The Rocker That Needs Me (The Rocker...) Read Free Page B

Mills was in his late twenties with a Justin Bieber haircut, and most of the girls in the school squealed like the little girls they were when they found out they would have him for English. I wasn’t one of his fans and hadn’t made a secret of it —ever. Of course I felt like he didn’t like me and was always trying to single me out in embarrassing ways.
    I slipped my phone between my book and notebook to hide it from the teacher. “No, Mr. Mills,” I assured him.
    “Then perhaps you would like to tell us the best way to start a Compare/Contrast introduction.” His smirk told me he thought I couldn’t give him a good enough answer to satisfy him.
    He was a little more pissy toward me than usual by the end of the class, after my five minute explanation for his question. When the bell rang, I was more than happy to grab my things and get out of the way. I ducked into the girls’ room before heading to my last class of the day and texted Drake back.
    You made me LOL in English! Prick teacher hates me.
    Within seconds Drake texted me back. Fuck! Sorry, Angel!
    Don’t worry abo ut it. See you later . 
    That evening when I got home, Layla was more quiet than usual. Last night she had asked me about Drake, and I had shrugged it all off. He was my friend—my only friend! I wasn’t about to let her step in and ruin it because she felt l ike I couldn’t handle myself; even if my feelings for the rocker were stronger than mere friendship. I brushed it off as just a silly infatuation.
    After dinner, I texted Drake to ask if he wanted to come enjoy the night air with me. It was still warm out at night, and I was feeling suffocated inside the guest house. When he texted me back saying that he would be right out, I gathered up a sheet and all the little candles we had.
    By the time he met me in the yard, which separated the guesthouse from the main house, I had it all set up. It looked romantic and I had to keep reminding myself that nothing about Drake and my relationship was romantic. He would run for the hills if he knew I was crushing on him, and really I couldn’t blame him. He must have had plenty of that drama in his life being a rocker.
    Drake surprised me when he produced a sketch book and a set of charcoal sketching pencils. “Can I draw you?” he asked, sounding a little unsure.
    “Sure. If you want to…I didn’t know you could draw.” I arranged myself on the sheet so I could watch him over the sketch pad while he worked.
    His fingers moved fast and with obvious skill. I ached to see what he was drawing. The concentration on his face as he watched me made me ache for a different reason altogether.
    “It’s something I do as a stress reliever,” he said after a few minutes. “Art was my favorite class in school. For my eighth birthday my dad got me a professional art kit. It had paint and charcoal and a million other things that an eight year old doesn’t understand how to use.” He smiled and I could see the little boy that he had been shining in those blue-gray eyes. “My mom argued that it was too expensive, that it would be destroyed by the end of the day, but I took care of it and found that I really liked using the charcoal to draw. When I was thirteen, I entered an art festival in town and actually won a hundred dollars by coming in second place in the art show.”
    “Wow. I can maybe draw a convincing stick figure if I had to,” He laughed. It was a gut-deep laugh that made me so happy it had come from something I said. He didn’t seem like the type of guy that laughed often.
    “So if art isn’t your talent what is?” he asked as he continued to draw.
    My attention kept going to his hands —those long, slender fingers as they moved with sure strokes across the sketch pad. “I like to dance,” I told him. “And I’m a decent long distance runner.”
    He cocked a brow at my answer. “Dance?”
    I nodded. “Yeah, I love to dance. When I was little, before my mom kicked Layla out,