Page 13 of The Librarian and the Rock Star

“Yes,” I said, raising my eyebrow. “I’m a wild woman.”

He laughed, and examined the menu very carefully. When she came back with our drinks, I ordered the omelet with spinach and mushrooms, and Jack requested a cheeseburger and Caesar salad.

“No fries?” I said.

He looked sheepish. “I haven’t had anything green today. I’m not that strict, but we’re supposed to have some nutrients once in a while, aren’t we?”

I nodded. “I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere, yes.”

We sipped our drinks and gazed at it at each other flirtatiously, just like 3,242 other couples were likely doing right this second all across the city.

Strange little thoughts kept popping into my head. How many girls would have sold their souls to be in my position right now, having drinks with the famous Jack Vegas? How many girls have his photo as their desktop background, or a poster on the wall? How many other girls have dreamt of him? It was bizarre to think about.

Yet here he was, casually drinking a beer, spending his precious free time with a girl he might have nothing in common with.

I took a sip of my wine and thought about the random connections that sew our lives together. If I had ignored Sherrie’s phone call, I would never have run into Jack a second time. If I had stuck with my usual routine and stayed at work for lunch, I wouldn’t have met him the first time.

Our server set our plates in front of us. “Holler if you need anything else.”

Jack saw me smiling to myself, and gave me a strange look. “Something funny with your omelet?

I shook my head. “Just replaying a very strange week.”

“So what’s it like working in a library?” Jack said. “Fairly quiet, I would think?”

I rolled my eyes. “You would be shocked. Human beings bring drama into every situation. Just scheduling people’s shifts so that they don’t freak out is a weekly chore.”

“That sucks. But most of the job is probably okay?”

“There are a lot of meetings. Coordinating, organizing, and headaches. Sometimes there’s a lot of information that needs to be sorted out.”

“You must really love new information,” Jack said through bites of his burger. “New books, magazines, websites. There’s so much coming at us all the time.”

“Just gathering the information isn’t enough. I feel like I need to hunt for it.”

He nodded, pondering. “The hunter-gatherer archetype runs deep,” he said. I must have given him a slightly surprised look, as he added, “I did some research about it when I was writing our song, ‘Heart Hunter’. It’s about those guys who are never satisfied with one woman, it’s always about finding the next one, the next one, hunting something new.” Watching his eyes, I saw a flash of anger.

“You genuinely hate guys like that,” I said softly. “That’s kind of interesting, given your position.”

“My position?”

“Well, yeah. It’s a common assumption that some rock stars have groupies left and right. Which I sort of understand. I mean, it must be hard to say ‘no thank you’ to endless women throwing themselves at you.”

“It’s not hard at all,” he said firmly. “It actually creeps me out when I see the other guys go through phases of endless girlfriends, and the occasional groupie or one night stand situation.” He stared off into space for a second, processing. “I just don’t know how anyone could have good sex without a great connection. Does that make sense? And what the hell is the point of having bad sex?”

I suddenly blushed extremely hard, my cheeks feeling as if they were glowing orange. “Dammit,” he said. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m just embarrassed at what I went through in my last relationship.” I took a deep breath then quickly blurted, “I really let myself get walked on. I changed too much of my life and myself for him, and for what? Lousy sex once a week, and feeling incredibly shitty about myself all the time.” I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling tears on the horizon but forcing them down. “We learn something through every relationship. I have learned that compromise has to be vaguely even. Not just me.” I smiled up at him and tried to keep the sadness out of my eyes.

“I’m so sorry that you went through that,” he whispered. He tilted my chin up to his, and left his hand on the side of my face. “I can’t believe anyone would treat you like that. You are… Well, look at you. An angel. Otherworldly. You’re an eleven out of ten.”

r /> I could feel myself blushing for an entirely different reason now. “Wait,” I grinned. “Don’t you musicians have a joke about amplifiers that turn to eleven or something like that?”

His eyes widened and he suddenly let me go to dig in his pocket for a tiny notebook and a pen. Scribbling madly, he filled two pages before putting the book away. I sipped my wine, in no hurry.

“Thank you for that,” he said. “Something just clicked. There’s a song in there.”

“Always happy to help,” I said.

---