FanGirl Squeal (RockStars of Romance Book 1) (16 page)

“So, um, you really met him? You really got a chance to talk
to Cash Myers?” she asked in a much softer voice.

“Yes,” I nodded. “And I’m going to talk to him again. In
fact, I’m helping him organize an event.”

“Well, I am happy that you finally met him then. I know that’s
something you’ve wanted for years. It still doesn’t change the fact-”

I held up my hand to stop her from continuing with her
statement. “Just be happy for me then. One day, you will realize that I don’t
care what you, our parents, or their friends think about me. I’m not a crack
head. I am not an alcoholic. I am not broke and homeless. I am nothing for you
to be ashamed of or disappointed in. It’s one picture in Front Page, which I’m
99.999% positive Mom, Dad, and all of their friends are not reading because it
holds just as much merit as The Inquirer. You’re the only one upset about it so
please be upset about it somewhere else.”

Ashley stood up and brushed imaginary lint off of her
clothes. She straightened her back. I could see the tension in her shoulders.

“You’re always so quick to tell me to get out of your face,”
she stated evenly. “You can never talk to me without getting defensive. And for
the record, I’ve never in my life said I was disappointed in you or ashamed of
you. I’ll see you tonight. Please don’t be late.”

Ashley walked out of my room and slammed the heavy hotel
door behind her.

I rolled my eyes and lay back on the bed. My head was
pounding. Mixing shots of tequila and champagne was a bad idea. I knew better.
My heart started to thump in my chest when I started to wonder what Cash is
going to think about our Front Page appearance. Afraid to actually dial his
number, I sent his publicist a short and apologetic email. Last night I was
covering the party for another website. My behavior was so unprofessional.

I started to doze off thinking that I better write the best
story about the party I can possibly write or I’ll probably never get a chance
to work with that client again. I mentally added a trip up the Front Page
offices to discuss the “slumming” comment with Aubrey James to my To-Do List. We’re
peers. I haven’t done anything to that woman. We’re not supposed to take shots
at each other like that.

My phone rang and I slowly opened my eyes. It couldn’t be
anybody this early in the morning except Ashley calling me because she didn’t
say everything she wanted while she was in here. I bet she’s in the parking
deck fuming right now.

“Hello?” I answered slowly.

“Savannah?”

I heaved a deep sigh of relief. It wasn’t my sister or some
ambitious gossip blogger who was resourceful enough to find my phone number. It
was just Tracy, Cash’s publicist.

“Hi Tracy. Are you pissed?”

“Not at all. Cash texted me last night that he was taking
you and your friends home. I’ve already got a call in to the editor at Front
Page. They’ve taken it off their site and I’m having them print the real story
tomorrow.”

“Is Cash upset?”

“No!” Tracy laughed. “He said he had fun so, in my mind,
that’s all that matters.”

“Good. I can breathe a little easier now. I was worried.”

“Don’t worry about Cash. The man has thick skin. He’s used
to it.”

I wondered if Tracy knew about our kiss - kisses - since she
appeared to have a close relationship with Cash. However, if she didn’t know, I
wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.

After hanging up with Tracy, I drifted off to sleep. The
party isn’t until seven tonight. Plenty of time to sleep off a hangover.

****

I woke up four hours later feeling a hundred times better.
The first thing I did was pick up my phone and call Amy. I know she’s dying to
talk to me about last night, if she even remembers what happened.

“Banana!” she screamed into the phone. “I’ve been waiting
for you to wake up all morning!”

“I know, I’m sorry. Ashley woke me up at the ass crack of
dawn crying over the picture on Front Page then I fell back to sleep. I had
such a bad hangover.”

“Me too! Do you remember what happened last night?” she
asked eagerly.

“You met Cash,” I grinned.

“I met Cash freakin’ Myers!” Amy squealed. “And he was
perfect! He was so sweet and funny. Can you believe it?”

I listened to Amy gush about fantastic Cash was. She’s
completely correct in her assessment of Cash and I’m beyond happy that she and
Jason decided to come into the city this weekend so that she could meet him.

Last night was my first time meeting Amy’s husband in
person. What better way to meet your wife’s best friend than in a rowdy club
where drinks flowed abundantly? I’m already aware that I make a horrible first
impression on most people. I’m either crying, drinking, laughing insanely loud
or a combination of all three. I’ve begun not to care.

Amy and Jason were planning to spend the day going to their
favorite places in New York City so we agreed to meet up tomorrow and have
lunch before they headed back to D.C. After getting off the phone, I ordered a
chicken Caesar salad from room service and prepared for an easy afternoon
before I had to get ready for my parents’ anniversary party.

After laying out my complete ensemble for the party, I ate
and showered. I was in the middle of applying a moisturizing facemask when my
phone rang. I wrapped a bath towel around me a like there was someone else in
the room and grabbed the phone off the desk.

“Hello?”

“Feel like slumming it with me today?”

A smile as wide as the Brooklyn Bridge spread across my
face. Geez, even his voice is sexy as hell.

“Hey Cash.”

“What’s up, Savannah. What you doin?”

“Just got out of the shower,” I replied nonchalantly while
secretly hoping that Cash was picturing me naked. Lord knows I’ve done the same
with him a countless number of times.

“Oh yeah?” he said slowly. “You just got out?”

“Yes. I’m air drying,” I giggled. “Why?”

“So, you’re just sitting around your hotel room naked.”

“Yep. Pretty much.”

“Want some company?”

I smirked in the bathroom mirror. Good. I’m not the only one
with sex on the brain.

“Can’t. I have to go to my parents’ place. My aunt is going
to do my hair then we’re riding in the limo to The Roosevelt for their party.”

“Right! You did say that was tonight,” Cash replied. I
thought I detected a little disappointment in his tone, but my Spidey senses
could be off. It happens when sexual desire overtakes my good sense.

“Well, let’s try to make that interview happen before you go
back to L.A.”

I chuckled a little.
That interview
, yeah right.
There was so much weight in those two little words that a bodybuilder would
have struggled lifting them.

“Cash, let’s not pretend to be all about business. If you
want to see me again, just say so.”

He was silent for a second. I admit, I was a little nervous
that I was wrong in my assumption that he actually wanted to see me.

“Hello?” I said into the phone. “Are you still there?”

“I want to see you. I want to do more than just see you.”

The deep growl-like cadence of Cash’s words made me quiver
and tingle in places that stopped tingling and quivering months ago. I closed
my eyes and took deep breaths to steady my heart. I can’t have a heart attack
today. Ashley will be so disappointed if I died and ruined her party.

“Um…well…umm,” I stammered, completely losing any measure of
cool and coy that I had a few minutes ago. “Let’s meet up tomorrow and get
that
interview
done. I believe you know where I’m staying.”

“Ummm, yeah,” Cash said slowly. I imagined him licking his
lips when he said it. “See you tomorrow, Savannah.”

My named rolled off his tongue like the bass line of a Barry
White song. I don’t remember saying goodbye. All I know is that I do not want
to go to a party when Cash Myers is aching to see me.

****

“Look at this diva!” Aunt Charlene shouted loudly when I
walked down the stairs into my parents’ living room, fully dressed and made up
for the party.

“You look absolutely gorgeous! You should have let me do
your hair years ago.”

I patted my now straight hair. It felt…wrong somehow. As I
looked around at my beautiful family, dressed impeccably in our Black Tie
Affair clothes, I didn’t feel like me. I’ve been to dozens of formal affairs
with my parents, but there’s something different about this one that I can’t
put my finger on. It has to be my hair. I hate it, probably because it makes me
look exactly like Ashley.

“What do you think, Mom?”

My mother, in her black and white gown, smiled warmly. I was
delighted when she came to me for help finding the perfect dress. I spent hours
online looking for a dress and we both fell in love with the David Meister
one-shoulder dress from Niemen’s.

Dr. Deborah “you better not call me Deb” Ford is one of the
most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, and not just because she’s my mother. She
reminds me so much of Angela Bassett it’s ridiculous. She’s fifty, but she
doesn’t look a day over thirty-five. They say
good black don’t crack
and
both of my parents are living proof.

“I think you look beautiful,” my mom replied and ran her
fingers through my silky straight hair. “It reminds me of you and Ashley’s
debutante ball.”

UGH! That was one of the worst nights of my life. I hated my
hair, my dress, and my date. I hated everything that a debutante ball stood
for…and still do. No woman needs to be introduced to society by looking like
she’s competing in the formal gown portion of the Miss America pageant. And the
special debutante dance…come on! Someone please explain the need for that.

That ball is the reason why I deliberately don’t wear white
dresses anywhere…ever. If I ever get married, I’m wearing any other color
except white. The beaded one-shoulder gown Troy chose for me to wear tonight is
a deep cerulean blue and heavy floor length number that is nowhere near the
color white. In it, I feel formal. Despite my parents’ obvious approval of my
conformity, that is a problem for me. This party is a problem for me.

When Ashley suggested we throw our parents a thirtieth
anniversary celebration, I wanted to have a nice casual barbecue at her husband’s
house in the Hamptons, but everyone vetoed my plan. Now we’re stuck in the
Terrace Ballroom at the Roosevelt Hotel and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be
suffocated by all the uppitiness of Black High Society and die before I get to
see Cash again.

“Stop making that face,” Charlene scolded me out of the
clear blue. I wasn’t even aware that I was making a face. “All you have to do
is wet your hair and dry it with your diffuser. Your curls will bounce back. It’s
not like I gave you a perm. You are such a baby sometimes.”

“Don’t talk to my child that way,” my mother spoke up. “You
know how Savannah is about her hair.”

“Awkward,” I mumbled.

Listening to my mother and her twin argue creeps me out
because they sound so much like Ashley and me. My dad heard me mumble and
grinned. He stepped between his formally dressed wife and sister-in-law.

“Not tonight, ladies. We are going to have a good time with
no arguing from either set of twins. It’s been six hours since your last
argument. I think you two can make it through the rest of the night.”

I snickered quietly as my mother did something that I rarely
see her do…roll her eyes.

Uh-oh, Momma, your ghetto is showing.

Ashley and Kevin were riding with my grandparents to the
hotel in a separate limo. I’m still thanking the good Lord for that. My father
locked up the house and escorted us to the waiting limo.

“I heard about the fight you had with your sister this
morning,” he said to me.

“It wasn’t a fight.”

“You girls are just like them.” he motioned to my mom and
aunt who were walking about two feet in front of us. “I don’t want my daughters
fighting all the time like that, Savannah, especially in public.”

The way Dad said my name immediately let me know that he
still believes that I am to blame for the state of our relationship. As I
stared up at my father’s 6’7” frame and into eyes that matched mine, a scary
thought crossed my mind.

I wish my parents cared about me as much as they care
about what other people think.

My dad helped us into the limo. The tension in the air was
thick and was only lightened by the constant chatter my aunt kept up. But she
was only talking to me. She wanted to hear everything about my life in Los
Angeles. Aunt Charlene thinks I live such a glamorous life, like the
celebrities I write about.

I wanted to tell her about Cash because I’m very close to my
aunt. While my parents explained the schematics of sex and boys and puberty,
Aunt Charlene was the one who gave me the really useful, real life advice. She’s
the one who encouraged me to go to UCLA instead of Spelman. She told me it was
alright to explore my sexuality when I felt like I was ready instead of living
by my parents’ archaic instructions to wait for marriage.

I can’t talk about Cash in the presence of my parents
though, not until I know for sure what is really happening between us.
Something is happening and tomorrow is going to tell me exactly what that
something is.

The last party I went to that Ashley organized was boring as
hell so I had very little expectations of this one. She should have asked for
my help. Surprisingly, after the plated dinner was served, I actually started
to have a little fun.

The live band was playing the classic old school jams that I
grew up listening to. Despite the formal attire of my parents’ friends, the dance
floor was packed. There were so many couples there, having fun, enjoying each other,
and being in love. Even though I was dressed to the nines and fit right in,
appearance wise, I felt awkward being one of the few single women in the
ballroom. Aunt Charlene and I compensated by flirting with the bartenders and wait
staff. The hotel chef was gorgeous and about twenty years too old for me so I
played wingman for my aunt.