Rock My Love: A Steamy Standalone Instalove

Billie is standing in the doorway, with Janet behind her. Janet’s in a bathrobe and Billie is wearing PJ bottoms and a baggy hoodie.

My gaze snaps to Billie, to the way she holds her hands across her middle, as though she’s already protecting the life we’re going to make together. Her eyes glimmer with tears.

Then Andy reaches them, bustling them inside, slamming the door behind him.

I lean against my car, staring at the closed door, wishing I’d done pretty much everything differently.

His words bounce around my head.

He told me to stay away from her, in no uncertain terms.

But even now, I’m not sure I can.

And, truth be told, I miss the days when Andy and I were friends.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Billie

Dad paces up and down the living room, muttering under his breath, half of it curse words. Mom sits on the couch, glancing at dad and then at me, her expression difficult to read.

He was arguing with Aaron.

I heard dad shouting outside, and when I got up to see what was going on, I found mom already in the entranceway, putting on her slippers. We rushed downstairs and…

And there he was, the man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for over a week.

Well, for years, really, even since my crush started.

But this past week the thoughts and feelings have become so much louder, so much more difficult to ignore.

Aaron and I locked eyes, and I was sure I read something in his intense expression. But it was dark. He was just a silhouette. Maybe I was wishing, hoping.

“Dad, can you calm down and tell us what happened, please?”

He pauses, glancing at me. “He was here to see you. He wouldn’t come right out and say it, but why else would he be lurking outside our apartment at this hour?”

Mom sighs. “Andy, I think Billie deserves to know the truth. This has become way too complicated.”

“What truth? What are you talking about?” I ask, impatient to know what is going on.

Dad groans as he drops into an armchair, letting out a short puff of pain as he leans back. My heart aches that he has to go to work tomorrow when he deserves a day off so freaking badly.

“Aaron and I were childhood friends,” he says.

I lean forward with a gasp, my elbows on my knees, staring hard at him as the revelation slams into me.

“We met in kindergarten and we were inseparable growing up. We started music around the same time, vocals for Aaron and the guitar for me.”

My mind feels like it’s lost its bearings, spinning around and around as I try to make sense of this.

“We started the band together,” Dad goes on. “When we were fifteen. It started as a punk band. Screw the system. That sort of thing. Aaron was just like me in those days. He grew up poor and he hated the world for it. We were filled with youth and rage and we were ready to take on anybody.”

Passion resounds in dad’s voice as he speaks, and his eyes get this faraway look. No matter what he says, I can tell he looks back fondly at those days.

“And then what happened?”

“We started to get a little success. Not much, just a little. And then this big record label came calling.”

“That’s great news,” I say.

Mom and dad glance at me at the same time, and then I realize. For anybody else, it would be great news. But I’ve heard dad go on enough rants to know he wouldn’t feel the same.

“It’s selling out,” Dad grumbles. “It’s selling your soul to the very corporations we were supposed to stand against.”

“Andy…”

Dad looks at mom. Some unspoken communication passes between them, the way married people can talk without outright saying anything. Despite the topic of conversation, my deep-within place – that point of need that hasn’t stopped growing ever since the kiss – gives an urgent pulse.

Will Aaron and I ever talk so effortlessly? Will we ever be so close?

“Okay,” Dad says. “By the time the record label approached, we weren’t singing those sorts of songs anymore. We’d moved on to love songs, rock tunes, that sort of thing. But the principle is still the same. It’s still selling out.”

I look around our old apartment, with the wallpaper peeling in several places, a spot of dampness in the corner that won’t go away no matter how many times we clean it.

Dad sees where I’m looking and a heartbreaking look comes into his eyes.

“I love our life,” I say quickly.

“So do I,” Dad replies. “But nobody here can deny we could’ve used the money. I get that. But… but he wouldn’t even listen to me. I tried to explain. We could grow by ourselves. We could make ourselves untouchable. But Aaron wanted the big times.”

“He wanted to be a success,” Mom says softly. “And remember, Andy, he was raised dirt-poor. I know you had problems with your stepdad, but you didn’t grow up broke. You weren’t the same in that way.”