvered through the small space. Gwen's face reflected none of the liveliness surrounding her. She was usually psyched for girls' night, but she looked as though she'd just come from a funeral.

"Hey, honey. What's up?" I asked, looping my bag over the back of the chair and pecking her on the cheek.

She stared at me. "You should pour yourself a drink first. While you're at it, I'll take a refill." She slid a chunky blue glass goblet to my side of the table.

The fruit sloshed into the glass along with the sangria. I took a long sip. "Talk to me. What's going on? You were fine when we talked this afternoon."

"Ted and I broke up."

"Oh my God. Are you serious?"

"He got it in his head that I have something going on with one of the doctors at the hospital. He just wouldn't let it go."

I leaned closer to her. "You don't have something going on with a doctor, do you?"

She bugged her eyes at me. "No."

"How did you leave it with Ted?"

"He's out drinking with his buddies. They're going to a strip club." She kneaded her forehead. "You know, maybe this is for the best. Ted and I have been trying to hold it together and maybe we're wrong for each other."

The waiter arrived, putting a temporary stop to our conversation. I ordered my usual shrimp paella, scrambling for words to help Gwen. Relationship advice wasn't my strong suit. I only knew that this was all wrong. Gwen was the stable one, the girl with the long-term boyfriend, the happily-ever-after type. If Gwen couldn't make it work, how could I ever accomplish the feat?

I reached across the table for her hand. "I don't think it’s true that you aren’t right for each other. You guys are great together. You just have some things to work out."

She snatched a hunk of bread from the basket and ripped it in half. "You know what's really sad? I'm sick of working things out. Like seriously sick of it."

"Oh."

A torrent of emotion flooded out of Gwen—sadness and anger, determination and resignation. It was like watching her go through every stage of grief in a single sitting.

We took our second pitcher of sangria to a spot at the end of the bar after we'd finished eating. Gwen still wanted to talk and the restaurant had reservations to seat.

My phone rang but I let it go to voicemail.

Moments later, it rang a second time.

"Just answer it. I have to pee anyway," Gwen said, getting up from her barstool.

I dug around in my purse and my heart skipped when I saw Peter's name on the caller ID. "Hey," I said. "Don't you have a show to play?"

"We go on in a few minutes. I have a question. Is it okay if I come tonight?"

I blinked several times. "What? Of course it's okay, but I thought you were staying in Philly."

"I called a car service. I wouldn't get to your place until one or two in the morning. I can't wait anymore."

I cradled the phone closer as if his hand was in mine. An unsteady Gwen toddled back from the bathroom. "I can't wait anymore either. I'll wait up for you."

I slid my phone back into my bag, trying to disguise the smile on my face. This was not the time to be happy around Gwen, but she surprised me with a sneaky grin.

"It was Peter wasn't it?" She slapped my leg. Surely my face had given me away. "I knew it. What did he say? When do you get to see him tomorrow?" She leaned closer, the smell of one too many glasses of sangria washing over me. "Are you two even going to leave your apartment while he's here? You're going to spend all of your time fucking, aren't you?"

A breathy laugh escaped my lips. "Yes, it was him. He's coming to the city tonight. He won't get in until late."

The expression on her face softened and she dropped her head to the side, although that could also have been because she was a bit wobbly. "That's great. You two are so cute together. He's clearly smitten."

Smitten? Really?
"I should get you in a cab." I rubbed her arm and put down a five-dollar bill for the bartender. "You're tipsy."

She frowned, jutting out her lower lip. "Yeah. I guess so."

Outside the restaurant, I peered down the street for an available taxi when a thought hit me. "What do I wear for a two a.m. rendezvous at my apartment?"

"With Peter? Uh, nothing."

"Be serious. Isn't that a little presumptuous?" A cab hurtled down the street toward us at record speed.

"Um, no. It's not. Don't mess this up by questioning what's going on. I know you and you doubt every guy. Don't do it." She held up a finger to make her point. “I’m serious. Don’t do it.”

Of course I doubted every guy. It took a lot of work not to. "I don't want to doubt him. Not Peter. I really don't."

I want this for you, Katie. I want you to be happy and fall in love and all that good stuff. You deserve it."

I couldn’t escape the feeling that deserving anything had nothing to do with it. Lots of people deserved love. It didn’t mean they would actually find it. "I want you to be happy, too." I opened the car door for her and bent down as she climbed inside. "Are you okay? I'm worried about you."

Her eyes grew sad. "I'll be okay. I just need to remember that sometimes things don't work out the way we want them to."

Max watched as I nearly wore a channel in the hardwood floor. I looked at the clock again. One forty-three. Where was he? The last text he'd sent said ten minutes and that had been twenty minutes ago.

Max had also observed me an hour earlier as I sifted through pajamas, lingerie, and underwear trying to decide what to wear. I decided against Gwen's nude suggestion, since I could easily see myself poking my head out into the hall to discover the pizza delivery guy had the wrong apartment.

Ultimately I decided on a skinny-strapped white tank and a pair of black silk and lace panties. It was the melding of what I'd once convinced myself I could be, the bold seductress who didn’t think twice about one-night stands, and what I now knew I was, the vulnerable girl terrified to hope that things with Peter were real.

The stage was set in the apartment—lights off, a handful of candles glowing. I'd changed the sheets and fluffed the comforter.

The buzzer sounded and I dashed to the intercom. "Hello?" I asked, as if I didn't know who it was. I covered my mouth when I giggled, bouncing on my toes.

"It's me."

"Come on up." I held the button and opened the door, flitting out into the stairwell to see him, forgetting that I was out there in my undies.

"Hey," he said. He smiled—that undeniable mischievous smile. He none too subtly eyed me, taking the steps two at a time.

I had to stop myself from thundering down the stairs and begging him to take me against the banister. I pressed my finger to my lips. "Shh."

His dark hair was a mess and he looked tired, but his eyes had an unmistakable sparkle. I grabbed his arm when he was within reach and pulled him into my apartment. The door slammed shut behind us.

He dropped his black duffel bag to the floor and planted his warm hands on my hips, sending a sizzle along my spine. "Hi." He pulled me closer. Even his presence smoldered. "How are you?"

"Great." My eyes fluttered as we pressed together. I fought a disconcerting surprising wave of shyness. "Long car ride?"

Peter flipped my hair over my shoulder and his lips wandered to my neck. "Too long." He placed a single kiss against my skin. Any uncertainty I had went up in smoke.

I clapped my hands on either side of his head. Our lips collided, mouths moving forward with eager, probing tongues. I gathered his t-shirt in my hands and pushed it over his head between kisses.

He liberated me from my tank top in a single motion. "Thank God. No bra," he said. He gripped my rib cage and zeroed in on my breasts with his soft lips and talented tongue.

My fingers combed through his hair. Every movement of his mouth and hands made me feel as if I was going to shoot off like a rocket. I became so disoriented that I caught myself thinking there must be a way I could take his pants off with my feet while standing. A gasp left my lips as he licked the taut skin of my nipple. "Bed."

"Yes." His eyes swept across the expanse of my loft while he kicked off his shoes.

I clutched his hand and we hurried, the faint light of candles glowing around the bed. We tumbled onto the mattress with a whoosh and a bounce, both of us laughing. I crawled backwards on my elbows to the center. My hair splayed out as I sank into the fluffy bedding. He knelt next to me and I unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. I yanked them down his hips and ran my hand over the bulging ridge in his boxer briefs. He closed his eyes for a second before he had the good sense to simply collapse next to me and shimmy both garments down his legs. He straddled my hips. I reached for his cock, caressing his smooth, throbbing skin.

He descended on my chest with his luscious lips and wet, open-mouth kisses. He glossed my nipples with his tongue. I squirmed beneath him, wanting absolutely everything I knew he was capable of, all at one time. My fingers raked through his thick hair as I strained to kiss the top of his head.

I raised my knee and rubbed it against his balls, eliciting a groan. He dropped his full weight on me, fervently kissing me while our tongues tangled. His hands cradled my face as I pressed my palms into his muscular back, hitching my foot beneath the perfect curve of his ass, tugging him closer. His cock rode against my pubic bone through the silky fabric of my panties. I tilted my hips to feel his full length, aching for him.

"Peter," I muttered. "I can't wait. I want you inside me."

A grin spread across his face. "Thank God. I thought it was just me who was feeling impatient."

"Here," I said, rolling out from under him and crawling to my bedside table. I reached into the drawer and pulled out a condom as I felt him creep up behind me.

He flattened me against the bed and swept my hair from my neck, kissing it and my shoulder as his cock nestled between us. He traced his fingertips from my ribs to my hipbone, even his most delicate touch sending waves of tingles through me. "Mmm. I like seeing you from this angle." He knelt back, dragging his finger along my spine before he warmed the small of my back with his breath, turning anticipation into sweet agony. His hands curled under the waistband of my panties and he slowly slipped them down my legs. I watched over my shoulder.

I twisted to my back and tore open the package before rolling on the condom. "Come here." I caressed the underside of his arm as he maneuvered between my legs.

Our eyes connected as he stroked my slick folds a few times before gliding inside. I held my breath, grappling with the impossibly good feeling of the moment. He kissed me tenderly. His breaths came quick against my lips. The hurried sound only made me need him more. I bucked my hips and he dictated the speed, pushing me harder and faster. Twisting his torso, he hit the perfect spot, creating friction that sizzled through me.