The Rock Star in Seat by Jill Kargman Page B

live once. His lips would be on me. Not on my locket. On my lips. I’d feel his tongue inside my mouth. And his arms around me. No matter what. And I couldn’t fucking wait.

Chapter 21
    Wishing is good for us. Daydreams, fantasies, castles in the air, and aspirations all drive us forward, impel us to make things happen. They also tell us a lot about ourselves. Our wishes come straight from our core.
    —Anonymous
    F rom that point on, we spoke four times a day. At least. Between stolen convos were flurries of texts and even one night, as I lay on my pillow, a bedtime tuck-in worthy of a teenage fantasy.
    “Sweet dreams, little witch,” he said as I closed my eyes in the dark room.
    “I’ll see you in them,” I replied in an almost whisperlike purrr. I never knew I could be this ballsy of a woman; it was as if he’d ignited a sexy side I had never had the confidence to explore. He elicited this tigress streak; I suddenly felt a feline flirting take over my tone as the whisper escaped my larynx. I felt that in my head I was carrying myself like the woman I always wanted to be.
    “I swear, I’ve seen you in mine many times,” he confessed in a throaty whisper.
    “Me, too.”
    “Two more days,” he said, sighing.
    “Thirty-six hours.”
    We said good night and I curled up under the down comforter in the basking bliss of something more magical than a crush. It did have a ring of the young to it—the physical innocence, for the time being at least, and the almost audible pitter-patter, the kind when you finish the slow song at the school dance and walk outside together, holding hands, hearts pounding. And after that first kiss, practically gliding. And like the youthful crushes that spear the heart and possess the mind, it was moving at a breakneck pace that I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. My every thought was consumed with Finn. Our mouths locked. I imagined what it would be like. Kissing the obsession of my adult life. What if it was totally vile and he tried to stick his tongue down my throat and lick my epiglottis? What if there was zero chemistry and I felt mouth-raped and icky? You know what? Good! Then I could go back to my life and move on and not sit and mull over this rock-star fantasy.
    But truthfully, all these so-called worries about lack of sparks in person were all bullshit, and I knew it. I had felt a palpable frisson in the air just by his side, in the warehouse, at dinner, in the car, on the plane. Maybe there’s no such thing as love at first sight, but this sure felt awfully close, despite the fact I was emotionally armed with reams of backstory in the press and his vivid soul-searing lyrics imprinted in my brain.
    I passed out and heard Wylie come in around 1:00 A.M . but lay like spaghetti so as not to initiate a whole convo about my departure. I felt guilty that I didn’t feel guilty. Was I a guy? I loved him, of course, but somehow Finn transcended our life and was this whole new dimension, almost like I could compartmentalize the two distinct emotions for two totally different men. I’d heard men were better than women at doing this, but at the moment, as I heard cute Wylie padding around and switching off the lights and climbing into bed, I knew I could give any dude a run for his money. I didn’t know what I wanted—I guess to have my cake and eat it, too? Have a torrid affair with Finn and get him out of my system and come back to patient Wylie after that sexual itch has been scratched? Or was I even feeling these things because something with Wylie wasn’t quite right? If Wylie was my true love, it wouldn’t even be possible to be dreaming of Finn unbuttoning my blouse, right? My mind was reeling a mile a minute. Until it finally slowed and I fell fast asleep.

Chapter 22
    All fantasy should have a solid base in reality.
    —Max Beerbohm
    M y last day at work was a flurry of pretrip phone calls, putting out minifires, and then facilitating, greeting, touring the MTV camera