Read Online Rock Starred: Love My Way by Karen Booth - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Karen Booth
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surprise."
"Oh, hey, thanks. How are you?" I kept up with my ultra-fast New Yorker walk, even though I wasn't in a rush. The summer heat rose from the asphalt, creating what felt like an oven.
"Are you okay? You sound stressed."
"Do you know the guys in No Picnic? They're that new band from Dallas that did all of the big festivals earlier in the summer."
"Oh, right. Talk about flavor of the month. Is that who you were shooting today?"
"Yes, it was a disaster."
"What happened?"
An annoyed grumble escaped my throat. "Sorry. I'm not mad at you, just letting off some steam."
"No. It's fine. Tell me everything."
"Are you sure?" I stopped at the corner and waited for the walk signal. "This is stupid. You know, I feel better just hearing your voice."
"Well, good. I'm glad that helps, but I still want to know what happened. And I love hearing dirt about other bands."
I smiled and crossed the street, continuing on my way. "They showed up two hours late and then they had the balls to tell me they were on a tight schedule."
"Amateurs."
"Oh, and you'll love this. The lead singer had about fifty pimples including a giant one right between his eyes."
He laughed. "Classic. It sucks being a kid. I'm guessing he spent a long time in makeup."
"You have no idea. It took forever. It was this huge ordeal. The whole band kept complaining to me about the makeup artist and then I overheard one of the guys tell his manager that I was not only a bitch, but not that great of a photographer. They all basically scowled at me whenever we took a break in the shoot. Of course, they had no problem posing when I was taking their picture."
"What a bunch of punks. I can't believe they treated you like that. They'd better hope we never end up on the same show. I'd love to give them something to complain about."
I turned the corner on to my street with an embarrassing grin plastered to my face. The thought of Peter sticking up for me, of being protective, made everything brighter. "Are you offering to be my muscle?"
"Uh, yeah. You’re an insanely talented photographer. They're lucky you agreed to take the job in the first place."
I keyed my way into my building, still smiling from Peter's potent brand of macho sweetness. "You're so sweet, but I'm not that talented. I'm good. I won't say that I'm not good." After grabbing my mail, I continued up the stairs.
"Are you kidding? I put my foot down about hiring you. The rest of the band wanted that hotshot L.A. guy, Bruce what's-his-face."
"Bruce Flack? He's freaking amazing."
"He's no Katie Stillman."
My cheeks flushed. "You really are way too nice to me." There was a note from Mrs. G waiting on my door when I got to my apartment. "Hey, Peter, I should run. My neighbor accepted a delivery for me. I need to go get it."
"A delivery, huh?" he asked in an oddly quizzical voice. "Keep me on the line. I want to talk more about the photo shoot."
"I didn't know you were behind the band hiring me." I stuffed my mail into my bag and started down the stairs to Mrs. G's unit.
"Full disclosure, I'd also seen a picture of you, but you know that wasn't the only reason I wanted to hire you. I swear."
I knocked at Mrs. G's door. "We'll have to talk about that later. Hold on the line for a minute." I tucked my phone into a mesh pocket on the front flap of my messenger bag.
"Katie," she chirped when she answered. "You won't believe the flowers that came for you today."
I twisted my lips. "That's weird. I got flowers yesterday. Maybe they delivered them twice by accident."
She padded back into her apartment as I stood in the doorway, surveying the fussy perfection of her unit, resplendent with pristine fifties furniture and a china cabinet full of vintage cookie jars. Mrs. G. shuffled toward me with another vase of lavender roses. "These are just lovely. They're such an unusual color. Are they from the young man you met in Miami?"
I blushed, wondering if Peter could hear. Young man. Mrs. G made it sound as
"Oh, hey, thanks. How are you?" I kept up with my ultra-fast New Yorker walk, even though I wasn't in a rush. The summer heat rose from the asphalt, creating what felt like an oven.
"Are you okay? You sound stressed."
"Do you know the guys in No Picnic? They're that new band from Dallas that did all of the big festivals earlier in the summer."
"Oh, right. Talk about flavor of the month. Is that who you were shooting today?"
"Yes, it was a disaster."
"What happened?"
An annoyed grumble escaped my throat. "Sorry. I'm not mad at you, just letting off some steam."
"No. It's fine. Tell me everything."
"Are you sure?" I stopped at the corner and waited for the walk signal. "This is stupid. You know, I feel better just hearing your voice."
"Well, good. I'm glad that helps, but I still want to know what happened. And I love hearing dirt about other bands."
I smiled and crossed the street, continuing on my way. "They showed up two hours late and then they had the balls to tell me they were on a tight schedule."
"Amateurs."
"Oh, and you'll love this. The lead singer had about fifty pimples including a giant one right between his eyes."
He laughed. "Classic. It sucks being a kid. I'm guessing he spent a long time in makeup."
"You have no idea. It took forever. It was this huge ordeal. The whole band kept complaining to me about the makeup artist and then I overheard one of the guys tell his manager that I was not only a bitch, but not that great of a photographer. They all basically scowled at me whenever we took a break in the shoot. Of course, they had no problem posing when I was taking their picture."
"What a bunch of punks. I can't believe they treated you like that. They'd better hope we never end up on the same show. I'd love to give them something to complain about."
I turned the corner on to my street with an embarrassing grin plastered to my face. The thought of Peter sticking up for me, of being protective, made everything brighter. "Are you offering to be my muscle?"
"Uh, yeah. You’re an insanely talented photographer. They're lucky you agreed to take the job in the first place."
I keyed my way into my building, still smiling from Peter's potent brand of macho sweetness. "You're so sweet, but I'm not that talented. I'm good. I won't say that I'm not good." After grabbing my mail, I continued up the stairs.
"Are you kidding? I put my foot down about hiring you. The rest of the band wanted that hotshot L.A. guy, Bruce what's-his-face."
"Bruce Flack? He's freaking amazing."
"He's no Katie Stillman."
My cheeks flushed. "You really are way too nice to me." There was a note from Mrs. G waiting on my door when I got to my apartment. "Hey, Peter, I should run. My neighbor accepted a delivery for me. I need to go get it."
"A delivery, huh?" he asked in an oddly quizzical voice. "Keep me on the line. I want to talk more about the photo shoot."
"I didn't know you were behind the band hiring me." I stuffed my mail into my bag and started down the stairs to Mrs. G's unit.
"Full disclosure, I'd also seen a picture of you, but you know that wasn't the only reason I wanted to hire you. I swear."
I knocked at Mrs. G's door. "We'll have to talk about that later. Hold on the line for a minute." I tucked my phone into a mesh pocket on the front flap of my messenger bag.
"Katie," she chirped when she answered. "You won't believe the flowers that came for you today."
I twisted my lips. "That's weird. I got flowers yesterday. Maybe they delivered them twice by accident."
She padded back into her apartment as I stood in the doorway, surveying the fussy perfection of her unit, resplendent with pristine fifties furniture and a china cabinet full of vintage cookie jars. Mrs. G. shuffled toward me with another vase of lavender roses. "These are just lovely. They're such an unusual color. Are they from the young man you met in Miami?"
I blushed, wondering if Peter could hear. Young man. Mrs. G made it sound as
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