Page 65 of The Librarian and the Rock Star

I sort of adored that he was instantly on my side without even knowing any real details. “It’s fine that she doesn’t like me. But to call me a groupie so dismissively. Wow. I just don’t know what to do with that.”

Jack dropped my phone into my purse and handed me my drink. “You know how alcohol never fixes any problems?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sometimes a little bit can turn down severe irritation. Let’s give it a try. For scientific purposes.”

I laughed, and we clinked glasses. After a few sips, I had to admit that I did indeed feel a tiny bit better. “What is this?”

“I actually don’t know. The bartender and his friend were excited about something they just invented, so I ordered two.” His instinct to take care of others sometimes bordered on pushy, I had noticed, like insisting I eat when I wasn’t really hungry. But it obviously came from a place of caring.

And if I cared, I was going to have to fess up about something.

“Speaking of irritation, have a big sip of that booze. I have to tell you about Paul’s blog.” I held out the screenshot of Paul’s online rant about getting rid of the losers who would be playing to an empty venue.

“Dammit,” Jack snarled. “Wait – when did you find this?”

“On the plane when you were asleep.”

“Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“You were about to do an important interview. I thought it could wait.”

He looked at me quite strangely. “I find it very odd when people tiptoe around me.”

“Not tiptoeing, just deferring until a more reasonable time, which was just a few hours away.” He seemed lost in thought, then something popped into my head. “Wait – Sherrie said that she saw photos of us. Why were there photos of me online?”

Jack shrugged. “We were taking tons of photos with fans, and they likely tagged the band.” I shuddered. “I’m sure they were lovely photos,” Jack said quickly. “Want me to check?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t like photos of myself. And I can’t deal with thinking about shots of me online that I didn’t okay.”

“Well,” Jack said, obviously trying to calm me down, “There are a lot of photos we can’t control. Think about tourists walking around taking photos in Toronto. I bet you’re in the background of people’s shots every time you’re downtown, and you don’t even think about it.”

“I guess.” Sipping my cocktail, I tried to put it out of my mind. “Wow, this is actually fabulous.” I looked around. “What’s the name of this bar?”

Jack laughed. “The Dripping Bucket.”

I rolled my eyes. “Classy.”

He shrugged. “I’ve heard it’s got a reputation with the local writers and artists.”

“The Bohemian decor would reinforce that, I’m sure.”

“Are you okay now?” He watched my eyes carefully as if they would be more accurate than my words. It’s almost unnerving how well he seemed to know me.

“Yes. I don’t know

why being called a groupie made me that angry. That’s twice today, and both from people I hate, so it shouldn’t matter.”

“Wait, who was the other person?”

Dammit. I hadn’t decided whether to tell him about that, but it was too late now. “Paul called me at the lounge to check on the interview, and berate me for apparently stalking you like a star-struck groupie.”

“And when were you going to tell me about that?” he asked softly, his jaw tight.

“Um, I was picking my moment?”

“I know I’m a spazz,” he said sadly, “But I’m not a child. I need to know the truth of things as they happen.”

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