A Popstar's Love

Chapter 4

We had three hours with this guy. Though I digress. This wasn't just some guy. He was Grayson Striker. Whatever song he came out with they were always in the top ten for weeks. Months even. And sure, they were catchy. I guess you could say the varying theme behind the song never really changed. I suppose it's what any other kid would sing about though. Heartbreak and heartache. And Chelsea and I got to sit next to him on the couch.

"Oh you've got the new phone?" Grayson said, a million dollar smile pointed at the camera as Chelsea snapped a picture with him. "I think I like those better than the older ones. They take better pictures."

"If you like that then I'm sure you'd like my number." Grayson tipped his head back and belted out a loud laugh. I, myself, found this not at all humorous since I'd heard the same line about twenty times over. I suppose I couldn't blame her though.  He was quite attractive.

It struck me as odd; watching them two talk to each other. That this kid was our age. He'd gone to school like us and did homework, hung out with friends and family... The only difference between us was that he was famous now. By sheer luck if the story he was telling Chelsea was anything to go by.

"I was in the park with some of my friends and I guess his recruiter or whatever heard me and strutted right over and started talking to me. I was actually just about to pack up. If he'd had drove by any later I would've been gone."

"And you just trusted this guy's word?" I asked incredulously," didn't you, I dunno, think he was an axe murderer or something?"

Grayson snorted, one eyebrow raised. "Well I can't just go around assuming everyone's an axe murderer now can I? I'd never step outside my house for fear of being axed to death."

I chuckled but soon rolled my eyes, again might I add, as Chelsea let out a overenthusiastic giggle. "So," I started when an heavy silence settled between all of us. "Do you uh- like... Poptarts?"

Another loud laugh came from Grayson at my, I'll admit, idiotic question. "Yeah, yeah I guess I do. But only certain ones, y'know? I don't like the strawberry ones but I love the blueberry."

I scoffed. Already I could see this relationship heading south. Whatever 'this relationship' was. Who the hell didn't like strawberry poptarts? Wackos and axe murders, that's who. "What? What was that for?"

"Oh nothing." I said with a flippant wave of my hand, "just thinking of how you could be an axe murderer."

"Because I like blueberry poptarts?"

"Because you don't like strawberry poptarts."

"Ah. Makes sense." He says, blue eyes glittering with mirth. Another lull had Chelsea clearing her throat from where she had been watching us. "So..." She says.

"So you were playing the piano earlier. Do you know how to play? Besides Mary had a little lamb I mean." I tried my best to look affronted at Grayson's question but quickly lost to a smile.

"Yeah, write my own songs too."

"It sucks cause he can't play a guitar." Chelsea piped up.

"Thank you," my glower is offered in return, "I don't need any help from the peanut gallery over there."

"You write your own songs?" Grayson asks quizzically, blatantly ignoring our little dispute. "You any good?"

I shrug. I'd like to think I'm good at what I enjoy doing. Though of coarse I've never shown anyone else them besides Chelsea. And those where the ones I absolutely knew were good.  Criticism could be hard to take. "I guess. No one else has ever seen them. Besides the peanut gallery of coarse."

"I would've said something nice about them too." Chelsea sniffed.

"I wouldn't mind looking at them..." Grayson said slowly, hesitantly, as if afraid I wouldn't let him. It was the whole reason I had brought them, wasn't it?But how was he to know? Although I was more afraid that he wouldn't want anything to do with them. Would think I was trying to be some big-shot.

"Yeah, I uh-- might've brought them with me." Sheepishly, I pulled the papers out of my back pocket. I could start to feel my face burning and I know it'd only be a matter of time before it turned a deep shade of crimson red. Great. A pair of callused hands smoothed the paper before examining it; brows furrowing in thought.

Curiosity would have me asking what business he had to wear calluses like that on his palms. He was famous, wasn't he? Did he just not have the time to do anything about it? You would expect for someone famous to go get a manicure or anything to make themselves perfect for the cameras. Or perhaps he didn't mind them at all; it added some character to them.

"You're good; better than anything I could've done." The suddenness of the statement catches me off guard and I jump, eyes being dragged up to his face once more. "You could use some work here and there but overall..."

"Overall?"

"They're amazing. It's something I could see myself singing." I look at him in some attempt to read his expression; sarcasm, was my first thought. He couldn't actually think that it was good. When he sees my looking he raises one perfect brow and gestures to the paper. "You always this good?"

I can feel my face start to burn a bright red, again, as he shrug my shoulders jerkily. "Dunno. Don't really like 'em that much."

"They're always that good." Chelsea says matter of factly. "He doesn't think so but I think he has talent."

"That's for damn sure," Grayson breathes. "I would steal them if I could. Or you." He gives me a wink at that and I think I nearly spontaneously combust into flames. "Wouldn't mind that," I mumble softly.

"Oh?" His smile turns into a devious smirk. One that promises wicked things. 'Isn't it illegal to look that good?'

We both jump when a knock comes and he door opens to show a security guard. "Mr. Striker. I'm sorry to interrupt but I'm afraid the time will be cut short. Your mom wants you to be home early tonight."

Grayson groans and almost looks like a petulant child when he does it. "She always does this." He grumps to me. "I'm sorry but she'll throw a fit if I'm not there. Maybe another time though." He gets up and walks over to the security guard and takes a pen from his pocket. "Here," he says, quickly scrawling his number down on one of the sheets of papers he still had and gave them to me. "Call me sometime."

"Y-yeah. Sure." I'm not even sure he heard me. I practically whispered it as he walked out the door and gave us one last smile and wave before leaving.

"Oh my gosh." Chelsea breathes. "He soooo wanted to get in those pants."
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{Yo yo guys! I hope you guys liked this chapter!
I'm gonna go ahead and dedicate this chapter to Maybe_Its_Just_Me  for always being there to support me and push me forward. She's an amazing writer and I hope you guys will take the time to go ahead and look at some of her writings!

Anyways guys, thanks for reading! }