My Secret Rockstar Boyfriend Read Free

clear, so that I can stop getting comments that all say I’m a sad old lady at the age of
eighteen.
    Yes, I mean you, Musician Boyfriend! And you, Token Lesbian Best Friends (TLBFs for short – catchy, right?). And, OK – hi, Mum. *waves*
    Literally nobody else ever reads this blog. Can’t think why. Oh, what’s that you say? It’s because I’m a sad old lady at the age of eighteen? Meet
you at Grey Gardens.
    Comments
    Token Lesbian Best Friends? Really?
    anna-banana
    Really, Chew – have we taught you nothing? You’re fired.
    Nishi_S
    Musician Boyfriend? I’m with the Token Lesbian Best Friends on this one. Nought out of ten for imagination. Oh, and hi, Tuesday’s
mum!
    seymour_brown
    THIS IS MY *ART*, MAN! No more criticizing or I’ll block you all. I’ve got loads of other readers. Loads. *tumbleweed*
    Tuesday-yes-that-is-my-real-name-Cooper
    Tuesday, I thought you were supposed to be revising for your exams up there?
    Carrie_Cougar
    I’m not kidding. Don’t think I won’t block you just because you’re my mother.
    Tuesday-yes-that-is-my-real-name-Cooper
    Dinner’s ready . . .
    Carrie_Cougar
    We *are* having chicken curry, right? If it’s stir-fry again, consider yourself blocked.
    Tuesday-yes-that-is-my-real-name-Cooper
    Gruel for you at this rate, young lady.
    Carrie_Cougar
    This is getting weird. I can actually hear you typing. I’m coming downstairs now so that we can make our hilarious jokes face to face for a
bit.
    Tuesday-yes-that-is-my-real-name-Cooper

‘What do you think about leather trousers?’
    Unfortunately I think she’s serious.
    ‘
Mum
! Isn’t it a bit, like, try-hard sexy housewife?’
    ‘And your point is . . . ?’
    I think for a moment, doing my best to be genuinely helpful. ‘Carol Vorderman. Probably, like, Susanna Reid.’
    ‘Oh . . . I see.’ Her face falls, as well it might. ‘Thanks for ruining my fun. You don’t let me do anything.’
    ‘That’s what teenage daughters are for, isn’t it? To totally cramp your style.’
    ‘Apparently so. Remind me, when are you leaving home?’
    My mum grins and grabs another slice of pizza, turning away from her laptop. Although, I do notice that she first shuts down the window she had open on Topshop.com showing skinny leather jeans.
I’ve done her a favour, seriously.
    She concentrates instead on the crap film we’re watching while we eat our Saturday-night takeaway. I’ve kind of lost track of the plot, because we’ve been chatting too much
– but I think Leighton Meester is dying and Ryan Gosling’s going to give her a kidney or something. Tonight’s Netflix was Mum’s choice, not mine. I wanted the new Lars von
Trier, but she wasn’t having it.
    I don’t mind; in fact, there are few things I enjoy more than dissecting – and secretly enjoying – my mum’s rubbish taste in films. It is quite nice just to chill out
with my mum on a Saturday night for once. I’ve been out with Nish and Anna all day, and she’s been on an afternoon coffee date – we both arrived home at about the same time,
impromptu, so we decided to put on our pyjamas and order a pizza.
    My phone beeps. I quickly check the message before going back to squirting ketchup on to a pizza crust.
    ‘Was that Seymour?’ my mum asks.
    ‘Mm-hmm.’
    ‘What did he say? Have you replied? I hope you were nice to him. How come you’re not seeing him tonight, anyway?’
    ‘Calm down, Mother. His band are playing a gig in Reading tonight. There wasn’t room for me in the car, but it’s OK – it was a bit far for me to go anyway, since I have
revision and blogging and stuff to do this weekend. God, the way you go on, I’m sure you like Seymour more than you like me.’
    ‘You’re lucky, that’s all,’ she says. ‘You’ve got this gorgeous boy wanting to go out with you, and I couldn’t get a boy to call me back after the
second date when I was your age. Still can’t actually.’
    ‘Hey – not lucky, just sensible! I’ve learned