Read Online How to Kill a Rock Star by Tiffanie Debartolo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tiffanie Debartolo
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Love Stories, New York (N.Y.), Contemporary Women, Urban Life, Fear of Flying, Rock Musicians, Aircraft Accident Victims' Families, Women Journalists, Roommates
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her underwear is.
I closed my eyes and moaned, trying to stymie the hard-on I’d had since I walked in the room, and Eliza said: “What’s wrong? Your migrating pancreas acting up again?” I told her it wasn’t the pancreas this time and she cal ed me
5a bastard, but she was kind of smiling when she said it. Honestly, it took al my strength not to lean over and kiss her right then.
I would’ve done it, too, had I not been sort of distracted by the long, thin scar that slashed through the middle of her left wrist.
Without thinking, I reached out and took hold of her arm, and was immediately struck by how fragile it seemed. Then I ran my finger across the scar —it felt exactly like the hem on a pair of the boot-cut jeans I inventoried last Tuesday.
I knew al about the scar—Michael told me the whole story, how he’d found her bleeding on their bathroom floor when she was like, sixteen or something.
Eliza pul ed her hand away and tucked it under her pil ow.
“I’m tired,” she said. “Would you mind going to your room?” Okay, so this is what I did next: I reached over and lifted a lock of her hair, one that had fal en across her eye. I moved it back off of her face, barely touching her skin, and my finger grazed the tiny pearl in her ear. I think we were having a moment but I’m not sure. By then I’d sort of lost myself in her face. No kidding, if you put me in a room with Eliza and a hundred beautiful girls, Eliza would be the one I’d walk over to.
There’s something magnetic about her. And sad. And she does this thing when she talks—she dips her chin and raises her eyes and looks right into you. It’s a gift, real y. I think she could make whoever she’s talking to feel like the only person in the room— the only person in the universe, even. But then it switches—
when she’s not looking at you it’s like her mind is in another world, miles away, and her dark, falcon eyes point upward, like she’s in some kind of mesmerized state of flirtation with the sky.
Did I mention how much I wanted to kiss her? I wanted to kiss her lips and her eyelids and the curve in what I’m going to cal “the transition area”
where her hip flows into her waist.
And my desire wasn’t just confined to my dick. She made my whole goddamn body taut, like some invisible energy force was pul ing me up by the skin.
I inched closer to her and she goes: “Don’t even think about it.” I was starting to get the feeling she was trying not to like me, so I told her this story about how, when I was a kid, my mom made clam chowder for dinner one night. I think it was my birthday or something, and Mom thought it was a big deal to serve clam chowder but I refused to eat it. I told her I didn’t like clams and she said, “You’ve never tasted a clam. How do you know you don’t like them?” She said I had to taste it. If I didn’t like it, she promised she’d make me a peanut butter sandwich, but I had to take at least one spoonful of the clam chowder first.
I paused to make sure Eliza was stil listening. Then I said,
“Needless to say, I didn’t have peanut butter for dinner that night.”
“That’s a touching anecdote,” Eliza said. “But I’m al ergic to shel fish.”
I told her she was missing the point and she started jabber-ing on about how she knew I had a girlfriend named Avril but was sleeping with this Beth chick, not to mention I was her brother’s friend, not to mention the last thing she needed was to get involved with a guy like me, yada, yada, yada, I swear I thought she was going to start crying, and normal y that would have sent me hauling ass in the other direction, but you know what? I had a bizarre urge to put my arms around her and hold her until she fel asleep.
Remember this moment, my friend the tape recorder. Lying next to Eliza, I had the feeling I’d just found something I didn’t even know I’d lost. We hovered above the moment like two rain clouds, until I said:
I closed my eyes and moaned, trying to stymie the hard-on I’d had since I walked in the room, and Eliza said: “What’s wrong? Your migrating pancreas acting up again?” I told her it wasn’t the pancreas this time and she cal ed me
5a bastard, but she was kind of smiling when she said it. Honestly, it took al my strength not to lean over and kiss her right then.
I would’ve done it, too, had I not been sort of distracted by the long, thin scar that slashed through the middle of her left wrist.
Without thinking, I reached out and took hold of her arm, and was immediately struck by how fragile it seemed. Then I ran my finger across the scar —it felt exactly like the hem on a pair of the boot-cut jeans I inventoried last Tuesday.
I knew al about the scar—Michael told me the whole story, how he’d found her bleeding on their bathroom floor when she was like, sixteen or something.
Eliza pul ed her hand away and tucked it under her pil ow.
“I’m tired,” she said. “Would you mind going to your room?” Okay, so this is what I did next: I reached over and lifted a lock of her hair, one that had fal en across her eye. I moved it back off of her face, barely touching her skin, and my finger grazed the tiny pearl in her ear. I think we were having a moment but I’m not sure. By then I’d sort of lost myself in her face. No kidding, if you put me in a room with Eliza and a hundred beautiful girls, Eliza would be the one I’d walk over to.
There’s something magnetic about her. And sad. And she does this thing when she talks—she dips her chin and raises her eyes and looks right into you. It’s a gift, real y. I think she could make whoever she’s talking to feel like the only person in the room— the only person in the universe, even. But then it switches—
when she’s not looking at you it’s like her mind is in another world, miles away, and her dark, falcon eyes point upward, like she’s in some kind of mesmerized state of flirtation with the sky.
Did I mention how much I wanted to kiss her? I wanted to kiss her lips and her eyelids and the curve in what I’m going to cal “the transition area”
where her hip flows into her waist.
And my desire wasn’t just confined to my dick. She made my whole goddamn body taut, like some invisible energy force was pul ing me up by the skin.
I inched closer to her and she goes: “Don’t even think about it.” I was starting to get the feeling she was trying not to like me, so I told her this story about how, when I was a kid, my mom made clam chowder for dinner one night. I think it was my birthday or something, and Mom thought it was a big deal to serve clam chowder but I refused to eat it. I told her I didn’t like clams and she said, “You’ve never tasted a clam. How do you know you don’t like them?” She said I had to taste it. If I didn’t like it, she promised she’d make me a peanut butter sandwich, but I had to take at least one spoonful of the clam chowder first.
I paused to make sure Eliza was stil listening. Then I said,
“Needless to say, I didn’t have peanut butter for dinner that night.”
“That’s a touching anecdote,” Eliza said. “But I’m al ergic to shel fish.”
I told her she was missing the point and she started jabber-ing on about how she knew I had a girlfriend named Avril but was sleeping with this Beth chick, not to mention I was her brother’s friend, not to mention the last thing she needed was to get involved with a guy like me, yada, yada, yada, I swear I thought she was going to start crying, and normal y that would have sent me hauling ass in the other direction, but you know what? I had a bizarre urge to put my arms around her and hold her until she fel asleep.
Remember this moment, my friend the tape recorder. Lying next to Eliza, I had the feeling I’d just found something I didn’t even know I’d lost. We hovered above the moment like two rain clouds, until I said:
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