Page 46 of Dead Rockstar

I stalked off back to the motel room, hoping he'd come after me, stop me, kiss me. Anything. But he didn't follow. Instead, I fell asleep wrapped up in the stiff, scratchy motel sheets, trying to swallow my angry tears. When Phillip woke me some time later, sliding in beside me, his damp hair brushing against my face, I rolled over on my side and put my back to him.

Eleven

We got into Boston around noon the next day and immediately stopped for lunch. I insisted; Phillip kept saying he'd spent enough of my money, but I reminded him that we were very near the home stretch now and besides, I was starving. Finding a restaurant that served vegan fare seemed impossible since I didn't know my way around town and neither did Phillip, not anymore, so we stopped at a Philly Cheesesteak place and I ordered two large fries, a water and an apple pie and hoped none of it was cooked in beef fat. I was silent, still sullen about the night before, as he went to the counter and checked with the cook, but secretly, I was touched, despite my sour mood.

I kept busy, drowning my fries in sriracha, trying to ignore the looks Phillip kept giving me. He’d been trying to make me laugh, cracking jokes – he said there was a pasture nearby with some high grass, should I feel like a salad - but I wasn't in the mood. We hadn't said much since the night before when we'd argued out by the pool. I had gotten up early, visited the motel lobby, and poured us two cups of scalding, watery coffee and brought them back to the room as an olive branch. He was just sitting up in bed when I got back, his black hair a halo around his face, the sheets bunched up around him, shirtless and breathtaking. I tried not to look.

I handed him his coffee, and with an I mean business look, I'd told him, “I thought about what you said, but I've decided I'm coming with you anyway. And I don't want to argue about it. It's my decision. My days of doing whatever a man tells me are over.”

I had expected him to protest, but instead he'd just nodded, looking equal parts defeated and relieved. He'd sipped his coffee in silence, watching me as I rummaged through my bag looking for something to wear. If all went well, I'd be meeting Guthrie and who knew who else, and my faded old band t-shirts and jeans wouldn't cut it. I'd retreated to the bathroom and come out wearing a long, pencil thin black skirt, black boots and a green flowing top that I hoped didn't show too much cleavage. It had been a long time since I dressed up. As I was doing my makeup in the tiny mirror, Phillip had come up behind me, still shirtless, and wrapped his arms around my waist. He leaned down – he had to – and rested his head on my shoulder.

“I'm glad you're coming with me,” he said in his low voice. “And I don't like arguing with you. It's best for us both if we're not at odds, don't you think? Especially since we're heading into the danger zone.”

“I agree.” I finished applying my eyeliner and turned to face him, his hands still resting on my middle.

“You look beautiful,” he said, smiling at me. “Not that you didn't before, but you clean up nice. I like the dark eye makeup.”

“If I'm gonna be a witch, I guess I'd better look the part,” I joked.

We had both kind of swayed there for a minute. Then he'd pulled back a little reluctantly. “I'll go get a shower and get dressed, then,” he said. “So we can hit the road.” I had watched his retreating back as he went into the bathroom, wishing I hadn't been in such a rush to dress. I was tempted to follow him into the shower and have my way with him. My body ached for him, longed for his touch, and I could tell by the way his eyes burned when he looked at me that he felt the same. We'd had so many false starts. But every time something almost happened, something else happened to ruin it. Maybe the two of us just weren't meant to be. After all, who did I think I was, trying to get sexy with Phillip Deville? He was famous, gorgeous, six foot five of pure trouble. And who was I, but some lowly stupid librarian living in a singlewide in bumfuck? I didn't relish the thought of being some discarded groupie who Phillip tired of and sent packing after one hot night. But then again… I thought of his huge, muscular arms, his strong, lean legs and the delicate hair on his chest and taut stomach and shivered. Whatever happened afterward, it would be worth it just to have him one time.

I'd stood in front of the bathroom door for a good five minutes, listening to the water run, deliberating. Should I slide into the shower with him and make up? But what if everything had changed now that I'd refused to release him and shut down his attempts to protect me? Despite the lust in those dark eyes of his, even a small chance that I'd be rejected made me hesitate. If he turned me down, I'd die a thousand deaths.

So now here we were, at a diner in Boston, me shoveling too-salty fries into my face and trying not to look at the perfect specimen of man in front of me - those inky black lashes, the strong, almost square jaw, his impossibly white teeth, his chiseled nose. Trying not to undress him with my eyes or think any illicit thought that he might pick up. He had ordered coffee and a burger, and he was sipping the coffee slowly, savoring it, his eyes closed. He felt me watching, and opened his eyes, giving me a slow smile.

“You had no way of knowing, but picking this place was kind of funny,” he said, sitting his cup down, wrapping his huge hands around it, absorbing the warmth. “I used to come here all the time when I was a teenager. Before I joined the band and lit out of town.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I even worked here one summer. They have the best coffee in town.”

“You don't usually hear that about diners.” Our local Waffle House served sludge that might as well be dirty motor oil.

“They have one of those old school machines, like a huge monster of a coffee maker, it's all steel.” He took another sip. “They just use Maxwell House coffee, like the cheapest of the cheap, but that machine makes it just right.”

“The food looks pretty good,” I said magnanimously, gesturing to his burger, which was toasty with butter.

“Best in town,” he agreed, holding out his plate. “Want a bite?”

“Nope,” I groaned, but gave him a wink to show I wasn't miffed. “Just because you crave something occasionally doesn't mean you have to give in.”

“That’s true. But then, sometimes you should.” His lips curled into a huge smile before he took another long sip of coffee, his eyes boring into mine over the rim of the cup. My heart skipped in my chest. Fuck. I should have followed him into the shower. “Sometimes you should just give in to the impulse.”

“Phillip,” I warned, feeling my face warm.

His smile deepened as he put down his cup. “Hindsight is 20/20.”

“Get out of my head, you loser.” I gave him my best glare, determined not to let my cheeks flush, and wiped my hands on a napkin. “Where to first?” If I didn't change the subject fast, we might end up back at the motel.

“You're no fun,” he said in a mock pout, picking his cup back up. “First, I'm going to go get my money, if it's still there. And I'm handing you a huge wad of it right off the bat, so find somewhere to put it in that giant bag of yours.”

Every time he mentioned that damn money it hurt my feelings, even though it shouldn't. He'd told me right from the beginning that he wanted to pay me back, and I'd agreed. But it felt wrong to me; after all, I was the reason he was here. And I was happy to come with him on this journey, to help him make heads or tails of what to do now, and I didn't need to be paid to do it. But I knew his pride and honor would never let up, and he wouldn't rest until he'd given me my money back. I took a sip of my water. “Okay.”

“There's a park across from my old place, or there was,” he said. “If it's still there, you could hang out for a while, if you don't mind, while I get the money. Probably best for you to be somewhere else while I do it. I have no idea who’s living in the house now, and it'll be risky enough with just me. Two of us would be a really bad idea.”

“Had you considered that someone from your family might still be living there?” I asked.

He didn't answer, but his look showed me that he had. Of course. He'd probably thought of nothing else. I imagined the wondering, the worry, had probably eaten him up with nerves. He took another long sip of his coffee and gestured to the waitress for another one. His face was sad, suddenly, and very tired. I didn't think he had gotten much sleep the past few nights. Whether it was from worry, or something else, I didn't know and was afraid to ask. Not that he'd answer me truthfully anyway. He had a very stubborn and annoying need to keep me “safe.” Something I planned to bring up to him again once all this madness was over - if he was in my life after that.

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