It’s now or never. Do I want to live with what-ifs? No. I don’t.
Hey, Sully. It’s Veronica. You gave me your number after the show tonight. Just wanted to reach out.
That sounds terrible. But what else should I say? I don’t want to look desperate or like I’m asking to screw a rock star. I’d be cool with talking.
Really Veronica? You can’t be this lame.
Why is this so hard? I’m being ridiculous. It’s a text. If he doesn’t answer then fine. But if he does…well, I’ll never know if I don’t hit send.
With my eyes squeezed closed, I send the text and feel like throwing up. The back of my throat burns, and my eyes sting.
My stomach tightens into a hard ball of nerves. Tonight has been a lot. Maybe I should take a shower and call it a night. As I walk to the apartment, my phone buzzes with a new message.
I clutch the phone, looking at the little message symbol mocking me.
Could it be Sully? Or maybe it’s Alice checking in.
My finger clicks on texts and opens the message.
Hey! You wanna come over?
Do I want to meet a rock star in his hotel? Yes. No. My pulse quickens, sending my heart into overdrive. If only I had Alice here. What would she do? Probably steal my phone and tell him I’d be over ASAP. Maybe even add a winky face because she’s evil.
What would be the harm in meeting with him? I could prove to Alice and myself that “the incident” didn’t ruin me forever.
I need to stop overthinking and act.
Yes. What’s the address?
My breathing is too loud, as if I climbed ten flights of stairs to my apartment instead of one. I step into my living room and lie on the couch, waiting for his response. He sends the address and his room number. I sit up too fast, causing a dizzy spell to spin my vision.
Am I doing this? I scan our lonely apartment. Being with a rock star is a hell of a lot better than binge-watching a TV show or falling asleep only to dream of what could have been.
I change into tight jeans ripped at the knees and a formfitting gray Jack Daniels shirt. It’s casual but gives the vibe of being open and willing to hang out. At least that’s what I’m telling myself as I grab my keys and walk out the door.
This hotel is one of the fanciest ones in Los Angeles. The floor is bright white with glittery swirls, and the walls are gray marble. There is a giant statue of a horse in the lobby, and above my head is the third chandelier I have spotted since coming inside.
Thankfully the people at the check-in desk are too busy processing a couple to notice me sneak past. I overhear them talking aboutTwilightand which team everyone is on. Out of curiosity, I glance over my shoulder to see the female guest wearing aTwilightshirt from the movie. She’s in a deep discussion about being on Team Edward with the girl behind the desk, and the bellhop isn’t having it. The male guest shakes his head and fiddles with the hotel keycard, patiently waiting for his companion to stop gossiping. I chuckle while walking down the hall and hit the call button for the elevator.
The elevator door slides open, and no one is inside. With this level of grandeur, I half thought there would be someone in here to work the elevator like in the movieTitanic.
I hit the top floor button, but nothing happens. That’s when I read the sign saying you need to tap your keycard to reach your floor. A flurry of nervous butterflies invades my stomach. How will I explain who I am to Sully at the check-in desk? Maybe I can text him and he will come get me. That wouldn’t be embarrassing.
As I argue with myself, a gentleman in a blue blazer steps inside. He flashes me a grin. “Floor?” he asks politely.
“Top floor please…” I say, offering a shy smile.
“Same.” He taps his card and hits the button.
I sigh in relief and stare at my shoes to avoid my reflection in the glass walls around me.
It never stops on another floor, which gives it the speed needed to fly to the highest floor as if it’s a rollercoaster. The gentleman lets me step out first and he turns left down the hallway, knowing where he’s going.
After a few seconds, I follow the signs until I’m standing at Sully’s hotel door. Out of nowhere, I’m lightheaded, and my knees buckle. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. There are other things I could do to prove I’m not turning into a sad, boring person instead of meeting a guy in a hotel that I met for five minutes in a venue’s back alley.
My hand remains halfway up, ready to knock. I step back, in the middle of chickening out and fleeing to the elevator, when the door swings open.
“Oh, hey!” Sully says, flashing me a grin with two darling dimples and turning my words into mush.
