Summer of Irreverence: The Rock Star (The New York Artists Series)

by Cathrine Goldstein

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Jeanette sat forward, adjusting herself. “Did he say that?”

  “No…”

  “Did he tell you, you looked nice?”

  “He said my shirt was his favorite. And I was beautiful.” Summer bit her lip, trying to remain stoic, but her smile quickly took over.

  “Anything else?”

  Summer shrugged.

  “Sum?”

  “He held my hand.”

  “He what?”

  Jeanette was up out of her seat so quickly, Summer wondered if she shouldn’t have said anything.

  “Shh…” Summer stood, hushing Jeanette. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Oh, that is such a big friggin’ deal.” Jeanette bounced to her refrigerator and grabbed two cans of diet soda. She handed one to Summer.

  “No, thanks. You know that stuff is terrible for you.”

  “I just have to right now. Hold on. Malcolm Angel didn’t sleep with you, but he held your hand?”

  “Yes. And now I’m here. He was exceptionally nice about the whole thing, and it was incredibly…exciting…all of it. But it’s over now.” Summer fought the rising panic she felt in her chest. Anxiety attacks can be natural occurrences when someone is placed in foreign situations, like luxury brunches in decrepit buildings with sexy rock stars. Unfortunately, this panic attack was not founded in stress, it stemmed from the idea of never seeing Malcolm again. She sighed. At least she had brunch with him. That was more than most.

  “Sum,” Jeanette sat next to Summer and stroked her hair. “I knew this would happen.”

  “What?” Summer didn’t try to fight the tears in her eyes. “You knew he wouldn’t want me?”

  Jeanette’s lips curled into a smile. “Oh, I’m sure he wants you. That’s not up for debate. I just don’t understand why he’s delaying…” Jeanette looked off and shook her head. She shimmed around on the couch and took Summer’s hand. “Anyway. I knew you would fall for him. Even you couldn’t be immune to his charms.”

  “I am certainly not immune, but I didn’t ‘fall for him’.” Summer took her hand back, making air quotes. “And I am not heartbroken, because there is no such thing as a broken heart. What bothers me is that…” Summer turned away.

  “What?”

  Summer turned back to Jeanette. She had known Jeanette almost her entire life, and they were as close as two friends could be. But Summer knew what was happening…or correction, what had happened with Malcolm was something she couldn’t explain to anyone. And frankly, no one else deserved to know.

  “Romantic love doesn’t exist, Jeanette. It’s made up by the card companies who want us to spend more money on holidays.” Summer squeezed her friend’s hand. “But friendship does exist. And sexual attraction certainly exists, it’s how our species survives.”

  Summer wanted to explain more to Jeanette, to tell her about Winston, and how she was worried, but the lump in her throat and the agitation in her stomach told her to remain mum. She pursed her lips.

  “So let me get this straight…” Jeanette held up her fingers, as if she were going to start checking off inconsistencies in Summer’s logic.

  “Brrinnnggg!”

  Summer jumped. Saved by the ring. Mumbling something about being interrupted at the best part, Jeanette got up and made her way to the breakfast bar to retrieve her phone.

  “Hello?” She leaned against the counter as she spoke.

  Summer stared at Jeanette’s back, deciding what she could honestly share with her friend. Short of the medal, it wasn’t as if anything all that private happened. How do you explain a connection, anyway? That is, if there really was a connection.

  Jeanette stood up tall and frantically waved Summer over. Summer stood, as her heart sped up, palpitating. She bolted to Jeanette’s side, terrified something horrific had just happened…experiencing a wretched bout of déjà vu.

  “What?” Summer stood too close to Jeanette. A drop of fear-induced sweat trickled down her spine, and she wrung her cold hands. “Jeanette? What? Your parents okay?”

  “She’s right here.” Jeanette smirked at Summer, holding the phone out to her. “It’s Malcolm. Said he never got your cell number, so he called mine.” Jeanette raised her eyebrows, pushing the phone at Summer.

  Summer backed away, shaking her head. Instead of relaxing her already agitated state, his call made her all the more frantic. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no…” Relief and terror began their war in Summer’s gut, and she placed her hand on her tummy.

  “Hold on, Mal…” Jeanette covered the phone as she spoke. “I will tell the man you are in the bathroom if you don’t answer.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Summer stepped forward.

  “I’ll tell him the brunch he fed you made you sick.”

  Summer glared at Jeanette. Yup. Jeanette’s insanely competitive spirit would make her capable of just such a thing.

  “Fine.” Summer snatched the phone away from Jeanette.

  Jeanette sauntered to the couch.

  “He—hello?” Summer’s voice cracked, and she moved her mouth away from the receiver to clear her throat. “Oh, hi.” She shook her head, knowing her casual tone wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “I had to call.” Malcolm’s voice was clear and energetic. Very different from how he sounded on the bus.

  “Okay. I—I’m glad you did.” Summer turned her back to Jeanette, like a teenager desperate for privacy in a house full of family.

  “I wanted to call anyway, but Winston here insisted I do it now. Before you made other plans.”

  “Other plans?” Summer gripped the phone tightly and inadvertently pushed a button. A loud “beep!” rang through her ears, and she pulled the phone away from her head. She returned it immediately.

  “Malcolm?”

  “Here.”

  “Sorry. I…I’m not used to Jeanette’s phone.” Or casual conversations with rock stars.

  “No problem. So Winston and I were wondering if you’d wanna go to the dog park with us. Tomorrow. If you’re not busy.”

  Summer blinked repeatedly and scoffed. “I’m not busy, Malcolm, and I would very much like to. What time?”

  “I figure you’ve got go-sees in the morning, and I’ve gotta go to the studio, so how ’bout afternoon? Four? We can grab dinner after.”

  Summer cringed at the word, “go-see.” The stabbing pain in her head warned her she had to tell Malcolm the truth. She was not, and never would be, a model. But she knew she couldn’t. He couldn’t be seen with a woman who wasn’t a model, and there was no way he’d stick around if he found out she was fibbing. She swallowed hard. “Sounds perfect. I think I heard of a building they are demolishing in Hell’s Kitchen tomorrow. I expect we’ll be dining there?”

  “Ha,” Malcolm laughed. “You’re something, kid. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at four. See ya.”

  “Bye.”

  Summer hung up the phone but stood staring at the kitchen wall. “I know what you’re doing, Jean.”

  “You do not.”

  Summer turned around and smirked as Jeanette danced her way across the apartment and over to Summer. She grabbed Summer and spun her around and around.

  “Sum…” Jeanette’s cheeks were flushed, and she was radiant. “You are Malcolm Angel’s girlfriend.”

  Summer broke away from Jeanette, scoffing. “Please.”

  “Well, what would you call it? You…you’re dating Malcolm Angel.”

  “I’m spending some time with a friend. That’s all.”

  “Really?” Jeanette grinned. “That’s all, huh?”

  “Yes.” Summer shrugged her shoulder. “Just a really, really, incredibly sexy friend…”

  ****

  Malcolm strolled next to Summer, with Winston walking ahead of them. Malcolm’s bodyguard hung a few feet behind them. It was warm today, too hot for the hoodie and dark glasses, but what choice did he have? He stole a glance at Summer who was also wearing dark glasses. She looked incredibly
sexy in her tan shorts and white t-shirt. She couldn’t possibly know what her long toned legs were doing to him. And that t-shirt—the way it pulled ever so slightly across her breasts—not overtly, just perfectly. She was gorgeous.

  He would love to see her in one of his band’s t-shirts. Just the t-shirt and panties… Malcolm’s eyes dropped down to her backside, and he strained to see what sort of panties she was wearing. A thong? Nah, he shook his head. Pink silk? Maybe. White cotton? There was a real possibility there. Especially if they were decorated with just the slightest bit of lace… Malcolm sidestepped for a moment, trying to fight his growing attraction to her. Running pants were definitely not a good choice when he was spending time with Summer. And why, exactly, was he spending time with Summer? What was he doing? Damn. Malcolm stepped aside again, trying to remain inconspicuous. Deciding what panties Summer Wynters wore was maybe his most favorite game—ever. But it was also an uncomfortable one. Malcolm gritted his teeth and forced his thoughts onto jellybeans. He hated jellybeans. Maybe they would help.

  She turned to him and smirked.

  Not helping. Nothing was helping. Malcolm stuffed his hand into his pocket. “What?”

  “We look like two people who just had their eyes tested for glaucoma.” She giggled.

  “Ha.” He snickered. “Good thing Winston’s leading the way.”

  “Yeah.” Summer bolted ahead a few steps and petted Winston. He barked, happily. She turned back to face Malcolm, walking backwards as she spoke.

  Malcolm fought to keep his eyes on hers, but with the dark glasses…

  “I never knew this place existed.”

  Summer’s voice was soft and filled with energy. It warmed his already overheated core, promising him everything would be okay—even when he knew that wasn’t possible.

  “Yeah—” he cleared his throat. “It’s pretty secluded. With a great view of the East River.” There was a view he was enjoying even more, however.

  “Do you wear that all summer?” She stopped and placed her hands on her hips.

  “What’s that?”

  “The sweatshirt. Doesn’t it make you hot?” She joined him now, falling into time alongside him.

  “Better than the alternative.” He shrugged.

  “Which is?”

  As she spoke, he watched the softness and swell of her chest rising and falling.

  “Being clawed to death, probably.”

  Summer stopped short and turned to him. Malcolm stopped with her.

  “Is that true?”

  She whispered the words, leaning toward him. He caught a whiff of her—she smelled clean and pure, like laundry fresh off a clothesline. Her body trembled slightly, and he fought his desire to take her hand to reassure her. Sometimes being a celebrity really sucked—like right now, when all he wanted was to hold the hand of a girl he liked, in a dog park, with his dog. But protocol said no way. Because if someone figured it out and snapped their picture, that would be the end of their privacy.

  Malcolm saw real concern in her tense body. “Nah.” He waved the thought away. “Fans can just get a little crazy sometimes, that’s all.”

  “I can’t even imagine.” Summer shook her head. They ambled forward and the way she walked, casual and relaxed, she looked young and sweet.

  “Would you wanna?” He came to a quick halt, praying she wouldn’t read into his question.

  “Me? Fame? No way. I prefer to remain anonymous. Crowds are not my thing.”

  “Strange.” Malcolm tilted his head, trying to offer her an out. He really didn’t care she wasn’t a model. It meant nothing to him. Actually, it was a refreshing change to spend time with someone who wasn’t constantly taking selfies and checking her number of followers on Instagram.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Usually women who are models are happy with as much publicity as they can get.”

  “Oh.” Summer turned her eyes to the ground and sighed. She kicked a stone away, swallowing hard.

  Why wouldn’t she just tell him? His hands were tied. He couldn’t ask—she would take it as an insult, for sure. And the last thing he wanted to do was to insult her.

  She pushed her hair behind her ear, and a tiny pearl balanced delicately on her earlobe. Synthetic for sure. Malcolm breathed deeply, fighting his possessive instinct, wanting desperately to pull her into the nearest jewelry store to replace those fake orbs with dazzling, large, real pearls. Wanting to claim her ears…and the rest of her…as his. But he couldn’t.

  She smiled at him awkwardly, biting the corner of her lip. He knew soon enough she would clamp down on her nearly healed lip and possibly draw blood again. How strange he had already learned her tells. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and wondered if she knew his.

  She knitted her eyebrows together and focused hard on the ground before them. He really didn’t want her to hurt herself. Oh, the hell with it. He reached out and took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. He hoped she would understand he knew, and it was okay.

  She stopped short and turned to him.

  “Malcolm, I…” She was struggling, chewing her lip and sighing.

  Obviously, she wasn’t ready to tell him. He needed to let her off the hook.

  “Hey. No more shop talk. K?”

  She smiled.

  “Whaddaya say we let Winston off his leash? He’s dying to show you what he’s got.”

  Malcolm’s brain fought his hand, but finally, he let go so she could attend to Winston. She nodded eagerly, squatting down to pet Winston, and Winston reciprocated by licking her face.

  Summer stood, giggling, as Winston took off after a pigeon. He was happy, running like a dog half his age. Maybe all those supplements Malcolm fed Winston were helping. Especially the ones for his joints.

  Summer grabbed a tennis ball out of her bag and darted from Malcolm’s side. It was odd, but he felt the void the moment she left… She threw the ball for Winston. He chased it down and went running back to her. Over and over she would pet his head and kiss him. Over and over Winston would come running back to her. Malcolm understood completely.

  Malcolm gazed at Summer. She looked so young and joyful all he wanted was to preserve this moment. His chin dropped low as he stared at her. He wanted to be with her. Really be with her. The muscles in his shoulders tensed and spread wider, and he stood up, taller. He felt primal…possessive. He fought to stay still—his hands clenched and unclenched, and perspiration dripped down his back. He felt like a man.

  Summer suddenly stopped playing with Winston. Still holding the ball, she looked over at Malcolm, put up her hand, and gave an intimate wave. She smiled.

  Malcolm smiled back.

  He hated that he was going to destroy her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two days together passed into two weeks. During that time, Summer spent every day with Malcolm Angel. Somewhere along the way he had told her he would like to help her experience all those things she had never before experienced, and he made good on his promise. Together they had dined in some of the most private and exclusive restaurants in Manhattan and surrounding boroughs. On those trips to and from the restaurants, they sat together in the back of his limo, holding hands, heat radiating off of them. They also took taxis to eat in some of the most secluded divey hangouts in the East Village, where no one gave a darn about Malcolm Angel, and he seemed pretty okay with that.

  One time, he took her to his studio where she heard him record his newest song. He was magic to watch—strong, vibrant, incredibly sexy. She knew he was an immensely talented musician, but as she watched him attack his sheet music with a pencil and eraser, she learned what a perfectionist he was. He brought her to listen in on rehearsal. She sat for hours, mesmerized, as from the intangible he strung together lyrics and harmonies, pulling from this, adding to that, until he had given it shape—until he had given it life. She sat on the couch opposite his recording room, watching. As he sang, tears sprang into her eyes…tears she never both
ered to wipe away. When he finished, he came directly to her and wiped them for her.

  They also spent time with Winston daily, which gave her the opportunity to monitor any changes in Winston’s behavior that might warrant immediate action. But so far, they were lucky.

  With Memorial Day behind her, Summer could relax more. Every day that Malcolm asked her out for the next she was surprised, but she loved being with him. Although he had yet to kiss her, they held hands constantly, like high school sweethearts.

  The only thing really bothering Summer was that Dr. Brad would call her from time to time. And today…well, that Malcolm Angel hadn’t.

  “Ugh.” Summer’s blasted phone rang again, and gosh darn it, it was Dr. Brad. Again.

  “Just tell him you’re dating Malcolm Angel,” Jeanette quipped not looking up from her magazine. “Hey…do you like this picture of me?” She held up a multipage editorial ad in the magazine.

  Summer buried her phone in Jeanette’s couch, trying to suffocate the obnoxious ringtone.

  “You could just block his calls.”

  “I’m not dating Malcolm. We’re just friends.” Summer sighed and held out her hand. “Let me see the pictures.” She spoke loudly to block the sound of the phone. She took the magazine, looking at four pages of Jeanette on a beach, wearing nothing but perfume. “Jeanette, they’re gorgeous. Why would you even ask? You’re in tons of magazines and ads and you never ask.” The ringing stopped, and Summer forced her shoulders away from her ears, looking at her friend. “Why are you asking, really?”

  “I’ve never been twenty-nine before.” Jeanette crossed and uncrossed her legs, her slip skirt riding high on her skinny legs.

  “You’re not twenty-nine.” Summer pushed the magazine back to Jeanette and picked up her cell.

  “I will be. In a couple of weeks.”

  “Is that what this is about?”

  “Why aren’t you blocking Dr. Brad’s calls?”

  “Because I’m a grown-up.”

  Jeanette sighed. “A grown-up who gets to stay twenty-eight for another six months.”

  Summer glanced at her texts, ignoring Jeanette. “Brad is an immensely talented doctor whom I will be working with this fall. He will be my boss—whether I like it or not. And to block him would be immature, unnecessary, and detrimental. He’ll take the hint. It won’t take him long to find a new girlfriend.” Summer thumbed through the magazine, turning pages without seeing pictures.