Turn up your collar, feather your hair, put that big comb in your back pocket, and splash on some Polo, because we’re going back to high school in the ’80’s! Sara is obsessed with pop star Tyler Vincent, and as she nears the end of her senior year, she’s determined to find a way to be with him – although her best friend, Aimee, keeps telling her to find a different escape from her desperately violent home life.
Complications arise when Dale, the mysterious new transfer student, sets his sights on Sara, and she falls for this rock-star-in-the-making in spite of her better judgment. When Sara wins a contest, she is faced with a choice – travel to Tyler Vincent’s home town to meet him, or stay and support Dale in a Battle-of-the-Bands hosted by MTV. Their triangulated relationship is pushed to its breaking point, but there is another, deeper secret that Dale’s been keeping that just may break things wide open…
EXCERPT:
“So, I didn’t see you carry anything in for me,” Dale said. “Does that mean its small enough to fit in your pocket, or that you didn’t get me anything because I’ve been such a bad boy?” He nuzzled my neck and sent goose bumps down my arms.
“Actually, neither. It’s already here,” I said. He raised his eyebrows at me. “And it’s not totally from me.”
“Oh?”
“Well, John and I split the cost, actually. I used the babysitting money I’ve been saving for a couple of years, but I still didn’t have enough, so your dad helped out.”
His eyes widened. “Holy cow, what did you get me, a Porsche?”
“Not exactly.” I grinned. “Something better. Close your eyes and I’ll show you.”
Dale dutifully closed his eyes and I helped him to his feet, leading him back to John’s room. I sat him down on the bed and closed the door.
“Are you sure my Christmas gift is in here, or is this just a ploy to get me alone?”
I laughed, opening the closet door. “Are you ready?”
“I guess so.”
“Okay.” I pulled off the towels and clothes we had covered it with. “You can open your eyes.”
He did, and his eyes widened, his jaw dropping. He sat there like that for a full ten seconds, stunned.
“I… you… wow!”
I laughed, clapping my hands. “You really like it?”
“Like it?” Dale stood and swung me into his arms. “You are the sweetest, most generous, most wonderful girl in the world. Thank you.” He hugged me close. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” I said against his neck. “Now you don’t have an excuse not to enter the Battle of the Bands.”
“I can’t believe you did this. Amplifiers cost a small fortune. You must have spent your life savings,” he said into my hair, hugging me so close it was hard to breathe.
“Almost,” I said. “But you’re worth every penny.”
He kissed me then, taking my breath as always. I felt his heart beating against mine.
“Are you ready for yours?” he whispered near my ear.
“My what?” I asked, a little dazed from his kiss. He grinned.
“Come on.” He led me back into the living room. I sat on the floor while he dug around under the tree. He pulled out a long black velvet box and my heart sank at the sight of it. He came to sit next to me.
“I know we talked about it and said we didn’t want to make a commitment. Because we’re still in high school, and you’re going away to college, and Tyler Vincent, and me trying to make it in the music business,” he started, holding my hand and the box in the other.
He paused and I looked at him. Don’t do this, I pleaded silently and he smiled a little sheepishly.
“But-?” I said for him.
“I want you to know this isn’t like that. This is…this is to show you that I understand… about your feelings for Tyler Vincent. And about me.”
I took the box from him and hesitated before opening it, a little afraid. It creaked open and I gasped aloud, lifting the heart-shaped locket out, holding it up on tented fingers. The gold shone in the light and a diamond sparkled in its top left corner.
“Oh, Dale,” I whispered, laying it in my palm.
“Open it,” he encouraged.
“There’s more?” I lifted the tiny latch and opened the heart. On the left side was a picture of Dale, looking a little younger but much the same. On the right side was a picture of Tyler Vincent. I felt tears well and couldn’t keep them from falling.
“Hey, don’t cry. Don’t you like it?” he asked, concerned, touching my cheek.
I hugged him hard and fast, surprising him a little I think. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered against his shirt. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve a great deal more than this, beautiful, and I intend to give it to you.” He clutched me tightly.
“Will you put it on me?” I pulled away to hand the locket to him and lifted my hair. He put it around my neck and took a moment to do the clasp. I felt his breath touch the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck. I let my hair fall and turned to look at him.
“Dale.” I said his name quietly, running my hand along his jaw. “Thank you. For this. For understanding. For everything.”
“Do I have to say you’re welcome? You’re always welcome.” He opened his arms and I went to him.
It was the best Christmas of my life, and I wanted to give him more. Our mouths met, the heat of his body like a shock as he pressed me to the floor with the weight of him. There was no in between with Dale-it was all or nothing. His mouth demanded it, his hands, too, and most of all, the heat of him, hard and insistent, against my hip through the denim of his jeans.
We had spent too many nights like this, fumbling and touching and coming, oh, so very close, until I managed to whisper, “No, wait, wait!” and we were left gasping and feeling a little empty as we dressed, staring at the ceiling. Not tonight. Tonight I was like liquid under him, something soft and pliable and yielding.
“God, Sara,” he moaned when I unzipped him, something I’d never done without his prompting. The heat filling my hand was incredible, throbbing with his pulse. The way the skin seemed to slide up over the head and down again, it was like something alive all on its own. It responded on its own, too, swelling in my hand as I squeezed and tugged, the tip leaking a little.
Dale’s hands moved under my sweater, pushing up the bulk of material and seeking my flesh. I loved his hands, his rough fingers, calloused from years of guitar playing, rubbing over my belly, up to my bra. He had become an expert with my bras, and this one was a quick front-hook solution, no puzzle at all. My breasts were free to his touch and his gaze, and he sank against them with a soft sigh…