Page 5 of Legendary Rock Star
And there it was. His background outclassed mine, by tons. I had directors and voice coaches, but they weren’t professional grade with ties to music executives.
It’s why I needed the show to prove myself—and why he didn’t need this as much. I had to win, so I decided to chance the topic and said, “Fair enough. I read something in the news years ago about your parents?”
It had been big news at the time, but I wanted to hear the story directly from his lips.
He sipped his water this time and said, “I divorced them when I was fourteen.”
The food arrived and the waitress pushed a business card at Phoenix. It probably had her number on it, and I wasn’t jealous. I refused to react. Once she left, I scraped the plate as I cut my chicken sandwich and said, “Why?”
I’d never gone a day without my parents. And not having them around when I was a teenager would have made some horrible dates—like when Tyler laughed at me for wearing lace and a long skirt for a dress to the dance—so much worse. They’d talk me back to normal, over popcorn.
But Phoenix said, “They were living on my paycheck and spending it all away.”
“Where did you live after that?”
“The show had staff to watch out for me. My agent, Mark, shuffled me around. But when I had time off, I stayed with an aunt and uncle in Pittsburgh and hung out with my cousins.”
“At least you had a place to go.” My parents wouldn’t take a dime of my money even if I shoved it in their account. I added ketchup to my plate and said, “I’m glad I had it different.”
He fixed his plate too, then he asked, “Your church-going parents saved you?”
“Don’t knock it,” I said and bit into my sandwich. For pub food, this wasn’t bad.
He winked at me and said, “I’m not.”
We both ate our dinner quickly. I hadn’t intended to eat much, but somehow the dinner made me relax and I wasn’t analyzing the notes I’d sung or the guy I was sitting across from.
I was having a good time.
But then a song started to play on the radio. The same one I’d sung on stage. I finished my last bite and I hoped the song was good luck. The judges had liked it. I waited for him to finish eating, and then I reached across the table like I would if he was a friend, and squeezed his hand. I instantly felt a spark as I said, “Tell you what, let’s make a bet.”
I let him go quickly, but I could tell from that sparkle of curiosity in the look he gave me that he liked being dared. Maybe no one else ever dared him. If I survived this slight tremble that still ricocheted through me—not that I’d ever mention that to him—I’d test that theory out again. He leaned closer to me, and asked, “A bet?”
A sing-off. Not that he knew that yet. I scooted closer and ignored the awareness of him in my skin and said, “Yes. If I win, you come to church with me some time.”
He crossed his arms, which made his muscles hard, and then raised his eyebrow. “First you make the bet, and then you set the stakes, Carrigan.”
“You can call me Maggie.”
“Maggie.” He said it like my name meant something to him.
I probably shouldn’t have let myself think that. I pointed toward the microphone on the stage and got back on topic. I said, “Right. We’ll sing right here, on that karaoke machine. Whoever gets the most applause wins.”
“That’s it?” he said, like he’d already won. Then he leaned closer and I smelled his woodsy cologne as he said, “Your stakes are small.”
Well, he did have name recognition. I gave him that. But then, surprise was all in my favor. I crossed my legs under the table and said, “It all depends. What happens if you win?”
He stirred his straw in his iced water and a smile grew on his face when he said, “If I win, I get to kiss you.”
The idea played across my mind like it had when I was a teenager, in love with a poster that I stared at for hours until I fell asleep. I even kissed my hand and pressed it to his picture every time I walked out of my room. But no … he was far too close. The heat in my face couldn’t be ignored. I shook my head, ignored the tingle on my lips, and said, “Nope, that’s not an option. I’m saving myself.”
His gaze narrowed and he stared at me. Luckily, I was still wearing layers of clothes, but it didn’t feel like enough to stop his penetrating gaze. He asked, “For what?”
The last thing he’d know was the truth. Music was my rebellion and I honestly believed that someday the right guy would show up. The one I’d been saving myself for. I said, “For … not a bar bet. Name something else.”
He sat back and my heart drummed in time with the rhythm he tapped lightly on his cheek. If he called me a virgin, I might melt, and that wasn’t good. Finally he nodded and said, “Fair enough. If I win, you sing and record a duet with me.”
Singing a song with him might be fun, and a small dream come true. So I jumped right to what I needed to know, “Where and when?”
