All Chapters of Affair with the Rockstar : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Either because of my lack of sleep the previous night, or the bottle of wine – or both – I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.But I dreamt. Constantly, vividly, nonstop.They were all about Derek.And all of them were variations on a theme.In one I was following him through a crowded street. Suddenly the street was a hotel hallway, the way that dreams shift without need to conform to reality. I walked faster, trying to catch up with him. As I came up right behind him, a door opened to his left, and a woman’s bare arms reached out and dragged him willingly into the room.As the door closed in my face, the last thing I saw was a glimpse of his eyes staring into mine – and his lips, which silently formed the words:You knew what I was when you slept with me.In another dream I was on the side of a stage, watching the band play to a giant arena.Then suddenly I was among them – Killian off to my right, Ryan to my left, and Riley behind me. But Derek wasn’t there anymore.I lo

My days and nights passed like that – reading and relaxation during the day, and wine and song at night. We dined with the MacCruders at least twice a week, but the rest of the time, Ryan cooked for us. He was really good at it, fixing everything from elaborate French dishes to a scrumptious spaghetti sauce from scratch.On the fifth day he finally convinced me to take the horses for a ride. As I stood out in the barn and watched him expertly saddle up Albert and Bessie, I was struck by something about him: his casual, non-showy masculinity. He had the whole rock star thing on tour; he had the ‘genius musician’ part in the studio and during our sessions on the front porch. But out here he was a man’s man, doing things like saddling horses and getting ready to ride into the Black Hills. Maybe somebody who’s been around horses all their life wouldn’t have been impressed, but for a chick who grew up in the suburbs of Savannah and now lived in the urban jungle of New York City, it was kin

Two nights after we talked to Riley, it was raining cats and dogs. In the two weeks I had been at the ranch, there had been occasional showers, but this was the worst I’d ever seen. This was a full-on storm like I was used to during summers in Savannah, Georgia.We were lounging inside the house after a wonderful dinner. The lights were low, with only a single lamp in the corner as illumination. We talked and listened to the rainfall. Ryan was playing soft chords at the piano, and I was on my third glass of wine. Despite my earlier heartbreak over Derek’s radio silence, the alcohol had numbed me, and Ryan’s presence had lifted my spirits. Life was pretty good, considering.“Are we going to be able to ride tomorrow?” I asked.“Depends. It’s going to be messy. We might want to give it a day to dry out some – ”Suddenly a pair of headlights flared up through the front windows of the house, casting a moving pattern of light across the wall.I looked over at Ryan, who was frowning. Apparen

The drive to the jail was a long one. The truck sloshed through mud for what seemed forever until we got to a paved road. In the night sky above, the clouds covered all the stars and mostly obscured the moon.“What did he get arrested for?”“Bar fight in the casino,” Ryan said grimly. “Drunk and disorderly. Thank God he had enough sense not to assault the police officers who arrested him.”I sat there, feeling guilty, wondering if somehow I was to blame for all this.Ryan knew exactly what was going through my head. “Don’t. Don’t think this has anything to do with you. Normal, well-adjusted people don’t get drunk, stalk their ex-girlfriends, barge onto their friends’ properties screaming at the top of their lungs, get escorted off at rifle-point, and then go get even more wasted and start a bar fight. He fucked up on his own. You had nothing to do with it.”“I had a little something to do with it.”“Yeah, he’ll tell you that – but remember, you’re his excuse, not the reason. The reaso

If Derek had wanted to sabotage any chance of a romance with Ryan, he’d done a masterful job at it. I became obsessed with reading about him. Like a seven-year-old probing a sore tooth about to fall out, or a scabbed-over mosquito bite you just have to keep itching, I couldn’t stop myself. Every morning I got up and checked the website for whatever sleazy exploits he’d done the night before.I hated him for what he was doing. More than that, I hated myself for giving in and reading about it. I saw how pathetic and weak I was being, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop reading about it, couldn’t stop the anger, couldn’t stop the jealousy, couldn’t stop the anxiety and depression and self-loathing.Why couldn’t I get over him?It was like being addicted to some horrific drug, but one that doesn’t bring any pleasure, only pain. I guess I needed a hit to keep me connected to whatever emotions and experiences I’d had weeks ago when times were good. Except now it was just torture.Worst of