FanGirl Squeal (RockStars of Romance Book 1) (21 page)

Troy eyed me like he was annoyed with my line of questioning.
I’m not overreacting though. Friends don’t lie to each other over something so
dumb.

“No,” he replied, “but you must have missed the one about me
and Brandon being in committed relationship. We love you, Savannah, but I’m not
going to include your
Perfectly Lonely
ass every time I’m with my man.”

“Make another John Mayer reference and I’m buying you a
fangirl t-shirt,” I grumbled. “So, was this a regular visit or did you sneak
off and get married too?”

“You are such a sassy little drama queen,” Troy muttered. “No,
we didn’t get married. I just wanted to see him so I flew up there. That’s what
you do when you’re in love.”

Love…the dreamy way Troy said that four-letter word made me
smile. I miss being in love. I miss the flutter that happens when you catch the
eye of the man you love. I miss the way a gentle kiss or touch sends your heart
soaring. I miss that calming feeling of knowing that you’ve found someone your
heart wants to spend the rest of your life with.

Troy and Brandon are lucky and he’s right. I can’t expect
them to include me in everything. Once again, adulthood has reared its ugly
head. I want my friends to be happy and Troy needed to talk about his relationship.
My adventure tales in New York could wait.

Actually, I don’t even know what to tell Troy or if I’m
ready to speak my feelings towards Cash into existence. The way he looked when
he took me to the airport was heartbreaking. I kept wiping my eyes the entire
time I was on the plane. Leaving him standing in that underground parking lot
felt wrong somehow.

The idea that the guy I’ve been fangirling over for eight
years actually found me interesting, exciting, and sexy seems too unreal. Cash
Myers is Hollywood elite, a super celeb like Beyoncé and Katy Perry. He is so
far out of my league that everything he said and did last weekend threw me so
far off my game I didn’t think I’d ever recover.

Until that parking garage.

When he looked in my eyes, Cash was totally serious. He wasn’t
a super celeb at that moment. He was the guy who was making my heart beat
faster than it ever had. He was the guy who my body yearned for. Take away the
glitz and glamour and Cash is nothing more than a hot guy who’s into me.

Now, if I could only wrap my head around that idea.

Later, I decided to drive down to the Santa Monica Pier just
to think. I took a walk on the beach, enjoying the sun-warmed sand between my
toes as the setting sun left streaks of pinks and oranges across the sky.

I love California in a way that I didn’t think I would. I
spent eighteen years of my life in Harlem, but this place feels like home. A
small chuckled escaped when I thought about my first year at UCLA. I was black
girl from Harlem surrounded by more white people than I ever knew. I was scared
and nervous and I never thought I’d fit in.

But here I am, living a great life in a city that I love
with people that I love. The only thing missing is...

Hmmm, Cash, maybe?

I needed to talk to someone so I called Brandon. He picked
up and lazily said hello.

“Hey love, what ya doin?”

“Catching up on my Housewives,” he replied. “What about you?
A little birdie told me that you’re mad at me.”

I sighed. “I’m not mad at you. I was just a little
disappointed that I didn’t get to see you. And that Troy felt the need to lie
so I wouldn’t ask to tag along. Am I that bothersome that you guys feel like
you have to lie to me in order to spend any time together?”

As the words left my mouth, I was on the verge of tears. My
feelings were truly hurt.

“You’re not bothersome,” Brandon assured me. “You’re just
very resistant to change. You always want it to be the three of us but
sometimes, it needs to be just me and Troy, or you and Troy, or me and you. I think
it’s because you’re not in a relationship right now.”

“No!” I was vehement about that. “When I was with Jacoby, I
still wanted to hang with you guys so that’s not true.”

“Speaking of,” The obvious inflection in his voice confirmed
that he was interested in hearing about my trip.

Troy has always been a great friend. He’s been my bodyguard
since forever. He’s supportive and he doesn’t take a lot of crap from anyone.
He’s very blunt and that makes it difficult to talk to him about a lot of
things. He may be flamboyant and loud, but he doesn’t take any shit.

Brandon, on the other hand, is easy to talk to. He listens
rather than waiting on people to finish so he can speak. He’s the perfect person
to talk about Cash.

“I’ve been keeping a secret,” I confessed.

“What? Are you secretly seeing your ex?”

“No! Absolutely not!”

I’m appalled at the mere suggestion that not only would I
give Jacoby the time of day, but I’d let him back in my life. I’m only
partially stupid some of the time.

“Then what’s your secret?”

“Well…” I dragged out the word, upping my hesitation by two
levels, “the main reason I went home was for the doctors’ party, but, I also
went to meet Cash Myers.”

“You mean, you went up there to walk by his apartment
building with Cassie and Joy to see if you spotted him coming out, right?”

I sucked my teeth. “No! We do not stalk Cash Myers,” I
retorted. “I really met him. It was planned.”

“Planned?” Brandon questioned. “What do you mean by planned?”

“His manager set it up. Anyway, that’s neither here nor
there. You just need to know that I met him.”

“Okay,” Brandon said so nonchalantly that I wondered if he
was listening to me or watching
The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills
. “It’s
not the first time you met him, Savannah. I really wish you’d stop acting like
the first time didn’t happen. So, what did you say to him? Did you get a chance
to tell him everything you’ve wanted to say for eight years?”

“Yes,” I sighed heavily. “I told him everything. We talked a
lot.”

“Back up, Banana,” Brandon demanded. There was a hint of
intrigue in his statement. “You’re not telling me something. This wasn’t some
simple fangirl photo op moment, was it?”

Despite the fact that Brandon couldn’t see me, I shook my
head. “No, it was not.”

“Okay, tell me everything. And I mean, everything. Do I need
wine or vodka for this?”

“Tequila,” I answered.

“Ooh, girl, it’s that juicy? Hold on, let me get some
Patron.”

A few seconds later, Brandon came back to the phone. I could
hear ice clinking in one of his fancy glasses. Over the next forty-five
minutes, I gave Brandon a play by play of the five days I was in New York. He
was silent for the most part, injecting an occasional “um-hmm” or “okay, go on.”

I unloaded it all, every wink, every touch, every smile.
When I’d finished, my heart was thumping in my chest as if reminiscing over
Cash was causing it to go insane.

“So, what do I do now?” I asked when I’d finished my story.

“What do you mean?” Brandon squawked.

“I mean,” I said as if it wasn’t obvious, “he’s Cash Myers.”

“Yes, that’s his name. What the hell are you talking about,
Banana?”

“You don’t understand.” I was a bit frustrated that Brandon,
of all people, wasn’t getting it. “He’s Cash Myers.”

“You keep saying his name like that’s going to change the
fact that you went home, met a cool guy that you obviously like, went on a
couple  dates and ended your dry spell. Don’t get all Hollywood about something
that occurs every single day in the world. People date all the time, Savannah.
You and Cash aren’t any different.”

“He’s famous,” I clarified in case Brandon still didn’t
believe I was talking about
the
Cash Myers. “He’s world famous, you
know, international superstar. The towels in his bathroom cost more than my
mortgage. He’s so famous that he has famous fans. Like seriously, Brandon, he’s
the type of famous that is the reason I have a job.”

“See!” Brandon huffed with a touch of frustration, a speck
of exasperation and a whole lot of drama queen. “That’s why I had to get out of
Los Angeles. You people there are so superficial and simple-minded. You put too
much stock in celebrities. What he does is a job. Every day, Cash shits,
showers, shaves, and goes to work just like the rest of us. His job is to
entertain people with music. Yours is to entertain people with words. Mine is
to build shit, and Troy’s is to do hair. We get paid for doing our jobs. The
fact that Cash gets paid a lot more than any of us doesn’t matter. What you see
as celebrity and has you feeling out of sorts about him basically boils down to
you losing your shit over a man having a good job.”

“No,” I started to protest but Brandon stopped me.

“You know I love you, Savannah Denise Ford, but it’s people
like you who make that man more than what he is. I understand that you need
famous people in order to be successful at your job and for him to be
successful at his, he needs people like you. But, fame, status, fans…none of
that matters when you’re so in like with this guy that you slept with him on
the roof of his apartment building. I bet you weren’t thinking about his fame
when he had your legs in the air, were you?”

I stifled a loud giggle. That’s why I love Brandon so much.

“No,” I admitted. “I wasn’t thinking about any of that.”

“So, Banana, we have to look at this Cash situation like we’d
look at any other guy. What are his credentials? Is he fine?”

“Hell yes!”

“Does he live with his mama? Does he have a job and a car?”

“No and yes,” I answered.

“Is his apartment clean? Does he clean it himself or does he
have the capability of hiring a cleaning service?”

“Yes to both.”

“Does he make you laugh? Is he a jerk? Does he tip at
restaurants and places where people do things for him?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “He definitely makes me laugh. And he’s a
great tipper. He treats service people really well.”

“Good kisser?” Brandon asked.

I touched my lips, remembering the urgency of our last kiss.
“He’s a great kisser.”

“Obviously, he’s hung and good in bed or we wouldn’t be
having this conversation.”

“Obviously.”

“Final question, and you already know what I’m going to say,”
Brandon laughed. “Will Dr. and Dr. Ford approve of him?”

Again, I shook my head. I’d like to think that the fate of a
possible relationship with Cash wouldn’t come down to whether or not my parents
approve. I’d really like to think that. Really, truly, would like to think
that.

“I don’t know,” I finally answered. “You know how my parents
are. Cash already has three strikes against him. He’s white, he’s never been to
college, and he’s a musician.”

“But he’s rich,” Brandon stated. “That alone should minimize
his whiteness. Your Power to the People bourgeois parents need to have several
seats. You can’t be bougie and a freedom fighter too. Pick a struggle.”

I completely agree. My parents and grandparents confuse me. When
it comes to the African-American community, my parents are hardcore activists.
But they’re really stuck up too. They attended Historically Black colleges for
undergrad, but both of them went to Yale for their Masters and Doctorates. They
have lots of money, which they use to support black causes, but they don’t have
any poor friends.

They supposedly embrace our blackness, but my sister wears a
weave and my mother has had a relaxer since I’ve known her. However, when I
choose not to conform to society’s standards of beauty and wear my hair natural,
they hate it. They call their lifestyle Black High Society. Fake is what I call
it. I tried explaining that their entire life is an oxymoron and makes no
sense. The doctors didn’t speak to me for two weeks.

It was the quietest two weeks of my life.

“We’ll see how this goes,” I told Brandon. “If it progresses
into something serious, I’ll let the folks know.”

“And if it doesn’t, who cares? You better still have some
fun with him without constantly thinking about the future. Don’t sabotage your happiness.”

Brandon gave me a lot to think about. After we hung up, I
laid back on the sand and watched as the moon overtook the sun and the sky
changed from pink and orange to purple and blue.

Pretending that Cash is just a regular guy isn’t going to
work because he’s not just a regular guy.

Regular guys don’t have people with cameras following them
wherever they go. Regular guys don’t have blogs and fan sites dedicated to them.
None of the regular guys I know own million dollar homes in three different
cities.

I’m not a regular girl either.

Therein lies the problem.

I understand Cash’s lifestyle better than the average person
does because it’s my job to report on it. I make a good living writing about
the over the top, high profile lives of celebrities. However, I don’t want that
life for myself.

It’s fun to hang out on red carpets and party with the rich
and famous as an outsider looking in. I like being the one shining the
spotlight, not the one in the spotlight.

I cannot imagine having to duck and dodge paparazzi. I don’t
want to be a picture on a gossip blog. And I certainly don’t want people
picking apart our relationship and speculating over it like I’m guilty of doing
with my friends. That’s not the life for me.

Cash is two people; Cash the superstar and Cash the boy from
Boston who likes baseball and beer.

Unfortunately, it’s impossible to have one without the
other.

“Brittany!” Cash yelled.

His deep, frustrated, and somewhat excited voice boomed
throughout the condo. Cash was standing by the front door looking at four Kate
Spade suitcases that were packed so full that they looked like they were about
to pop open at any minute.