Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door

by Lee, Nadia

  “You can be an introvert and still do that,” I said, not wanting to get into all the reasons I got that degree, which I’d never wanted in the first place. But Dad had insisted. I’d wanted to quit my soul-killing position and do something more fulfilling. I just hadn’t been sure what that was back then. He’d been so certain that if I got an MBA, I wouldn’t want to waste my amazing Ivy League education doing “stupid shit,” as he called whatever I might decide to do with my life. He’d assumed wrong, because after I graduated, I set my sights on becoming a romance novelist. That had been why he and I started the bet on my career, and he refused to be proven wrong and lose the bet.

  Mir looked thoughtful. Probably mulling it over. She was obviously an extrovert. Just look how bubbly she was. But then, she’d had loving parents. And I was certain Killian was a good brother to her. I just couldn’t picture him being rude or nasty to anybody.

  She pulled a dress from a rack. “How about this one? Looks like it’s your size, too.”

  I checked the label. “Yeah, it is.” Then I looked at the item she was holding out.

  A bright red dress. The skirt seemed a bit short, the neckline low. If I put that on, I’d look like one of the barely legal groupies who’d surrounded Killian in pictures, except older and fatter. And unless he was blind or suffering from amnesia, he’d know and compare. It was definitely a huge no.

  I opened my mouth to say it was a terrible choice, but Mir was wearing the most hopeful, happy expression. “I don’t know. It’s really…loud,” I said instead.

  “Well, yeah. But it’s totally hot.” She held the dress in front of me to see. “Red is a good color for you, and we should look hot when we go out.”

  Maybe if I were barely legal and wanted to hook up, I’d consider the dress she was holding. But the only person I might want to impress was Killian, and the effort would be wasted on him, the way a bottle of decent wine would be wasted on a man used to drinking Dom Pérignon.

  “Let’s look around some more,” I said. “There might be something better.”

  “Okay.” Mir draped the dress over an arm and started looking through the rest of the offerings, her fingers shifting the hangers as she gave each outfit a critical once-over.

  I spotted a cute and modest white maxi dress and pulled it out. I could probably pair it with the pink sandals in my closet. And it could be repurposed for signings and conferences. The red one was too sexy for either.

  Mir picked out a flashy strapless silver number. Oh dear.

  “I just can’t believe Kingstree has a new celebrity,” she said, admiring the metallic outfit. “And this will make you sparkle like—”

  “What celebrity?” Was there an actor hiding out in town? If so, I hadn’t seen him. Or her. On the other hand, I didn’t go out except to grab groceries or—very occasionally—run.

  Mir looked at me like there was a purple lizard growing between my eyes. “You. You’re the new celebrity.”

  “I’m the celebrity?” Since when?

  “Of course! I’ve read every single one of your interviews, and try to go to every book signing you go to as long as I can get away from work. But so many interviewers ask similar questions. I wish they’d get more creative so you could share more about yourself.”

  “There isn’t much to say.” My life was pretty ordinary. Minus the embarrassing Dad thing, which wasn’t for public consumption. “I bet you and Killian have a much more interesting history. He said you two were raised by your grandmother.”

  “Yeah. Our parents passed away in a plane crash when we were young.” Mir gave me a small smile that people used when they didn’t want pity over something that had happened a long time ago. “They were in a small private plane, and it had a mechanical failure. No survivors.”

  Killian had told me he’d lost his parents, but not the details. It must’ve been devastating, especially since they sounded like great people. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Mir nodded. “Me too. But my parents had a great life together. Did everything on their bucket list, too. A safari, scuba diving in the Maldives, seeing the pyramids, canoeing up the Amazon…all that stuff.”

  “Wow.” That was a great list, and what was more amazing was that their parents had wanted to do everything together. That explained a lot about Killian’s attitude about true love. I tried to imagine my parents traveling together like that…and failed. They would tour separately. How else was my dad going to screw around?

  “And they did it in style.” Mir smiled. “Pretty amazing for an electrician and a DMV clerk, huh?”

  “I had no idea electricians did so well,” I said, shocked. I didn’t know exactly what Mir meant by “in style,” but it probably didn’t include budget travel options.

  Mir laughed. “The magic of the lottery.”

  “Really? They won?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh. I’ve never met a lottery winner.”

  Mir laughed. “You still haven’t.”

  “Or someone related to them. You know what I mean.”

  “They won when I was three. It was for something like three hundred million dollars.”

  “Holy cow! That must’ve been amazing. Did they retire?” If I had that kind of money, I’d retire. And buy myself a huge plot of land and build a house that had everything I needed. I’d write one or two books a year and spend the rest of my time reading. Although a love of reading was the genesis of my becoming a writer, ever since I’d started to write seriously, I hadn’t had time to read as much as I wanted. The situation was ironic, but I wasn’t the only writer with the problem.

  “No. They continued to work. It’s just that they started to travel more. But what made them the real fortune is that they put the winnings into Amazon stock.”

  The real fortune? “All three hundred million?”

  That was the most terrible investment strategy ever, even though in retrospect it was a jackpot move. But in general, when somebody had that kind of money, they usually looked to diversify their portfolio.

  “Almost all of it. They bought some Apple and Disney shares, too.” Mir shook her head like she still couldn’t believe it either. “The reason was that Dad just liked the name Amazon because he’d always wanted to visit the river. Plus apples were his favorite fruit, and Mom’s favorite cartoon growing up was Disney’s Cinderella. So they figured, why not? Dad had a good feeling about them, just like he had a good feeling when he picked those winning numbers.”

  Damn. “They must’ve showered with fairy dust. That is the weirdest reason to invest in something, but I’m glad it worked out.”

  “They lived modestly, too.” Affection softened her voice, her eyes. She paused, then flipped through more dresses. “Left us all the money when they passed away. We still haven’t touched most of it.”

  That was unusual. Most people would’ve gone hog wild when they came into that kind of money. Hell, that was why so many lottery winners went bankrupt. “Why not?”

  “Grandma didn’t want us to. She thought we ought to be contributing to society, not sponging off the trust. But even then, knowing that we have such a huge cushion provides a lot of peace of mind. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

  That explained why some of the articles had said Killian was worth over five billion. It wasn’t all from his music. I’d wondered if music was important partially because it gave him financial success. But what was driving him was his passion—the need to create.

  Now I was doubly glad I’d left him alone to work on his next album. And pound those damn drums to his heart’s content. I shouldn’t ask him to stay quiet all the time, either. My deadline had passed, and I didn’t want to get in the way of his creative work.

  Then something else occurred to me, about the specifics of what Mir was revealing.

  “Should you be saying all this stuff about his money to me?” I asked, curious why Mir was oversharing. Most people didn’t talk so openly about finances, and I didn’t have a face th
at invited people to tell me all their secrets.

  She blinked slowly. “It’s all public, except for what I said about my parents’ bucket list. Some magazine did a huge article about Killian, and it’s all in there. Didn’t you read it?”

  “No. I skimmed the Wikipedia entry, but that’s about it.” Then, because I felt a tad guilty about not knowing more about him, I added, “I didn’t want to pry too much.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. It couldn’t be she was sorry she’d told me if it wasn’t secret. “Huh. I figured you’d look more into his background.”

  “I was on a deadline,” I explained as my writer brain started to get that tingly feeling. “Don’t you ever worry that a guy you’re with just wants your money?” I asked in a low voice. “If the stuff about Killian’s inheritance is out there, people must know you have money, too.”

  “Sometimes, but that’s why God created prenups, right?”

  I didn’t think it was God who’d said, “Let there be prenups.” It had to have been overpriced lawyers who wanted an innovative way to bill a couple before they even filed for divorce. But I kept that to myself. Mir looked entirely too pleased. And I wondered if Killian would have a similar expression if he proposed to a woman with a ring and a prenup. Then I asked myself why I wanted to know what Killian would do when he proposed. It wasn’t like he was going to propose to me. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get married, prenup or not. I couldn’t even manage a long-term boyfriend.

  “And that’s why I read romance,” Mir said with a big smile.

  “For prenups?” I asked, utterly lost.

  “No, for true love. Nothing else matters when you love somebody.” She looked at me expectantly.

  This was the moment I was supposed to nod and say, “Of course,” even though I didn’t agree. Mom loved Dad in her own warped way, but love wasn’t enough. Not when the other person didn’t respect you. But I put on a smile. “Of course. True love trumps all.”

  “And we really should get this gold dress,” Mir said, pulling out another risqué item from a rack. “It’ll bring out your…” She stopped. “It’s just so golden.”

  “Let’s see first.” I laid out the maxi dress, and she laid out the other three she’d picked out on a T-shirt table.

  “You should get them all,” Mir said.

  “I don’t think so. But I’ll try them all on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Killian

  Mir’s impromptu visit wasn’t like her, and it worried me. She didn’t just eat like a kid; she had the boundless energy of a kid as well. And a substandard filter between her brain and mouth. I still marveled that she was an accountant. She definitely didn’t fit the stereotype.

  She was going to pour out all sorts of thoughts and stories, whatever flitted through her mind, to Emily. I prayed she didn’t say anything embarrassing, or overwhelm Emily by trying to do everything she’d ever wanted to do with her favorite author in one afternoon.

  When my phone buzzed, I picked it up immediately. It was probably an SOS from Emily. Then I realized she didn’t have my number. I should’ve given it to her before I left.

  –Mir: Hey, Emily and I are going to Sam’s Brew to celebrate her new book. You should come.

  Was that even Emily’s idea?

  –Me: Are you dragging her out to the bar?

  –Mir: No. She finished her book! She deserves some fun, don’t you think?

  I wasn’t sure if that was Emily’s idea of “fun,” and wondered if I should’ve stayed around to rescue her from Mir. Since it was too late to stop the outing without looking like a weirdo, I decided to do the next best thing.

  –Me: OK. What time?

  –Mir: Don’t know yet. When we’re done shopping and getting ready. How about we meet at seven at her place?

  It was barely four. Unease sat in my belly.

  –Me: How long does it take to shop and get some clothes on?

  –Mir: No judging. Us girls are entitled to spend our time as we see fit.

  Yeah, but did Emily think this was a good use of her time?

  On the other hand, I recalled the way she’d told me—in no uncertain terms—to stop drumming the second time we saw each other. She could handle my bulldozer sister.

  Probably.

  After putting the phone down, I picked up the sticks again and started to drum the beat of our first major hit, “Sweet Nothings,” and sing. The song was five years old, but still a fan favorite. It also had a special spot in my heart, not to mention the rest of the guys’. No one ever forgets their first. I thought my heart would burst when I heard somebody request it on the radio for the first time. And still got a thrill when people wanted to hear Axelrod’s music.

  My mind started to wander. The beats changed into something different. The melody coming out from my throat was altered, too. The sound was fresh—a little sweet, a little edgy. Too new to be anything definite yet, like a wildflower sprout coming up in a field, but it had potential.

  Snippets of possible lyrics started to coalesce in my mind. Flashes of images. I closed my eyes, joy welling inside. The dam that had blocked my flow wasn’t there anymore. Inspiration was just trickling in, but I knew it was only the beginning. My gut told me there was more to come. Torrents of music, and I had to be ready and quick enough to catch every drop of the words and tunes before they vanished. Because inspiration was that fleeting.

  Then suddenly it all poured out, the beats, the lyrics and the song. Shivers rushed through me as I sang my heart out in the living room with nobody to listen.

  When the Darth Vader theme went off, I stopped, my body drenched in sweat. I realized it was dim in the living room, the sunlight a weak orange. Shit. I picked up the phone.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey, you coming or not? It’s seven,” Mir said, her voice hushed. From the way she sounded, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was cupping her mouth like she was telling me a secret.

  “Already?” I lifted my gaze to the clock on the wall—7:03.

  “I texted you half an hour ago so you could come wait, but you didn’t answer.”

  I hadn’t heard my phone ping. I was still high off the new music. “Why would you want me to wait half an hour?”

  “That way you look like a gentleman. Gentlemen always come early and wait.”

  I rolled my eyes. Mir had the weirdest ideas sometimes. Emily was too practical to want somebody hanging around for half an hour for no reason. “Okay, sorry. Look, I need to grab a quick shower here.”

  “Fine. Make it fast. Emily’s almost ready. I’ll leave the door open so you can slip in quietly and pretend like you’ve been waiting like a good man.”

  I hung up. So technically I wasn’t late, because Emily wasn’t ready yet either. But from the way Mir had spoken, I might as well have missed the last flight to heaven.

  I bounded up the stairs to take the fastest shower in history. Emily might still have some prep to do, but it would be embarrassing to have her wait because of me.

  Excitement ran through me as I got ready. Although my sister was tagging along, this felt like a real date, with me and Emily going out.

  I finger-combed my still-damp hair and put on a dark blue V-neck shirt with black jeans. Then, on a whim, I put on a necklace with the band’s logo: a stylized A done in sterling silver. I no longer felt like an imposter whose music had gone dry, so I felt worthy to wear it again.

  Then I went over to Emily’s, and sure enough, the door had been left ajar.

  “Come on in,” my sister said. She was in a tight black dress with a low neckline and a super-short skirt. A dark plum color coated her lips, and her lashes were heavy with mascara.

  “Should you be wearing that?” I asked, not liking her outfit. Although she was a big girl now, I remembered some of the assholes in town who’d had crushes on her. Men were all fucking dogs, and my sister should be more covered up.

  “Why? It barely shows anything. Besides, God gave me these legs. They’re t
oo pretty to remain hidden.”

  She did indeed have a pair of nice, long legs. I could admit that—grudgingly—but that didn’t mean I wanted every guy in town staring at them. “Still. That dress is way short.”

  “It’s only three inches above the knees. Nobody can see my underwear when I bend down. Now stop being medieval. Your groupies wear a lot less than this. And for God’s sake, don’t criticize Emily’s outfit.”

  I gave her a sidelong glance, wondering if Emily was going to wear something similar to what Mir had on. I wanted to see Emily’s body, but at the same time I didn’t want her parading around in so little material, for all the assholes in the town to drool over. “Did you pick it out for her?”

  “Of course. That’s why we went shopping.” Mir beamed, looking proud.

  I tried not to cringe. Mir was a firm believer in showing off one’s assets. Sometimes it seemed like she was applying for Dev-groupie status. And I didn’t want Emily to dress like a groupie. I wanted Emily to dress like how she’d normally dress when she went out to a bar.

  “Hey,” came Emily’s voice from the staircase.

  I turned my head. Air caught in my lungs as I took her in. Her hair was down, flowing over her shoulders in gentle golden waves. Pink lipstick and blush added a lovely flush to her face, and the scarlet dress she had on covered everything it needed to, but also fitted over the soft curves of her breasts, the sexy double dip of her waist and flare of her hips. Her feet were in a pair of pale silver sandals with thin heels. The entire ensemble was hot as hell, and made me want to unwrap her like a Christmas present.

  My heart pumped faster, my blood heating up.

  She stepped down the stairs, running her fingers along her hair, and gave me a small smile. “Do I look all right?”

  Finally, air came back into my lungs. “Wow,” I said. “Yes. Better than all right.”

  Her smile widened. “You look pretty neat yourself.”

  “I didn’t realize we had to be this fancy.”