Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“I didn’t even know you were performing tonight,” I reply. “Then I thought I was just gonna be out in the crowd and–”
Cal laughs and wraps an arm around me. “You think I’d do that to you? For our first date? Come on, Reese, never!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I reply, pushing him away with a palm. “First date? Who said there will be anything past a first date?”
Cal grins and turns to everyone in the room. My heart is pounding, and although it’s only my first year out of high school, it sure feels like I’m right back there now, getting into it with a popular guy in front of everybody.
“You see, guys?” He laughs. “This is why I love her.”
His dad is already nodding. He points an old, thick, wrinkled finger at me. “She’s a good one, this one. A keeper.”
“She sure is,” Cal agrees.
I’m not even sure how to process what’s going on. This Cal is so far away from the Cal I’ve seen in the media. Shouldn’t his dressing room be filled with groupies? Half-naked women all fawning over him, drugs and alcohol, dudes that look like they just walked out of a frat fighting for his attention?
Not his parents and his managers. Not some waitress from a local restaurant that’s not even that great.
Just then, the door to his dressing room opens, and a man with a headset pops his head in. “Cal, it’s time.”
“Right on,” he replies. “Be right there.”
“Gotta go?” I ask.
“Gotta go.” He smiles. “It’s showtime. There’s a spot from just offstage where you can watch the whole show, okay? And I’ll see you after.”
“O-okay…”
I feel like I should be tossing a flirtatious insult his way as he grabs his guitar from the corner and slips out the door, but I can’t think of a single thing to say. And honestly, I don’t really even want to either.
Something’s changing inside of me about how I see this man, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I just know that it’s happening.
I turn and see Josh and Kathleen giving me death-eyes, so I’m more than relieved when another guy with a headset shows up and escorts me to my spot beside the stage. It gives me a perfect view of the band, and I’m even closer than the people who paid for front-row tickets. Die-hard fans would kill to be where I am now.
When Cal walks out, the crowd goes so nuts the entire building shakes. I have to put my fingers in my ears to keep from going deaf, and that’s when I see it—the shift from the Cal I just saw back in his dressing room, to the Cal everyone else is going to see for the duration of the show.
That’s the Cal I’ve been seeing every time I’ve looked at the media. But I realize now that that’s not the real Cal. That’s just the face he puts on for the public—his image. And for some reason, I’m the one he chose to show the real him.
7
Cal
I’ve had a lot of great shows in my life, but this has one has to be one of the greatest ever. And I know why too. It’s because of Reese watching me.
I wanted to impress the hell out of her, and I haven’t felt the need to impress the hell out of anybody since my earliest days as a musician.
It may sound arrogant, but these days, I pretty much assume that anyone in the crowd is going to be happy with my shows. I don’t slack, I don’t come on stage late, I don’t do any of the things that rockstars who phone it in can be accused of doing, and I always get a great reaction from my fans.
But tonight I was performing like it was my first—or maybe my last—show as Cal Shelton. Even my bandmates were shooting glances at me. I could tell by the looks in their eyes that they were wondering what I was doing. But I couldn’t help myself. Another sold-out show in front of me, and I was basically performing the whole thing for one snobby waitress, who when I met her, pretty much told me I was an asshole to my face. An asshole who she wasn’t remotely interested in.
But even after such an incredible show, I’m still a bit nervous as I come off stage and see her standing there waiting for me. How’s she going to react?
“Well?” I ask with a smile. “What’d you think?”
“I thought it was shit,” she replies, stone-faced. I stop dead in my tracks and stare at her.
“Seriously?”
She pauses, then laughs and pokes me in the chest. “Gotcha!”
“Oh, you saucy little wench!” I roar, snatching her into my arms in full view of everybody backstage.
It feels incredible to hear her giggling and to be holding her—to have someone real waiting for me after a show that I know isn’t a groupie or someone who wants something from me.