Date With A Rockstar by Sarah Gagnon

the spot.” He takes a big drink.
    I drape my hair over one shoulder, giving him a second to think. “You don’t have to answer.”
    â€œEh, my lyrics sometimes cut to the emotional center of an idea. But…okay. How about this: ‘Coconut liquor heating my tongue. What does heat taste like? What do you?’” He pauses and flushes. “Uh, then I’d play the noise your lips make when you lick them.”
    My face is burning. “I’m speechless.”
    â€œDamn, our first date and I’ve already scared you.” He glances down quickly and swirls the liquor and juice around in his coconut.
    â€œNo, nothing like that.” I drag my finger through the condensation under my drink. “I think your song would be much more romantic than mine. Yelling kids aren’t that melodic.”
    He looks back up at me and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent succumbing to the dazzle effect.
    â€œI think that’s why I got so popular with my last few recordings. I’m trying to find the sexy parts of the natural world.” He flips his hair back.
    My brain flutters. Jeremy Bane sitting inches from me, talking about music. Dream come true. But now I need to pull it together, because I need that prize money and I can’t lose my ability to reason. “You do a great job composing. I wish people connected with visual art the same way they do with music.”
    â€œI remember you said you do scratching in your interview. I want to see your work sometime.”
    I nod. Any excuse for more time. “I’m sure it’s amateurish compared to what you produce.”
    â€œHey, don’t undercut yourself. I’m sure it’s incredible.”
    I shrug. I don’t think I’m any better at taking a compliment than he is.
    â€œLet’s see if we can get a moment alone.” He takes my hand. I push my drink back and stand up. I wish I could keep the coconut. I’ll never be able to see one again without thinking of his lyrics. My feet sink into the hot sand and we take quick steps together toward the water. “Do you swim?” He asks the question as though he expects me to say, “Of course I can swim.”
    â€œNo.”
    He stops his brisk steps and turns to me. “You can’t swim?”
    â€œSorry, this is my first time at the beach.”
    â€œYou didn’t learn when you were growing up?” His eyebrows lift and I find the expression particularly endearing.
    He must have grown up with a lot of rich kids. “I’m from Boston and they don’t let people swim in the harbor.”
    â€œHuh. I can’t imagine not swimming. But don’t worry, I’ll teach you. It’s not hard.”
    â€œOkay.” I can’t do this. I’ll sink like a stone.
    He pauses by a lounge chair close to the water’s edge and strips off his T-shirt. The bottom drops out of my stomach. Oh. My. God. He ripples with muscle in the bright sunshine. He’s so real and so sculpted, and his chest is better than any of my fantasies. “Are you swimming in your T-shirt?” he asks.
    My T-shirt. Crap.
I choke and glance at the camera. Jeremy follows my gaze and steps in front of the lens. “I’ll walk behind you into the water.”
    Oh, God. He just thinks I’m shy.
“It’s not that. Well, it is, but also—” I try to swallow, but my throat tightens and damn…I’m so nervous. He’s watching me, silently asking me what my problem is. I don’t want to be this girl. I want to be confident, pretty. And I really don’t want to admit I’m diseased. I slide my T-shirt over my head and toss it on the chair next to his. I keep my back turned away from him and the cameras.
    â€œPurple,” he whispers.
    I drop the wrap skirt. The cameraman edges around Jeremy to get a clean shot of me. “What the hell, man?” He puts his hand over the lens. “Show