Dear Rockstar by Emme Rollins Page A

disconcerting. I felt naked in front of him.
    “Let me guess? You wanted to make it in the music business?”
    “My parents were having problems.” He sat back in his chair, picking at his food. “My mom left. Me and my dad moved to Seattle. That’s when I really started getting serious about music.”
    “And your dad was okay with you quitting school?”
    He snorted. “No. But I didn’t give him a say. I moved out.”
    “So how did you end up here?”
    “I told you. He got a job at Rutgers.” He seemed far away now, distant. I didn’t like it.
    “But you weren’t living with him?”
    Dale shrugged. “He asked me to come with him. Said he’d pay for everything, let me live with him, and I could pursue my music as long as I was working on getting my diploma.”
    I nodded. “So the academy is your compromise.”
    “Well, I knew about the Battle of the Bands before we moved.” He flashed me a brief smile. God, that dimple. “MTV did them last year in New York, and I had it on good authority they were going to do them again this year. I figured I’d have time to put a band together and give it a shot.”
    “Well now that I’ve seen you, I think you’ve got a pretty good one,” I said honestly. That was an understatement. I couldn’t imagine anyone beating them.
    “You think so?”
    I nudged him with my knee under the table. “I think you know it.”
    “I still like to hear it.” He turned to look at me, his eyes searching. “Especially from you.”
    I smiled, reaching over and taking his hand, giving him exactly what he’d asked for. He deserved it. “You’re very good. You’re an amazing singer. You’re an incredible performer. I’ve never seen a crowd go crazy like that for someone they’d never seen before. I mean, celebrity takes time. Exposure. I think you’re one of those people who draws other people in. Like a magnet. You’re going to have people following you around, no matter what you do. For the rest of your life.”
    He was actually blushing. “Why do you say that?”
    “Because that’s how you make me feel,” I confessed, biting my lip, almost wishing I hadn’t said it.
    “Hm.” He made a little noise in his throat, turning my hand over in his, tracing the lines in my palm with his fingertip like he was following a road map. “How do I make you feel?”
    “Like I would follow you anywhere,” I whispered.
    He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my palm, closing his eyes briefly, and I noticed how long and dark his lashes were before he looked at me with that intense, blue gaze, telling me more with one look than either of us could ever say in words.
    “When I saw you in the audience today, I don’t even know how to tell you what it did to me.” He shook his head, twining his fingers with mine. 
    “Why didn’t you tell me you were performing?”
    “Because I didn’t want that to happen.” He gave a short laugh. “I didn’t want to be distracted. I wasn’t supposed to let myself get distracted…”
    “That’s it!” I snapped my fingers. Now all the dirty looks made sense. “Your band thinks I’m your Yoko Ono, don’t they?”
    “You kind of are.” He met my eyes, the emotion in them so strong I felt it before he even said the words. “Sara, I don’t think you understand what you do to me.”
    “What do you mean?” Now it was my turn to ask him.
    “I couldn’t think,” he confessed. “Thank God the song was over, because the minute I saw you… I was done for.”
    “Oh please.” I smiled, teasing him. “All those screaming girls. I’m surprised they weren’t throwing panties at you.”
    “Sometimes they do.” He grinned. “But that never mattered to me.”
    I blinked in surprise. “What does matter to you?”
    “Now? You.” He squeezed my hand in his, that was all, but the sensation shot up my arm with a jolt that nearly knocked me off my chair.
    “Dale, do you realize how crazy that sounds?” I whispered, glancing around like