Founded on Goodbye: A Rockstar Romance

by Kat Singleton

  Now that love and passion is long gone. Left in its wake is nothing but desolate indifference.

  But damn if I can look at anything but her body in the middle of the dance floor. She looks so small in the middle of the studio. All the other dancers line the walls, leaving so much empty space for her to move in.

  My brief moment of looking away from her solidifies that every other pair of eyes in the room is also on her.

  It’s hard to look anywhere else but at her. She brings the lyrics to life. We’re all entranced with how she uses every inch of the dance floor before her to her advantage.

  Nora leaps into the air at the same moment the chorus builds up. As soon as her feet touch the floor again, she uses the momentum to spin her body around multiple times in perfect time with the crescendo of the song.

  I can’t look away as she folds her body to the floor, using her body to tell a story out of every lyric I wrote.

  I forget how each and every one of the lyrics she tells the story to was written about my ex, the girl who broke my heart. The girl who ruined me for everyone else. Taylor is only a distant memory as I watch Nora rewrite every lyric in my head, with only her in mind now.

  Shaking my head, I rid the thought as quick as it had come.

  She’s just fucking dancing. Her being able to take my lyrics and attach a story to them with her body isn’t anything special. Any dancer in this room can do that. And I need to get that straight in my mind—right fucking now.

  She just caught me at a weak moment earlier, and for some reason now, she’s taking up a small space in my head when she shouldn’t be. She’s nothing. And I’m angry at myself for still wanting her on tour with me.

  Her body lifts from the ground slowly, showcasing her flexibility as she extends her leg into the air. The song is about to end—thank fuck. I don’t even wait to see how she decides to end her solo. I’ve seen enough as it is.

  The screeching of my chair against the floor harmonizes with the ending chords of the song. Standing up and angling my body toward the doors, I feel the pressure of all the eyes previously on her now at my back.

  “Nash, sit back down,” Monica hisses, her finger pointing at my vacated chair.

  “Why, Monica?” I laugh over my shoulder. “I didn’t want to fucking be here in the first place. Plus—” I look at Nora in the middle of the floor, her chest heaving from deep breaths, an unreadable look on her face. We keep direct eye contact with my next words. “No one has impressed me.”

  “We still have more than half the list to go through!” Monica whispers the words out of the corner of her mouth, keeping a tight smile on her face.

  Judging by the look on her face, she’s anything but happy underneath that fake smile she’s completely seething through. And once again, her anger is directed right at me.

  Surprise, surprise.

  Deciding to ignore her, I head toward the door. Coming here was a mistake. All the eyes on me make my skin itch. I hate that they’ve likely just seen a reaction out of me after watching Nora dance.

  Hopefully they all thought I hated it.

  But the truth is, that no one who leaps around like a damn ballerina belongs on my tour.

  What I pray these people didn’t see was that I could barely look away from her; that watching her take my lyrics and turn them into something completely different opened up a part of me I wanted to stay closed for the rest of my life.

  I’ve known this Nora girl for upwards of an hour, and somehow she’s already clawing at parts of me that have been dead for years. What’s worse is that I don’t think she’s even trying to do it.

  More often than not, women throw themselves at me. They’re putty in my hands. The women around me are always acting a part. I haven’t even known Nora for a full day, but the interaction with her seemed real. Too real.

  And the fact that she can fucking dance like that has me seeing red.

  I can’t have her on my tour.

  I can’t be in such close proximity with her.

  I want absolutely nothing to do with her.

  But also, I want a front row seat to every single time she ever moves her body like that.

  I want to watch her take words that have poured out from my heart, my soul, and put her own twist on them.

  The need is new for me, and quite frankly, it’s uncomfortable. I hate it.

  I’m so damn lonely recently that I’m becoming all too soft for the first woman I’ve had a genuine interaction with.

  It’s fucking pathetic.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I tell my driver to meet me in the back of the studio. Sebastian and Matt both wait for me outside the doors, and I fall in line behind them on the way to the back door.

  As I climb into the back of the SUV, lucky to have somehow avoided the frenzy of fans, I scroll through my recent messages.

  As I scroll, I find three missed texts from my younger brother, Aiden. I make a mental note to call him when I get the chance. At nineteen, he’s having the time of his life in college. From the stories he tells me, I’m not sure how much learning he’s actually doing. It sounds like he’s majoring in frat parties and sorority girls. I quickly fire off a text to him, letting him know I’ll call him later.

  Thumbing through the rest of my messages, I decide to text the model I met at an award show a few weeks ago. We make plans for later tonight. I don’t care where we go. The paparazzi can swarm the club I take her to for all I care. I just need to get my mind off the weird experience that was the last hour of my life.

  One thing is for sure: Nora will be the last thing on my mind tonight. You can sure as hell count on that.

  “Cut the music!” Derrick shouts, falling into a cheap folding chair on the outskirts of the room.

  Suddenly the large space is eerily silent as we all collect our breaths—me and the fifteen other dancers that were selected for Nash’s tour included.

  “Did he hate it?” Ziggy asks nervously next to me.

  I shrug, using the back of my hand to wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. My chest heaves as my lungs try to take in as much air as possible during the long-awaited break.

  We’re only a week into rehearsals for the tour and there isn’t a muscle on my body that isn’t sore from all the stress I’ve been putting on it. I thought I was in shape before rehearsals began, but it turns out I was wrong.

  Dancing almost every day and still keeping up with strength and cardio workouts don’t hold a candle to seven-hour rehearsal days. I’m utterly exhausted, but in the most exhilarating way.

  The energy in the room after we learned all the choreography to the first song they taught us was unreal. I’ll be dancing in a majority of the setlist, only sitting out for five of the songs.

  Running a hand through his dreads, Derrick takes a moment to stare at all of us. I don’t know if we were so bad that we’ve left him speechless, or if he’s just trying to come up with some encouraging words.

  It’s been a long rehearsal day. It’s been a long week—period. Nash will be joining us here soon to learn his own choreography, and Derrick wants the songs we’ve already learned to be damn near perfect for him. Finally, the man proves we didn’t render him speechless.

  “Here For a Good Time is the opening of every single concert,” he says quietly. “We need high energy. You guys need to give it your damn all. We’re running it again from the top. Get in formation.”

  It only takes a few seconds for all of us to get to our starting marks before we’re ready to begin. Derrick has proven to be super chill, most of the time, but he doesn’t do well when we linger for too long.

  The beat starts thumping out of the speakers, and then the coordinated chaos follows. The opening number is complicated. There are about two minutes that we’re all off stage, a countdown of sorts where Nash will have a voice-over before the music starts. Then, Nash will be on stage alone for a small amount of time before we all come out.

  So far, we’ve been practicing from
the spots we’ll first take once we’re all out there, waiting to go through all of it until dress rehearsals.

  My body moves to the bass as I give everything I’ve got to the number. Listing off the count in my head, I know I’m hitting every eight-count. While I skip across the floor, I place my hand in Ziggy’s.

  Ziggy and I, along with three other pairs of dancers, execute the portion of the song that’s a mix between the salsa and hip hop. Ziggy spins me around, catching me when I fall into him. He slides, pulling my body along with him. There are three more beats before his hands find my hips and we perform the rest of our part together.

  Halfway through the song, the girls skip to the back of the room. At the front, all the guys stand in a ‘V’ formation—the tip missing where Nash will stand—as they jump and kick to the beat of the song.

  The girls are placed in the back, and from there, we mimic the same moves as the guys up front. Except when they grab each other’s shoulders and sway back and forth to the beat, we continue the same movements prior. Toward the end of the song, we run back to what will be the front of the stage. Joining with our partners one last time, we execute one final salsa move before dropping down in front of our partner at the exact time the beat ends.

  A slight turn of my head as we wait for Derrick’s thoughts alerts me that at some point in the song, Monica walked in. Our gazes lock and I can’t tell if she’s pleased or not with my performance.

  I also never found out if any of the other girls chosen for the tour were given the same proposition as I was. Quite frankly, I don’t care. All the girls seem nice, and I don’t want to question their morals like I do my own each night.

  “Much better! That’s the kind of energy I’m talking about.” Derrick claps and looks over to Lizzie, the other choreographer.

  She nods her head in agreement, joining in on the clapping.

  “Now let’s do it again,” Derrick instructs, already messing with the speaker system to replay the song.

  We perform the song three more times, all up to Derrick’s liking, before the day is finally called.

  I have a light sheen of sweat on my arms and legs, proof that I was giving the rehearsal my all. Walking over to my belongings, I confirm that no matter how out of breath Ziggy is, he never stops talking.

  “Any plans tonight?” he asks, pulling a rag out of his backpack and wiping his forehead.

  I squat down, pulling my water bottle from the side pocket of my backpack. “Not really,” I answer, taking a moment to gulp down some water. After I wipe the extra water off my lips, I continue. “My plans include a nice hot bath and hopefully twelve hours of sleep. You?”

  He smirks. “Oh, ya know, just a hot date.”

  Laughing, I shake my head at him. “I swear, you’re the energizer bunny. The last thing on my mind during this tour will be dating. I barely have time to feed myself and get a decent amount of sleep to add a boyfriend into the mix.”

  “Ohhh, but they’re so fun!” he teases, shouldering his backpack and wagging his eyebrows.

  I’m about to answer him when the distinct sound of heels hitting against the floor overrides the noise of any small conversation happening.

  “Nora!” Monica says, stopping in front of me and Ziggy. She gives him a brief sideways glare, motioning her head to the door in a somewhat-nice way (for her, anyway) to tell him to get lost.

  “I’ll see ya later,” Ziggy says, offering me a curious glance over his shoulder before leaving the room.

  Monica examines me from head to toe. As she crosses her arms over her chest, her handbag dangles between us, perfectly balanced on her forearm. She scrunches her nose, taking a noticeable step away from me. “You’re disgustingly sweaty.”

  Looking down at myself, I shrug. “That’s what all day rehearsals will do.”

  She purses her lips in response, not acknowledging the state I’m in any further. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?” I wipe the hair from my face, wondering what else she could want from me.

  “Not here. Follow.”

  Her heels get back to clacking and I have to quickly grab my backpack from the ground so I don’t lose her. My short legs have to up their usual pace to keep up with her. For someone wearing stilettos, she sure is quick.

  The door almost slams me in the face when I follow her out, as Monica doesn’t bother to keep the door open for me.

  I follow her down the near-empty hallway before she brings me into a small room. It reminds me of the office I first met Nash in a week ago, even though it’s a different studio.

  Luckily, there’s a small table in here with four chairs surrounding it. Monica takes one, tapping her fingernails against the wood of the table until I take my own seat.

  “Are you ready to get started with Nash?” she asks, her back ramrod straight in her chair.

  Rubbing my thumb and middle finger together, I look at her nervously. “Of course,” I finally spit out, my pulse picking up speed.

  “Good. He’s going to be joining all of you in rehearsals soon. Your job will really begin, then.”

  I nod, trying to fully process what that might mean.

  This last week, I’ve been able to push why I’m really on this tour to the back of mind. I’ve been able to enjoy the excitement with the other dancers of making the cut. Nash has been in a dark corner of my mind, though. Now it appears the luxury of forgetting what I’ve agreed to has come and gone.

  “There are a lot of people counting on you, Nora. Remember that.”

  After taking in a deep breath, I say, “I know. I’ll try my best, I promise.”

  Monica lets out a shrill laugh, shaking her head at me. “A little bit of advice for you: don’t make promises you can’t keep. You clearly haven’t met Nash if you think you could promise this egregious plan will work. Nash is a bit…prickly these days.”

  I don’t point out that “prickly” would be the perfect adjective I’d use to describe her.

  My mouth stays snapped shut for a few moments while my mind races with her words.

  It isn’t that I think the plan will work—I actually firmly believe it won’t—but I hate letting people down, so I mean it when I say I’ll try my best.

  “Why is he prickly?” I’m shocked the question leaves my mouth, but there’s nothing I can do to take it back. Judging by the look on Monica’s face, she wasn’t quite expecting the question either.

  “You’re asking the wrong questions,” she answers, beginning to tap her nails once again.

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  Grabbing her handbag from one of the empty chairs, she pulls her phone out. “I have to jet to a meeting. Good luck next week. You’ll need it.”

  The meeting ends just as soon as it began, and the whole way home I wonder what the hell I was thinking when I signed up to do this.

  I’m in the midst of eating a triple chocolate layer cake in my dream when an incessant poking persists at my face.

  Groaning, I pull my blanket over my face and roll away from whatever is poking at me.

  “Nora,” Riley hisses. “Don’t you have rehearsals today?”

  My eyes pop open. Instantaneously, I’m sitting up in bed and searching for my phone.

  “Jesus!” she shrieks, jumping back. “I didn’t think someone that was fast asleep two seconds ago could move that fast.”

  “No, no, no, no,” I plead, my hands feeling around my bed in hopes of finding my phone.

  “Looking for this?” Riley smiles, wiggling my phone in her hands.

  She’s already dressed for the day in a pair of form-fitting dress pants and a sleeveless blouse. I, on the other hand, am pretty sure my old dance company T-shirt has a wet spot from my own drool.

  Snagging my phone from her hand, my stomach drops when I see the time. “Shit! I’m supposed to be at rehearsals in less than an hour.”

  I dart across my small bedroom and pull open a dresser drawer to find a pair of leggings. My hands are digging aro
und in the drawer when she starts talking again.

  “Well, I figured. Hence why I could be late to my job because I took the time to wake your lazy ass up.” Riley smiles again, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Shut up,” I mumble as I strip out of my sleep shorts before pulling on my favorite pair of leggings. “This is all your fault to begin with. I’m never late. But somehow you convinced me to go out last night when I was this close,” I hold up my fingers, a small amount of space between my thumb and index finger, “to going to bed at nine.”

  Riley makes her way out of my bedroom, yelling at me as she makes her way into the hallway. “Please, Nora. No one our age should be going to bed at nine. Plus, you didn’t seem to mind the late night when you ordered that glass of wine.”

  I’m too busy pulling on a sports bra supportive enough to withstand rehearsals to respond to her.

  The truth is, I was trying to ease my nerves of this being the first tour rehearsal where Nash would be there. That glass of wine sounded like a great way to take my mind off seeing him again. Now I’m full of regrets as I fight this killer headache.

  I somehow manage to wash my face and get my hair brushed in record time. I’m vigorously brushing my teeth when a text from Ziggy pops up on my phone.

  Ziggy: Stopping to get coffee. Late night. ;) Want any?

  The toothbrush rests against my cheek as my fingers glide over my screen.

  Nora: You’re my hero! My usual, please. In the biggest size they offer.

  Ziggy: All that sugar is going to kill you one day.

  Ignoring him, I spit out the minty taste and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I don’t have any extra time to put makeup on, so the only thing on my face is my tinted moisturizer.

  After flipping off the light to my bathroom, I grab my dance bag off the chair in the corner of my room. I fill up my water bottle quickly and am out the door shortly after.

  Lucky for me, karma is in fact on my side today. Somehow there’s little to no traffic on my way to the studio, and I’m pushing the doors open to the building with five minutes to spare.

  I find Ziggy stretching in a corner of the room, two coffees sitting next to his bag.