Rockstar Lost - Taryn Quinn Page 0,1

crazy. Well, no more than usual.

He was supposed to be somewhere in the Midwest.

Not that I checked his schedule or anything. Maybe I just memorized it to avoid it on my itinerary. Or that was what I told myself.

There were too many people in the way for me to get a good look, but the rasp of his voice painted a picture. He always sang too close to the microphone. Kissing it, for God’s sake. I slipped by the elementary teacher who was one of our Ladies’ night regulars. She’d suddenly gone from a buttoned-up Oxford-shirt mom of three to a groupie wearing a slinky camisole that probably hadn’t seen daylight in half a dozen years.

Women always had that reaction to Myles. Add in the fact that he was now the piano player in a world-famous rock band. Needless to say, his magic wand probably got a helluva lot more play these days.

The closer I got, the more I was able to see. The way his fingers caressed the piano keys, the scrape of the bench as he kicked it back out of his way. He slammed the keys on the old upright that had been stashed in the corner of the stage. Jon had acquired it from an estate sale, but it had lay silent since he’d bought it.

Out of tune and ancient, it was still the conduit Myles used to woo the audience. The crowd lost their collective shit as Myles became the song.

This was the man I had few defenses against. When he was this real and his lyrics were so vivid and heartbreaking.

My song.

Inhaling a shaky breath, I finally got near the front. He’d obviously sneaked in while I was involved in debating the upcoming college basketball season with Micky Doyle. Even if it was my last day, no one cut me any slack in here. Micky was a little sweet on me and gave me great tips, although he was a Duke fan and I wouldn’t cheer them on for all the coins in First Federal Bank.

Not that I was particularly motivated by money, which was another way Myles and I were different. He’d had big dreams to chase. One of his goals was to buy his mama a nice big Cadillac. It had to be that car. Mrs. Vaughn loved them, and she’d spent so many years scrimping and saving as a single mom on a waitress’s salary—hello, déjà vu, though I didn’t have a couple of kids to support, twins no less—that she’d never had a chance to buy one. Myles had been on a mission to go out to California and meet some important people and make all the money so his mother never had to struggle again.

He was nothing if not sweet. And impossible.

The guy could compose songs about me, but he wasn’t about to give me a head’s up that he planned on being in town.

Just one more day and I would have been gone.

I had an itinerary and tickets, for sweet fuck’s sake. I was going to explore my way across the country and find my own damn magic. I'd been one of the Hudson girls in Turnbull, New York all my life. I hadn’t even gone far for college. My degree was from a state school. And I had a savings account, which had been steadily growing since I was fourteen.

Safe and reliable Felicity. I was tired of being her.

In two days, I was going to be wild Felicity, dammit.

An impromptu visit with my ex-bestie was not on my damn itinerary.

Being a rockstar on the rise was every dream he’d ever had, and none of it included a spot for me. I understood that. Hell, it was one of the main reasons I’d never even thought of asking him for more than friendship. Even when there had been moments of what-ifs, I’d understood what my role was. Support. Same as he’d done for me for years. It had always been us against the world.

Until he’d crossed the line. Actually, he’d torched it.

Seven minutes to kill seven years of friendship. And just like the game, it had been seven minutes of heaven. The kind of kiss that had ruined me for all other men. And on certain nights, the memory of his touch infiltrated my dreams, leaving me straining and aching with his name on my lips when I tore out of sleep.

Dammit, why was he here now?

And oh, God, I was going to throw up before I took