26
Ismoothed down my navy dress and adjusted the lace collar for the tenth time. I hoped what I was wearing was appropriate, but who knew what kind of thing rock stars and their girlfriends wore?
My phone pinged and I knew without looking it was Nathan. I grabbed my bag and struggled to stuff my feet into a brand new pair of kitten heels I'd bought just for this. They were perhaps half a size too small and I hoped I wouldn't have to be on my feet for most of the evening.
I snuck out the door and around the side of the house, darting down the street to where Nathan was idling in his car.
"You really need to talk to your mom," Nathan said as I slid in. "We shouldn't have to sneak around."
I ran a soothing hand down his arm.
"Every time I've run into her in the past week she's tried to lecture me," I explained. "No apology in sight. I'm going to give her some more time to cool down and get used to the idea of her daughter dating before I rub you in her face."
Nathan wasn't wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt, and he wasn't in his leather rock star get up. He wore a pair of black dress pants and a white collared shirt, complete with black tie. His hair was slicked back away from his forehead, not falling into his eyes. It changed his look. He looked less like the cute boy from next door and more like a suave, debonair gentleman ready to sweep me off my feet.
Nathan noticed me staring.
"So what's your preference?" he asked. "Sexy rock star, casual creeper or James Bond?"
I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my dry mouth.
"Do I have to choose?" I asked.
Nathan laughed and shifted the car into gear. "If it was up to me, I'd stick to casual creeper. I hate ties."
"That's a shame. You look very handsome in one."
"Handsome?" Nathan mocked a disappointed pout. "You're supposed to think I'm a hot as fuck rock star god."
"You're that, too. Not to mention, you can also be sexyandcute."
"Aww, you're making me blush," he teased. "Tell me more."
"I don't need to add to that swelled head of yours." I pulled the hem of my dress down. "Is this okay?"
"Your dress? Yeah, why?"
I fidgeted with the lace on my collar. "I didn't know what to wear."
"It's just a gallery showing," he explained. "There's going to be dozens of people wearing all kinds of clothes, from creative artist types to snobby rich art collectors. You'll fit in just fine, I promise."
"I hope so," I murmured.
This was the first time I was going to meet all of Nathan's band members and friends, and it was all at the same time in one small, contained place.
One of Nathan's music colleagues, August Summers, the drummer from Darkest Days, had a photographer girlfriend. We were on our way to some sort of exhibit showing off her work. She had apparently become something of a big deal in the art community.
Nathan had also told me about some of the others who were going to be there. A concert musician who'd produced a cello-and-violin duet with her multi-talented rock star boyfriend and reached number one on the music charts. One of the youngest women in the music industry to reach the position of Vice President of something or other. The owner and co-founder of a popular music magazine. An events manager who worked with celebrities to raise money for charities.
And me. A part-time pet shop worker.
I slunk down into my seat and clutched the strap of my purse.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Nathan asked.
I sat back up. "Nothing. Just…"
I didn't want to lie to Nathan about my feelings, the way I lied to my parents. I didn't want that to be the kind of relationship we had.
