Too amped up to sit, I mostly paced the room, feeling like a caged tiger as I waited for Andres. It was nervous energy and at some time in the near future I was going to crash—hard—but until then, my adrenaline was keeping me moving and anxious to get it all over with.
I’d hoped to formulate most of my speech so I could get it out with a bit of finesse and without looking like a bumbling idiot. I needed to be prepared; his apologies and sexy looks were going to be distracting.
Except that required me figuring out how I felt, not just about what he’d done (because there was no doubt about how I felt about that), but how I felt about him. And most importantly, how I felt about us.
But even given some time to mull it over while Dad took his turn at him, I realized it all hinged on Andres and what he had to say about what he’d done. What he expected from here forward. How he felt about us.
“Nessa?” he said softly, breaking into my thoughts. I turned from the window toward where he stood by the door. A quick glance behind him told me he was alone; that my father trusted him to meet me on his own was encouraging. Not that he would have thought Andres and I would get into anything physical—nothing like that—just that I was forever his little girl and if he had any doubts that I could handle this on my own, Andres would have had him as an escort, wanted or not.
I pushed away thoughts of how frustratingly, maddeningly good looking he was. How distracting he could be, especially when he wasn’t trying to be a heartthrob. It was like this, when he was just Andy, regular guy, and not a famous, rich and cocky rock star, that I liked him best. But I needed not to think about that, I told myself. Time to sort all this stuff out before we had to get back on the bus. He’s a fridge. A tall, sleek one with many bells and whistles, but still just an appliance, I told myself.
He came into the room toward me, but didn’t get too close; he must have recognized the wariness in me and kept his distance. He blinked several times, his long inky eyelashes, the ones that had been the focus of my attention so many times, having suddenly and shockingly lost their power over me. Instead of being my undoing, they were the cause of my sudden annoyance. Or maybe, and probably more likely, it was the boy attached to them.
In that moment, with him looking down at me, waiting, I realized something had just shifted in a formative way.
I was frozen on the spot, not sure what to do. No, not true—I was sure, very sure what to do. I had never been more sure of anything, in fact. What had me hesitating was that I was afraid. And that thought annoyed me even more.
“We’re done,” I blurted out before I’d even given conscious thought to what I was going to say. So much for finesse, Vanessa.
“But your father said you wanted to talk—”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t mean we’re done talking. I mean you and I are done.”
“What?” he said, quickly closing the gap between us, putting his big hands on my shoulders.
I resisted the urge to shake them off. Barely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spit it out like that, but it’s not going to work, Andy.”
“What’s going on, Nessa? The picture...”
I held up a palm, pressing it to his chest, feeling his heart pound as I kept him at a distance. “I’m sure my father went over it with you why it was a mistake to post.”
He gave me a tight nod, his lips pursed.
“And I’m not about to rehash all that. But as far as us, the picture isn’t what really matters.”
“Yes it does,” he said. “I mean, I understand why I shouldn’t have posted it because of what it does for the band. But you have to understand. I couldn’t let it go. What that girl did pissed me off and was unfair to you. I know it was impulsive, but don’t you see? I did it for you.”
My hand fell away from his chest. My heart was thumping so hard that I could feel it against my ribs. But the second he said that, it felt like it had screeched to a halt. “You what?”
He frowned like he couldn’t believe he had to explain. “I did it for you, Nessa. She was disrespecting you as my girlfriend when she kissed me and then posted that picture.”
“Andres,” I said, disbelieving that I had to explain. “She wasn’t disrespecting me as your girlfriend because not only did she not realize I was your girlfriend, but I am not your girlfriend.”
“Not publicly,” he said.
“No. Not at all,” I pointed out, my frustration mounting. “We are not supposed to be dating on tour. I told you that. I made it very clear.”
“For appearances,” he said, waving me off.
Was he serious? He couldn’t be that clueless, could he?
I stepped back out of his bubble. “No, for real. I thought you understood that. We talked about waiting for the end of tour.”
“But that changed—you’re here.”
“No,” I said firmly. “It doesn’t change anything.”
Maybe it was starting to sink in because he cocked his head and frowned. “But we’re together. I thought we were just playing it cool around your father.”
I sighed and leaned back against a desk, crossing my arms. “You think I was only playacting keeping my distance from you so my father wouldn’t get pissed off?”
When he nodded and gave a little one-shoulder shrug like it was obvious, I went on, “No, Andy, I wasn’t playacting. I meant it when I said we weren’t going to date on tour. For real. Maybe now you understand why dating on tour complicates things?”
“But...” he exhaled loudly through his nose as he seemed to gather his thoughts. “I promised I would prove to you that I wanted only you. That’s why I posted the picture.”
“So publicly embarrassing me and going against everything my father told you is your way of proving to me that you want and will be faithful to me?” Not to mention that I was beginning to think what he’d done was also in reaction to the poster of me and Dave. It would bug him no end that people thought Dave and I were a couple. I wasn’t about to bring that up now—no point throwing gas on an already-roaring dumpster fire.
“Yes, but I...” to his credit he stopped talking then, maybe realizing how ridiculous he was being. Finally.
Now more weary than pissed, I felt myself deflate, disappointed that we even had to have this conversation. “Andy, if you knew me at all you’d understand why posting that picture was the exact opposite of how you should have handled things. It felt like you were marking me like a dog marks a bush or a mailbox. I hate to break it to you, but I’m neither a bush nor a mailbox. I’m a person and I really didn’t appreciate you being a caveman alphahole and dragging me into it. Especially so publicly.”
He did not like that, recoiling and taking a step back as if I’d hit him. “Any of the girls I’ve ever been with would have loved me posting that picture.”
Seriously? Just like any other girl would love him pointing out that she was just one of many who came before and would come after?
“I’m not any other girl,” I said, and for some reason, my heart lurched at the suddenly very clear realization that despite his assurances, I was not at all the kind of girl he wanted. “You said you liked me because I was different. Not a groupie. That I would like you because of you and not the rock star thing. You know what, Andy? That’s true. I am different. I’m not the girl who’s going to get caught up in your fame. But maybe that’s the problem.”
His hurt face turned suspicious and he opened his mouth. But I was on a roll and held up my hand before I went on. “No. Let me finish. You don’t want me. Not really. You want to be adored. You want the girl who will hang off you and feel privileged to be with you because of your fame. Well you know what? You can’t have it both ways—the girl who likes you for you but still puts you on a pedestal because you’re a rock star—it doesn’t work that way.”
There was real hurt in his eyes. I had to look away but as I did, the tears overflowed, rolling down my cheeks. I hated that I was crying, and I wasn’t even sure why I was, but I was powerless to stop the onslaught of emotions.
“That’s not how it is, Nessa,” he said, his voice a plea.
“It is. That’s exactly how it is. You may not see it in yourself, but you are every bit the rock star, right down to that insecurity that most rock stars have inside them. They need the acclaim to feel worthy. Well, I’m not going to be your validation. I’m not going to put you on a pedestal.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I wasn’t done speaking anyway.
“So like I said. It’s over for us. Before it ever really began, I guess. But I need your promise that this is not going to complicate things. My father said he would leave what happens from here up to me and I want you to stay on. You’re a good musician and are great for the band. But until Linda can come back, my father needs me. I need to stay focused and that means no drama between us. Please give me your word that you aren’t going to make things difficult and tense for everyone.”
“I only wanted to do right by you,” he said, anguish in his eyes. As he swallowed hard and looked away, I’d never seen him so raw and vulnerable. “No girl, no person, has ever seen me the way you do.” He looked down at his hands. “Maybe I am insecure. Maybe I’m not the confident guy I like to think I am, the one I play on stage. But I thought...” he shrugged as his words trailed away.
It was almost my undoing. I had to force myself to keep my arms crossed and not reach out to him, not fill the tense silence that stretched between us.
“I guess I thought if I posted that picture...” he shrugged again and never finished his thought.
I shook my head. “Just more evidence of why we aren’t going to work. I’m sorry, Andy.” And I really meant it.
He took a long breath but seemed to have run out of steam.
“I need your promise,” I said. “I’m not going to ruin things for my father. Because he’s a pro, he won’t want to mess things up for your career, either. But you need to be committed to the band and that means accepting this—that there’s never going to be something between us.”
He looked up at me and nodded. He didn’t look happy, but he did look resigned. “Fine.”
“I mean it,” I said, putting my tour manager hat on. “He’s not going to tolerate you being a douche, especially not to me. Everyone will suffer if you can’t get over this.” I felt so arrogant, but it had to be said.
His spine straightened as he pushed his shoulders back. “I’m sure I can survive.”
“By playing by the rules, not by immersing yourself in groupies.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your father already gave me the lecture, Nessa. Are we done here?”
Okay, so maybe the groupie comment was one step too far but I wasn’t about to start backpedaling now. Though letting him leave while he was still angry was just going to allow him to take that anger onto the bus—something I wanted to avoid.
“Almost,” I said. “I need to know we’re good. I don’t want tension on the bus. I want it business as usual.”
“You want me to just flip a switch because you say it’s over?”
I have to admit, that he was struggling was a little bit flattering. But I was careful not to let on, needing to be professional about it. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that you need to respect everyone enough to keep it off the bus. It’s way too close quarters for there to be tension between us. I will not allow this to hurt the band and neither should you.”
His face started to morph into a frown as he got more angry, which wasn’t my intent at all.
“I’d like to actually be friends,” I said, trying a different approach. “I like you, Andy, I just...we would not be good at anything more than that. And we both have a lot invested in this tour.”
“Fine,” he said, his body beginning to unclench, which I figured was as good as I was going to get. Once we got some distance from this conversation, he’d realize it was all for the best.
“All right. We’d better get back there; we’re rolling out soon.”
Without another word, he left the room. He started down the hall toward the door that would take him to the parking lot and out to the bus. He realized I wasn’t walking with him and stopped, turning toward me, his eyebrows up in an expectant expression.
“I’m going to use the washroom, I’ll be out in a minute,” I said. When he resumed his path out to the bus, I turned into the girls’ locker room. While I did need to use the bathroom, I also needed a few moments to myself.
Because I’d just dumped one of the industry’s biggest up and coming stars. Andres Castillo, the rock star that a million girls would kill for a chance at. A guy I now realized I never should have gotten involved with in the first place.
I chalked it up to my dating inexperience that I’d so easily been dazzled by him last summer and again this time—who could blame me, really? It wasn’t the fame that was his appeal (for me, at least), but that this gorgeous guy had made me feel special, delivered heady promises, was a good kisser, and had completely overwhelmed my senses.
And it all began with his ridiculously long and stunning eyelashes.
Seriously, I’d been captivated by body hair. How messed up is that?
Barely five minutes later, I had just come out of the bathroom stall and was in the middle of washing my hands when the squeak of the locker room door announced I had company. My first thought was that it was Andres, Dave, or maybe even my dad, checking to see if I was okay. That I was expecting a male in the girls’ locker room almost made me laugh, but of course, it wasn’t unprecedented to have a male follow me into the ladies’ room. As I rinsed the soap from my hands, I mentally braced myself for whatever was to come.
The sight of my best friend coming around the corner made me sigh in relief.
“Thought you might want to brush your teeth out here rather than fight the masses at the kitchen sink,” she said, putting my toothbrush and a tube of paste down on the counter next to me.
“And fill you in on what went down,” I added as I turned off the tap and reached for a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall.
“Goes without saying,” Sandy said unapologetically. “Also to give you an update on the vibe on the bus. I figured that was valuable information.”
“Very,” I said, reaching for my toothbrush, thanking the best friend gods for making Sandy and I roommates at Rosewood freshman year. “You go first while I brush.”
“Well,” she began. “First things first, you should have hidden the fudge because it’s gone.”
Surprised at her opening (but not at all about the fudge), I laughed, happy to have something to actually laugh about.
“Good. I’m kind of glad,” I said, loading up my bristles with paste. “I was having some serious buyer’s remorse. You know that stuff is basically butter and sugar, right?”
“It was really good,” Sandy said with an appreciative hum. “I mean, so the guys said. I wouldn’t know.”
I gave her a sardonic look in the mirror.
She smirked back before she waved me off and continued with her debrief. “Anyway. Will was pissed about what Andres did. Like really upset. He was pacing in the bus until I took him outside and told him you and Tony were handling Andres. He...it was weird.”
What was weird was that at some point I was going to have to explain to my best friend that the guy she was crushing on was (unless I was completely off base) actually into me. I was surprised she hadn’t caught on to that fact, especially now. I loved her, but God, she could be so clueless sometimes.
I stopped brushing long enough to ask, “What about when Tony returned?”
She turned, putting her back against the counter and then hopped up to sit beside me, arranging herself between two sinks. “He told everyone that he spoke with Andy about the post—we took it down, by the way—and why he shouldn’t have put it up in the first place. Not like anyone else needed the lecture about social media, but...” She shrugged as her words trailed off.
“It can’t hurt to remind them,” I said. “Better to be safe than have to deal with this again. I can’t even imagine what I’ll be facing once I turn my phone back on.”
“I can deal with it, if you want,” Sandy offered. “I can disable your accounts. At least for now until this all blows over. You don’t need to deal with all that stuff, especially when all the trolls come out.”
A wave of relief washed over me just then, making me realize just how tense the social media stuff made me. Of course it wore on me, but maybe I’d been in denial about just how much. “That would be great, thank you. I’m busy enough with venues and everything...”
She shrugged, but hopefully she knew how much of a burden she was taking off my shoulders. “Anyway, Tony said he and you had it handled and no one was supposed to bring it up unless they had specific concerns. I think he meant Will, specifically. Even after Tony was done, he still seemed pissed about it.”
Made sense though now wasn’t the time to get into why.
I leaned over and spit the mouthful of toothpaste into the sink before looking up at her and asking, “And then when Andy returned?”
She shrugged. “When you weren’t with him, I grabbed your toothbrush and left the bus.”
“How did he seem, though?”
She looked up at the ceiling as though thinking about it and then returned her gaze to me. “In one word? Bummed. Maybe embarrassed, though I’m not sure if that would be from what he did or the fact that he got so epically busted for it.”
“Either is acceptable,” I said after rinsing and turning off the tap. “Apologetic, remorseful, either of those would work.”
“Too right,” Sandy said as she hopped down off the counter.
“I dumped him, by the way,” I said casually as I flicked the last drops of water off my toothbrush and put it in its holder.
She froze. “What?”
I looked up at my friend. “If he knew me at all, he never would have posted that picture. I’m not a groupie—I don’t like that attention. He can’t seem to understand that.”
“But didn’t he apologize?”
“Yes,” I said. “But there was more to it than that. I realized we’re really not compatible.”
“You said he was a good kisser,” she offered.
I laughed. “He is, but it’s not just about kissing, you know, Sandrine.” And even if it was, it was telling that I’d been secretly wondering what it would be like to kiss Dave. Really kiss him. Not just a pretend kiss with an audience.
Sandy stared at me for a long moment and then nodded. “You’re right. I guess he...I don’t know. It’s weird. I can’t imagine dumping a rock star.” She laughed. “I mean, I always thought it would be them doing the dumping.”
I knew what she meant, but it pissed me off. Did she think I should stay with him just because he was famous? No, of course not, but still... “They’re just regular people, Sandy. You shouldn’t put them on pedestals. I mean, sure Andres has that ego and I guess he’s had a while to develop it, but look at the other guys. Dave, Darren, Graeme, and even Max. They’re just normal guys, right?”
Her face contorted into a frown. “You can’t put Max in there with the other guys. There’s nothing normal about him.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes. “He’s just...” she glanced over her shoulder as though worried he was behind her. I didn't bother to tell her we’d have heard the door squeak if he’d tried to sneak up on us; she was just being paranoid. “He’s so mopey.”
“He’s been better lately,” I said, because it was true. While he wasn’t the social butterfly she was obviously hoping he’d morph into, his public presence had improved. He’d become a lot less moody, even in just the past few days since Linda and my dad gave him the attitude adjustment. “He went through a lot, Sandy. You can still count it in weeks since his girlfriend was killed in that accident.”
“I know,” she said, shrugging and looking down at the floor. “And I feel bad for him, but...I mean, I try to cheer him up so he’s not such a downer, but...”
I chuckled. “He’s resistant to your charms. Is that the real issue here?”
“Maybe,” she mumbled and then looked up at me and rolled her eyes again. “Okay yes, it bugs me that I can’t cheer him up. I can normally cheer anyone up, but he’s a lost cause. He’s going to grow up and be the guy whose house neighborhood kids cover in toilet paper.”
I laughed at her frustration. “No. He’s going to grow up and be the guy who has a security team to make sure kids don’t toilet paper his mansion,” I corrected. “No matter how broody he is—which I think works in his favor as long as he isn’t outright rude to anyone—that guy is talented. Probably more than either of us realize.”
“Still...”
If I didn’t know her better, I’d think...no, he so wasn’t her type. Sandy liked outgoing, fun guys and whatever Max was, no one could ever describe him as being either fun or outgoing.
“Come on,” I said as I slid an arm across her shoulders and led her to the door. “We’d better get out to the bus before my father sends out a search party.” I sighed. “I guess I have to face Andres sometime and try to get over the awkward.”
Sandy reached for the door and pulled it open as she nodded for me to go through first. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in his bunk sulking by the time we get there. He did not look like he was in any mood to stay up and socialize. Especially since all the fudge was gone.”
I didn’t want to set a precedent of us avoiding each other for the rest of tour, but as we left the locker room to head back to the bus, I really hoped she was right. At least about Andres—I could have used a bit of that fudge.