I Hate You Rock Stars
Page 10
Chapter 31
There were many things that Jules had planned to say when he saw Emma again: that he loved her; that he was a douchebag, and that it didn’t matter what he did because he was never going to be able to forget her, but when he saw her standing in the airport, wedged between scrambling tourists, her eyes wide like she’d just woken up from a nightmare, all the careful speeches that Jules had prepared escaped him. There was nothing more natural, or essential, than swinging her up into his arms and kissing her.
His lips closed around her soft ones, which quivered before sinking into his. Emma’s hands went clutched the shoulders of his jacket, his neck, anything, to pull him closer and support her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
Jules rejoiced. He felt alive again. Alive and in the arms of the person he loved more than anything he could imagine. more than any fantasy girl he could make up. Jules honestly didn’t think they would ever stop kissing. Why would they? What else would they possibly need than this? So, it was a shock to him when he was broken from his haze by the sound of flashes going off around them.
Reluctantly, he broke his lips from hers and looked around them. A small, but rapidly growing crowd had gathered, pulling out disposable cameras and cell phones to record the sudden celebrity peep show that had popped up in front of them. He looked back at Emma whose legs were still wrapped around his middle, her hands buried in his hair. She was bit her lip and her deep blue eyes widened at him as though she couldn’t believe what she’d just done.
It occurred to Jules, at that moment, that he might not be forgiven for hurting her. Maybe she still didn’t know.
Emma’s hands slid down to his shoulders where they tightened as she unwrapped herself from him. She looked to the crowd around them and then past the sea of jumping, gawking expressions, looking for an exit.
Jules saw her looking and resisted the urge to throw her over his shoulder and walk off with her. Instead he just grabbed her hand and pulled her through the nearest door.
Emma looked around her. A bathroom?
Jules had taken her, for their grand reunion, for the conversation which would decide their future happiness, to the men’s room at the JKF airport. She wondered how they could confess their love amid the sting of toilette paper strewn across the tile floor and mildew stained sinks that threatened to have something unsavory crawl out of it. Emma touched her lips. They had kissed, they had kissed and it had been…it had been like they were both in love.
A flush rang around them before a red faced man in tweed threw open a stall door. He looked at Emma, then behind him, then to Emma again, before dropping his jaw and looking at Jules, who opened the door to the exit before saying in a harsh voice, “Out, please.”
The man furrowed his brows, but finished buttoning his trousers before rushing out the door. Emma couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t wash his hands. How gross!
Emma didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to face him. That kiss haunted her; too beautiful, too perfect to not be followed by something that was sure to break her heart, again, but when she heard the scraping of metal, the confusion forced her to spin on her heels just in time to see Jules dragging the metal trash can under the door handle. Emma understood the logic; she didn’t want any more people bursting in to take a friendly pee in the urinal.
Jules looked at her with nervous apprehension and gave her a half smile. Emma’s heart clenched. Oh god! Why did he have to be so flipping gorgeous? she thought to herself.
“Emma,” he said and took a step towards her. He stopped and shook his head like he was trying to find the right words. “Emma, I—” He stopped again and reached his hand up to grate at his jaw.
“Stop that!” Emma demanded, reaching forward and pulling his hand away. To her disbelief, Jules chuckled.
“You know you’re about the 80th person to do that to me.”
Emma raised an eyebrow at him and bit her lip before smoothing her fingers over the raw skin.
He closed his eyes.
“Just stop.” She said.
Jules nodded, his eyes opening to the silver which had followed Emma everywhere.
His hands looped around at her waist and Emma’s hand stayed pressed to his face.
“I saw the interview,” she said. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
Jules shook his head. “I’m sorry that I thought it would be enough.”
Emma wanted to tell him that it was enough; that the song, and the way he spoke, had proved it to her, but she wasn’t sure. She swallowed. “What are you doing here?”
Jules looked down at her and wished that he could take off his jacket so that they could be closer. “I—I had to see you. I had to tell you everything that was wrong with me, with what I had said. I had a speech planned and everything.”
Emma frowned. “I was coming to see you, you know. I saw the interview today—my dad made me watch it—and I just, sprinted out of the house.”
Emma moved her hand down to his arm; she needed to ask, she had to know, but she was too proud to voice the question on her mind; and last time, when he hadn’t said it back, it had broken her. She looked down, away from him. Emma didn’t know if she could survive such misery again.
Jules’ fingers found her chin and tilted it up to him. He sucked in a quick breath. She was so beautiful; her dark eyes shining, her hair in a knotted pony tail on top of her head, and her little pointed chin quivering. He didn’t want to hold it in anymore; he didn’t want to wait. “I love you Emma.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, then closed again.
His fingers stroked her cheeks, running over the smooth skin of her lips. “I love you, and I’m not just saying that because I missed you, or because standing here you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’m telling you, because I love you, because, without you, my world was so gray—that there was no point to it at all.”
Emma looked at him anew as his words washed over her like the brightest happiness she could imagine.
“And I could kick myself a million times for not saying it back to you. I’ll regret that forever.”
Emma started to speak but he pressed his fingers to her lips.
“I never really thought that I deserved your love, because you have every kind of strength that I wanted, but, Emma, I do love you, so much.”
She moved her hands to his chest.
“I want to be with you forever and if that means waiting 20 years to get married, when all the money is gone, I will. Just so you can know that I want you for you, and that I’ll want you forever.”
Emma stood on her tiptoes, and slowly, carefully, pressed her lips to his: it was a kiss and an answer. “I love you, Jules.”
He smiled then, and Emma’s heart flipped over in her chest.
“Just one thing,” Emma said.
“What?” Jules asked, wrapping his arms around her.
“Did you have to tell me that in the bathroom?”
Chapter 32
Two months later…
Emma smiled as she ripped open the top of the care-package her father had sent her, giggling to herself: another scarf. Her father had sent her 12 since Emma had moved to London.
At first, she had complained about it, but now welcomed the scarfs, having to wear three every time she stepped out of the apartment, though, Emma kind of liked the cold, now.
The cold meant heaps of good things: fireplaces, big jackets, being able to drink hot chocolate without everyone thinking you were eight, and cuddles: Emma couldn’t forget all the cold days spent snuggling with Jules.
Emma dug further into the package and brought out a beautiful pen engraved with her initials and a notepad. She smiled when she opened the notepad to find that someone had already drawn math timetables into the front. Emma was touched by her father’s gesture, but she thought that because she was going to be studying music production and publishing, she wouldn’t need math. At least, she hoped not.
Emma’s acce
ptance letter to Oxford had come last week. It turned out that before she had fled back to the States, Jules had already sent in an application form for her. At first Emma was mildly pissed that he’d done it behind her back, but after realizing that she might have the chance to go to one of the best schools in the world, she shut her mouth, went to an interview and—voila!—She was officially a university student.
As for what she wished to study, that was a much easier decision than she ever could have guessed. After following Julian to his studio for about three weeks straight as he recorded a new album, she realized that she had a flair for production and promotion. Jules had said she was so good at it because she was naturally dramatic. Emma had just slapped him on the back of the head and told him not to mock her talent.
She looked across the kitchen table at Jules. He read the paper, his dark hair messy from bed, while simultaneously lifting his cereal bowl to his lips to drink the milk. Jules liked Fruit Loops.
That was just one of the surprising things Emma had discovered about him, but after living with him, she found out a lot more: Jules didn’t know how to wash his clothes. He liked to hand wash the dishes, even though he had a dishwasher, and if Emma let him; he would sleep on top of her every night. For some reason, though, it worked. She taught him how to use the washing machine, and he taught her how to enjoy washing up the dishes; a lesson mostly ended in a sudsy water fight: and, secretly, Emma loved Fruit Loops, almost as much as she loved it when Jules rolled over to her in the middle of the night and threw himself on top of her. Even if she could barely breath, she was home. Emma never slept better.
She loved getting these packages and letters from her father. At first they’d always contained some piece of gossip, like how Emma’s friends from school wouldn’t stop coming around to the house since they found out she was dating Jules. Or talking about how, thanks to the modest loan Julian, had given her father, he had paid of his debts and was rebuilding his company, doing better than even Emma could have hoped for.
The most shocking bit of news came about a month after Emma had moved to London with Jules. Her father had written this letter to Julian, not her, thinking that if she was upset it might be better to hear it from him. She remembered Jules’ had look of concern when he told her that Luke and Becca had just been married.
Emma didn’t understand, she wasn’t upset, just confused. When she asked why, her father had written that Luke’s family had found out that Becca was pregnant: three months pregnant, with Luke’s baby. As quickly as Emma had realized that this meant they’d been sleeping together while she was engaged to him, she burst out laughing. They were both horrible people, but even Emma thought that having to spend their lives together was a bit of a harsh punishment.
She hadn’t really thought about it much after that. It didn’t matter. She was happy.
It didn’t matter to her when things weren”t perfect, or when Emma made a fool of herself, because Jules loved her for that. He loved her for her clumsiness, or the fact that she was as likely to kick him as to kiss him. And Emma knew: she didn’t even need to hear him say it anymore to know that it was true.
When they would walked down the street and Emma would spot girls looking at him like they’d sell their souls to touch him, she would just smile and keep walking. Let them have their fantasies: he was all hers.
Even when a particularly eager teen managed to scrambled over the barricades at some party they were at last week and kiss him full on the mouth, Emma hadn’t flinched. She just watched as Jules extracted himself and sent her on her way, with Emma only giving the girl one, little kick in the shins for good measure.
Jules looked at her from across the table, milk dripping from his chin. “What are you smiling at?” he asked, suspicion filled his voice.
“Memories.”
Jules raised an eyebrow, but turned his head back to the paper, before grabbing one of her hands and playing with her fingers.
Emma smiled. It was simple: they were in love and the world felt brighter. Emma spent her time surrounded by thunderstorms and peppermint, silver and bed hair, and she loved it. Reaching back into the package, she pulled out the last thing her father had sent: a magazine.
Emma had seen so many magazines lately, ranging from the ridiculous to the grotesquely soppy, that she’d stopped looking at them. This one had another picture of them on the front. They were just walking down the street, only their hands touching. The beautiful rock star and the slightly less beautiful, but glowing, girl beside him.
Emma’s eyes moved to the heading. “Emma and Jules Live Happily Ever After,” she read aloud.
“Wow,” said Julian, resting his chin on her shoulder, “they finally got one right.”
“Yeah,” Emma smiled, turning to face him, “they really did, didn’t they.”
About the Author
Brie Kraus always dreamed of being a writer, but put that ambition on hold, while pursuing working in the fast food industry and putting herself through college. After graduating and losing her employment, Ms. Kraus turned back to her forgotten dream: writing. Don’t’ Ask is her first novel, closely followed by I Hate Your Rock Stars. She has also written a mystery, short read series (Closed Case).
More By Brie Kraus
Closed Case (Mystery Novellas)
Curious Confession
Over the Hills
Murder on the Eiffel Tower
Unfinished Business
Other Books
Don’t Ask
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
About the Author
More By Brie Kraus