Lucky Girl (Dear Rockstar #2)

Lucky Girl (Dear Rockstar #2) Page 18

“Shh,” he urged, pulling me down to him, kissing me quiet as he thrust up into my flesh. I couldn’t help rocking with him, feeling the cool morning breeze caressing our sweat-dampened skin. Dale was so warm and solid, I clung to him, burying my face in his neck, my breath coming hot and fast. His hands were back on my hips, rocking me against him with every upward thrust. I felt how swollen he was inside of me, ready to burst. And I was too.

“Oh sweetheart,” he moaned, thumbs digging into the wings of my pelvis. “I’m so close.”

“Yes,” I urged, squeezing his thick, pistoning flesh with my muscles, massaging him. That elicited a low growl from his throat and Dale rolled me quickly over onto my back, parting my thighs with his and rutting deep into me.

“Yes!” I cried, the sight of him poised above me, arms thick ropes of muscle, belly undulating as he drove himself into me again and again. “Oh God, yes, Dale! Do it! Harder!”

I had forgotten everything but him, seeing the sweet look of pleasure on his face, the way he worked to hold himself back. I knew he was waiting for me, but he didn’t have to—just seeing him like that sent me flying. My orgasm was so sudden and intense I screamed, crying out and thrusting my hips up. Dale cried out too and I felt the exquisite, hot pulse of his cock as he came, emptying himself completely into me, the sensation almost enough to send me over again.

He groaned and finally collapsed onto me. I loved the weight of him and welcomed it, kissing him softly and pulling the sheet and the comforter back up over our damp skin. The breeze felt good but I was shivering. Dale nuzzled my neck and my ear, his breath returning slowly to normal. His lips moved over my flesh, kissing me here and there, whispering words I could barely hear.

“Could you two shut the hell up!” Chrissy threw the door open and it banged against the wall. “Can’t you keep that little bitch quiet?”

I was too stunned to move but Dale reacted instantly, grabbing the sheet around his waist with one hand and striding to the door. I grabbed the edge of the comforter and pulled it up to my chin.

“Get out!” Dale grabbed the handle, swinging the door closed, but Chrissy was in the way.

“Fuck you.” Chrissy was ready for battle. I could tell. Even through the crack in the door—her knee was blocking the way, so Dale couldn’t close it completely. I scrambled around for clothes—t-shirt, jeans. I didn’t even bother with panties or a bra.

“Move.” Dale’s voice was calm and firm. He’d regained his control after being so surprised by her entrance. I was going to have to ask John if we could put a lock—and maybe even a chain—on our bedroom door. I found socks and tugged them on too.

“You think you’re really something, don’t you?” Chrissy sneered. I saw her face in the shadows. She was a very pretty girl, long dark hair and blue eyes. She had her brother’s features, only softer and more rounded. But she could make herself ugly in an instant—it was like some magic trick, a strange illusion. “Mr. Perfect. Mr. Rockstar. You wouldn’t be anything without him, you know that?”

I knew she was baiting him, just like she baited her father. I think they were both too blind to see it. John, I knew, would never take that sort of bait. He realized, somehow, that what Chrissy needed was not the negative attention she seemed to be asking for. It went deeper than that. Dale, though—Dale’s fuse was long, but she’d been wearing him down for two weeks and the whole thing was about to explode. I could feel it crackling in the air, like electricity.

“Dale, I have to go.” It was early yet, but a good enough excuse. I ran a hand through my hair, grabbing my purse. I was small enough to insert myself between him and the door. “I’m meeting Ben for coffee and then I have to drop off those drawings at work.”

He blinked down at me, trying to focus. I knew she’d gotten to him and she knew it too. She just wouldn’t stop.

“Go.” I pushed him back. “Go back to bed. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

He took a step back from the door and I was relieved. I’d broken the spell. Whatever hold she had over him was fading, even though the words still kept spilling from her mouth.

“Oh my God, you are so fucking pussy-whipped!” Chrissy called as I slipped out into the hall with her, closing our bedroom door behind me. It felt like I was stepping into a gladiator ring with a lion. Or maybe a dragon. Up until now, she’d ignored me, but with Dale safe on the other side of the door, I knew she was going to try to use me to bait him.

“He doesn’t love you, you know.” She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall with a smug smile on her face. She was still in her pajamas—red silk, top and bottoms. “He just feels sorry for you.”

It was hard to believe words could hurt that much. Chrissy’s words came attached with razor blades. I tried ignoring it, starting to take a step around her, but she moved with me, blocking the way to the stairs.

“Poor pathetic little Sara. You poor-me’d your way into free room and board and a rich rock star boyfriend. Do you really think he’s going to marry you?” She laughed. “He can’t love anyone. He can’t see anything unless it’s a mirror. That’s all you are. A great big mirror.”

“Get out of the way.” I took a step to the left but she did too.

“Oh Dale, you’re so wonderful and famous and everyone loves you!” She mocked, yelling this so Dale was sure to hear her. “He’ll never be Tyler Vincent and he knows it. All he’ll ever be is some cheap, knock-off imitation of the real thing. And that’s the only reason he keeps you around, sweetheart.”

She used that term of endearment with emphasis and I wondered how long she’d been listening at our door this morning. I was trembling inside and my body was shutting down. System overload. I knew the feeling—it used to happen when the stepbeast got like this. I was having flashbacks, sensory memories of recoiling, withdrawing into my shell as far as I could to hide from the oncoming disaster.

“Shut up!” Dale opened the door—he had jeans on, but no shirt—and strode toward her. I, of course, was in the way. I turned and pushed him back, both hands on his chest.

“Dale, no.” I glanced back at Chrissy. She was smiling. It was a truly malevolent smile.

“Always has to try to prove himself,” Chrissy went on. She sounded downright gleeful. “Because he knows he’ll never be good enough. Never as good as Daddy.”

“Chrissy, I swear to God…” Dale said through clenched teeth, hands curled into fists at his sides. He was looking past me straight at her and I felt like I was holding a tiger by the tail.

“Oh Sara, let him go. You’re going to have to let him go eventually.”

“Dale, come on, let’s go downstairs.” I tried to get him to focus on me instead of her. I tried to ignore the searing pain of her words. I just wanted to take Dale and escape. Of course, she was between us and the escape route.

“Sara, you’re a one-trick pony.” She was right behind me now, whispering her words. But she was looking right at her brother. “He only wanted you because you chose him over Tyler. And I’m sorry, but you can only do that little stunt once. After that, you’re useless.”

I turned and pushed her. Chrissy stumbled back, surprised, catching herself from falling by steadying herself against the wall. I heard John stirring downstairs. We must have woken him. He was calling but sounded far away, “What’s going on?”

“Bitch!” Chrissy snarled at me.

I think they both lunged at the same time. And I was in the middle. I screamed when Dale made a fist and pulled his arm back. I knew he was going to hit her—and she was smiling, triumphant. It was just what she wanted. Oh the publicity that would bring down on our heads. Greg would be furious. And Dale’s career would be over before it began.

“No!” I cried, turning to stop him, but it was too late.

His fist connected with the side of my cheek with a force that shook my teeth in my head. My ear was ringing and I couldn’t keep my balance. I tried, my hands groping the smooth hallway wall, but I fell, moaning softly, looking up to see Dale’s horrified expression, fists now at his sides. And I heard Chrissy laughing, delighted.

“Sara! Oh God, Sara,” he croaked, kneeling beside me but I was already scrambling to my feet. I felt his hand on my calf for one, brief moment, but I was fast when I needed to be. I flew down the stairs, grabbed my shoes on my way out, and I was already pulling away from the house when I saw Dale burst out the front door, calling after me.

But I was gone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I was early to Cuppa Joes and was glad for the time to put my head back together. I went to the bathroom first to wash my face. My eyes were red from crying. I knew Chrissy’s words weren’t the truth, not the deep, real truth—but they had enough truth in them to sting. I was a mess and I looked it. I hadn’t even showered. And I had the beginnings of a pretty good shiner under my left eye. I peed and ran a comb through my hair and put on what I hoped was enough makeup to cover any bruising. Feeling slightly better, I went back out into the coffee shop.

I picked a table in the corner, hoping to hide until Ben arrived, but when I looked up as the bell on the door rang, I saw Carrie and Wendy coming in. I didn’t wave to them but they spotted me anyway, making a beeline for my table.

“Hey, what are you doing here without your other half?” Wendy slid into the seat across from me. Carrie grabbed a chair, turning it backwards and straddling it.

“Oh I’m just meeting a friend.”

“Is that code for having an affair?”Carrie raised her eyebrows at me.

“No!” I blushed. I hadn’t told many people about Ben yet. Aimee and Matt. Josh, at work. And John—but I’d asked him not to tell Chrissy. Why give her any more ammunition than she already had? “I’m actually meeting my… Dad.”

Wendy sat back in her chair and Carrie did a double-take. I realized they must be thinking of the stepbeast, so I had to redirect them with an explanation. While I was telling the strange, coincidental story of Ben finding me because of the picture in the paper, the waitress came over and we all ordered—coffee for them, hot chocolate for me. Plus muffins and scones and croissants.

“And he moved here?” Wendy shook her head, incredulous.

“Well, he was already moving here,” I explained.

“Makes it even weirder,” Carrie said through a mouth full of blueberry muffin. “Did you tell Aimee?”

I nodded, blowing across the top of my hot chocolate. It lived up to its name and was always too hot to drink right away. I wondered if Aimee had told them her big news, but my question was answered by Carrie’s next statement.

“That poor girl is never going to make it to the end of her pregnancy. My mother is going to be the death of her.” Carrie had succeeded in eating the entire top of her muffin and was now peeling the paper off the sides.

“What do you mean?”