Page 56 of Saving the Rockstar

And with that, the play came to an end, Dylan and Mason taking a bow as Jared and I clapped and cheered, our laughter ringing out through the villa like a joyous chorus.

"That was certainly something," I said, my voice still shaking with laughter. "But I'm afraid even your play can't solve the problems between Jared and I, Dylan. It's just too complicated, too messy for a simple happily ever after."

Dylan gasped, his hand flying to his chest in a gesture of outrage.

"How dare you!" he cried, his eyes narrowing in accusation. "My play was a work of art, a masterpiece of the highest order. If it didn't work, it's only because Mason here couldn't deliver his lines with the proper emotion and conviction."

Mason rolled his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest in a gesture of defiance.

"Oh, please," he scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "As if anyone could have made those ridiculous lines soundconvincing. I mean, seriously, Dylan?'Your eyes are like two pools of molten chocolate'? Who even talks like that?"

Dylan huffed, his cheeks flushing with indignation. "It was supposed to be a metaphor."

"More like a way of expressing your complete lack of writing talent," Mason retorted, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk. "Honestly, I've heard better pickup lines from a drunken frat boy at a bar."

Dylan gasped, his hand clutching at his heart as if he'd been physically wounded.

"You take that back!" he cried, his voice rising to a shrill pitch. "I'll have you know that I am a master of the written word, a poet of the highest caliber. Well, maybe if you had put a little more effort into it, Asher and Jared would be making out by now. I mean, seriously, Mason, have you ever even taken an acting class? Because based on that performance, I'd say you have the emotional range of a turnip."

"Oh, like you're one to talk!" Mason scoffed, his eyes rolling skyward. "You were so over-the-top, I half expected you to start levitating off the ground."

"At least I committed to the role!" Dylan cried, his voice rising to a near-shout. "At least I put my heart and soul into it. You just stood there like a block of wood, reciting your lines like a robot."

"Well, excuse me for not wanting to make a complete fool of myself in front of our friends," Mason retorted, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Some of us have a little thing called dignity, Dylan. Maybe you should try it sometime."

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing, the screen flashing with Dylan's name and number. Igroaned, rolling over and burying my face in the pillow, trying to block out the insistent chirping of the ringtone.

But Dylan, it seemed, was not to be deterred. After the fifth ring, I gave up, snatching the phone off the nightstand and jabbing the answer button with a little more force than necessary.

"What?" I growled, my voice rough with sleep and irritation.

"Asher!" Dylan's voice was high and frantic, his words tumbling out in a breathless rush. "Thank God you answered. I need you to come to my hotel room right away. It's an emergency!"

I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice tight with fear. "Are you hurt? What's going on?"

"Just come," Dylan said, his voice breaking on a sob. "Please, Ash."

And then he hung up, leaving my mind reeling with confusion and dread. I threw on some clothes and raced out the door, my feet pounding against the pavement as I ran towards Dylan's hotel.

But when I burst through the door of his room, my chest heaving and my eyes wild with panic, I found myself face to face not with disaster or tragedy, but with Jared and Mason.

"What going on?" I asked, my voice shaking with a combination of relief and anger. "Where's Dylan? Is he okay?"

As if on cue, Dylan emerged from the bathroom, his face a mask of anguish and despair.

"Oh, Asher," he moaned, his hand clutching at his chest. "It's terrible. Just terrible. I don't know how I'm going to go on."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"What's terrible?" I asked, my voice rising with each word. "What the hell is going on, Dylan? You said it was an emergency!"

Dylan nodded, his bottom lip trembling as he held up a small, plastic object for me to see.

"It is," he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion. "My lucky guitar pick. It's gone. I can't find it anywhere."

I blinked, my mind struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation.

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