FanGirl Squeal (RockStars of Romance Book 1) (2 page)

I waited patiently while girls offered to buy him a drink
and congratulated him on his “awesome performance” and his “dreamy eyes.”

“Groupies in training,” Brandon grumbled behind me and
pushed me to the front of the pack.

Cash looked up at me and my words caught in the back of my
throat. I literally almost choked on “how much is a CD?” I tried not to make
eye contact. Staring into his sky blue eyes would have surely sent me to my
knees, and after a few drinks, I knew I couldn’t depend on the twosome behind
me to catch my behind if I fell.

Cash’s lips spread into a half-smirk, half smile kind of
thing, revealing a dimple that I hadn’t noticed while he was on stage.
Involuntarily, I smiled back. Suddenly, my cargo shorts and t-shirt were
definitely not the right attire. I wished I looked more like the girls next to
me in miniskirts and crop tops. I own those things. Why didn’t I wear them?

“Did you enjoy yourself, gorgeous?” Cash said to the girl
standing next to me.

I waited for her to answer; getting more irritated every second
that she didn’t say anything until I felt a pinch on my upper arm and Troy’s
voice in my ear.

“He’s talking to you, silly.”

I could have disintegrated right there. “Ummm, yeah,” I
stammered. “It was amazing. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you. Would you like a CD?”

I fished around in my bag for some cash. “All I have is a
twenty. Do you have change?”

There was that lopsided smirk/smile again. “Yeah, I have
change. But keep your money,” Cash said. “I could tell you were feeling the
music. Besides, when I get a deal, you can use that twenty to buy my CD.”

I wanted to assure him that he would definitely get a record
deal. Every single one of these record companies in L.A. will be stupid of they
passed on Cash Myers. He had everything that Adam Levine, John Mayer, and
Justin Timberlake possessed and was ten times more attractive.

However, all I said was “Okay,” as I slid one of his CDs
into my bag.

“Savannah, here, runs an entertainment blog,” Brandon said
over my shoulder. “I’m sure she’d love to do a feature on you. Give her your
email address so we can get that set up.”

Cash’s laugh was genuine, not the forced laugh I hear so
often in L.A, especially when Brandon is talking. “It’s Cash Myers at Yahoo.
Easy to remember, right?”

I nodded. “It was nice meeting you, Cash. I hope I get to
see you perform again. You know, before you get that big record deal.”

“There’s a mailing list on my website,” Cash replied. “You
can sign up and I’ll email you whenever I have a show. Hope to see you again,
Savannah.”

The way he said my name made my stomach drop down to my
knees. I had been making progress. I’d managed a complete sentence and was
ready to walk out of the door with my dignity still intact until “Hope to see
you again, Savannah.”

Good God! When did I turn into such a fangirl? Especially
for a singer that wasn’t even famous. Next thing you know, I’ll be reading
Twilight fanfiction on LiveJournal until the wee hours of the morning.

“Look at those cheeks!” Brandon squealed when we were safely
back in his 2003 BMW and heading back to campus. “Girl, those brown cheeks of
yours are practically pink! You like that Cash Myers, don’t you?”

Guiltily, my cheeks began to warm. I knew that rush of blood
would betray me even more than it already had. Sure, I wouldn’t have minded
sneaking Cash Myers into my dorm room, but guys like him don’t date girls like
me.

I’m sure it’s the neon “Don’t Even Think About Dating My
Daughter” sign that flashes above my head when anyone who is not a well-rounded
African-American boy from a good family and at least a 3.8 GPA approaches me.

My father is a good man, but very opinionated and believes
that he and only he knows what’s best for his daughters. Interracial dating is
not that list of things that are best for Savannah and Ashley Ford.

I shrugged off Brandon’s completely accurate assessment. “He’s
a good musician. I’m interested in seeing where his career goes.”

“You better email him,” Brandon said with a snap of his
fingers. “You need to snag that while he’s still playing hole in the wall bars
like the JukeBox. Don’t wait until he gets famous. Don’t let a good man pass
you by.”

Maybe I will. I’m in L.A. What my father doesn’t know won’t
necessarily kill him.

“No, no, no!” I groaned with my eyes tightly shut behind my
black satin eye mask, a gift from my roommate who thinks that all women should
enjoy black satin everything. 

The early morning sounds of cars bouncing over speed bumps,
children rushing to the bus stop, and garbage being collected by yelling and
undoubtedly dirty collectors had interrupted a rather fabulous dream that
included more sexy male strippers than my underused libido could handle. My
frustrated groan alerted my two adorable three-month-old tuxedo kittens. Phoebe
and Joey jumped off the ottoman they shared at night and began their early
morning ritual of high-pitched mewing until I lifted my satin eye mask and
squinted at the kittens.

“You know I’m going to feed you,” I grumbled. “Do we have to
go through this every morning?”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and felt around the
cool hardwood floor for slippers or at least a rolled up pair of socks. With a
sigh, I tucked my iPhone into my Victoria Secret pajama pants and opened the
bedroom door, not as eager as the twins to get the day started. I am not a
morning person in any shape, form, or fashion. Still, the “kids” have to eat
and according to Dr. Oz and my mother, so do I.

“
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day
.”

And my sister’s favorite... “
You’ll never lose those ten
pounds if you don’t change your eating habits, Savannah. Skipping breakfast
does nothing for your metabolism
.”

My eyes rolled up to the sky when my sister’s voice sprang
into my mind. Even when she’s not around, Ashley still manages to get under my
skin. Hate is such a strong word but if she wasn’t my sister, I could easily
see myself hating her. At this point, I’m in severe dislike with my twin sister.

Our dysfunctional relationship could be my fault. I may be a
little jealous. Ashley is my parents’ favorite child. From what I know about
two-parent households, each parent secretly has a favorite kid. Normally, it’s
not the same kid. Except in the Ford household. Ashley, the overachiever,
played right into their Black American dream.

Perfect student, never got into any trouble. Graduated from
high school with a 4.2 GPA because we were in the Honors Program. She graduated
from Spelman then Harvard Law by the age of twenty-four. Passed the bar the
very first time. Married a doctor, just had a baby, and is on track to becoming
the youngest partner at her law firm.

WE’RE TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD!

Even though she’s the perfect child, I feel bad for my
sister. Her many accomplishments have left her with nothing to accomplish in
her thirties. Me, I’m enjoying every single bit of my twenties. I chose a
career that puts absolutely no restraints on my life. I work when I want and
have a good time doing it.

Not wanting to think about Ashley or her boring life, I
shuffled into the kitchen with the kittens following close behind. 

“Late night?” my roommate’s voice greeted me.

“Coffee?” I mumbled.

“In the microwave,” Troy replied and kept reading the USA
Today at the breakfast nook.

I hit the 30-second button on the microwave and watched my Starbucks
cup spin slowly. I have to hand it to Troy; he is the best friend a girl could
have. Every morning he gets our coffee from around the corner. Every morning.

I emptied a couple of cans of Fancy Feast into Phoebe and
Joey’s dish, grabbed my coffee, and joined Troy at the breakfast nook.

“Looks like you’re going to be late for work,” I commented
while leafing through the pages of US Weekly.

“Did you forget? Brandon’s flying in from Seattle today. I
took the week off.”

Technically, Troy could take as much time off as he wanted.
His upscale hair studio near Burbank practically runs itself.

I’m actually excited that Brandon is coming for a visit.
Since he took a job with an architectural design firm and moved to Seattle
right after graduation, he doesn’t get to L.A. often. Sometimes I think if he
wasn’t dating my best friend, I’d never see Brandon.

Life after college sure changes people. Brandon, Troy, and I
grew up together in Harlem and were thick as thieves. They transferred to UCLA
when I threatened to never return to L.A. after my freshman year. We walked
across that big UCLA stage together. Then everything changed. Suddenly, life
took a hold of my sacred threesome and shook us until we were forced to grow up
and be adults.

Brandon and Troy realized that they were soul mates and
began dating. I met the love of my life twice and then got engaged to the real
love of my life. Troy started working with a celebrity hair stylist and his
career took off. And I posted a story on my blog about Beyonce and Jay-Z,
scooped all the major celebrity gossip sites, and
FangirlSqueal.com
catapulted to the highest ranks in the blogosphere.

Take that Queen Perez.

Well, at least Troy is here. He bought the townhouse right
next to mine. Two years ago, we tore down the walls that separated our homes
and now we have a massive 2500 square foot townhouse in North Hollywood.

Not too shabby for a hair stylist and an entertainment
journalist. Not a blogger. I simply refuse to introduce myself as Savannah
Ford, gossip blogger. I have a Master’s Degree in Communication. I’ve won
awards for my blog and social media expertise. I’m not just a blogger. A census
taker called me a blogger once…the rest is history. Just kidding.

“Looks like there’s trouble in paradise,” Troy practically
sang as he looked at his phone.

I was ignoring (or enjoying) the constant vibration of my
Twitter notifications as my phone sat in my pocket. Something big had happened
while I was trying to recover from another one of my father’s attempts to marry
me off. Something is always happening in Hollywood. I’d be out of a job if
celebrities stayed in the house.

“What happened?” I asked while picking through the fruit
bowl for something that wasn’t brown and mushy.

“Paparazzi caught Victoria Williamson and Cash Myers in a
heated argument outside of their hotel in San Francisco,” Troy read aloud from
his phone. “Cash made the trip home to Los Angeles alone last night while
Victoria traveled back to New York where filming on her new movie is set to begin.
It is unclear whether the couple will reunite in Vegas for the last show of
Cash’s six month tour.”

“That means nothing,” I replied as if I wasn’t itching to
run down to my office, log on to my Facebook group, and discuss what the hell
was going on with Cash and Victoria.

I guess some would call me a SUPERFAN. In fact, that’s the nicest
thing they call me. However, I fell in love with Cash’s music eight years ago
and have been his number one fan ever since. Besides, part of my job is to stay
up to date with the business of celebrities. There is something different about
Cash though. He has definitely grown into his music and deserves all of the
success he has. I’m glad to have been there since the beginning.

“He looks good though,” Brandon said and slid his phone over
to me.

I tried not to drool over the paparazzi picture of Cash and
Victoria standing by the valet stand at the Marriott. But he was shirtless and
tan and –OH MY GOD!- did he not have on underwear? His jeans were hanging so
low on his hips that I could faintly make out a glimpse of his happy trail.

“Goddamn,” I said under my breath. “I see he’s been hitting
the gym.”

“Goddamn is right!” Troy snapped his fingers. “If I was into
white boys, I’d be sashaying my black ass all over the country to see him like
you and your friends too.”

“Fine is fine. White, black, brown doesn’t matter when you’re
packin’ muscles like that.”

I sighed and slid Troy’s phone back to him. I’m twenty-seven
years old. I shouldn’t still be crushing over Cash Myers. Even though I try to
explain that what I feel for Cash isn’t a crush. True, I wouldn’t turn down a
romp with Cash Myers, but it’s his music that captured my heart eight years ago
and the reason why I’m still partially sane today.

Cash’s music speaks to me in ways people who don’t have a
blinding passion for music don’t understand. I stopped trying to explain it at
least five years ago. Yet, I know if I made a mad dash down to my office before
finishing dishing the tea with Troy, I’d never hear the end of it. So I changed
the subject.

“What are your plans with Brandon this week?” I asked over
the rim of my coffee cup.

“You mean besides mind-blowing
I Miss You
sex?”

I sat my coffee cup on the table and groaned. “God, I miss
sex! I thought I’d get lucky last night, but no such luck. Where does my dad
find these guys that don’t put out?”

“You know good and well Dr. Ford is not trying to hook his
daughter up with a guy who puts out on the first date.”

Phoebe and Joey mewed their agreement from under the table
as if they were a part of the conversation while they settled comfortably at my
feet.

“If you weren’t looking for husband material and stop going
on these blind dates with guys your parents pick for you, then you’d be having
sex regularly,” Troy continued with his lecture. “Why don’t you actually attend
one of those weddings you get invited to instead of sending gift cards? Hook up
with a best man or two. That should end your dry spell. Or accept the fact that
one-night stands are okay. Unleash your inner slut, girl!”