Is the only time you get free time to read is in the bathroom. This is for moms that need a break and recommendation on good books and also free reads ( cause lets face it if you are a mom that has to sneak to read, free is about all you can afford.) 18+++
She's crazy about a rock star. He's crazy enough to become one. Sometimes the best things in life are crazy...
Dear Rockstar by Emme Rollins
The best things in life are crazy…
Sara is obsessed with rock star Tyler Vincent, and as she works to complete her senior year, she’s determined to find a way to meet 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...
Turn up your collar, feather your hair, and splash on some Polo, because we’re going back to the ‘80’s when MTV played music videos, there was no such thing as American Idol, and becoming a star meant doing nothing short of crazy for that one, big break.
Mr. Woodall snatched the note, quickly scanning it. “Well, Mr. Diamond, kindly find yourself a seat so I may resume my class.”
I watched it happen in slow motion. The girls at the table next to me who I hadn’t said more than a few words to were whispering together, giggling and watching Dale Diamond. Everyone was watching Dale Diamond. His presence drew the eye like his namesake, something so stunning and multifaceted and beautiful it was hard to look away. I looked too, my knees up against the edge of the desk, propping my notebook open. I hid behind it and watched him scanning the room, looking for a seat.
I saw his gaze, a quick pause at a couple empty tables, one next to Holly, a girl I’d talked to in my history class who had given a baby up for adoption, but you’d never know it from looking at her. She was tall and stunningly beautiful, the cheerleader type, one of those girls you expect to stay a virgin and keep her football boyfriend at bay at least until college. Holly brightened when she saw him looking at her, straightening in her seat, even leaning over and putting her hand suggestively on the chair beside her, making it look deliberate and casual all at the same time.
The girls next to me acted like we were all still in grade school and I glanced over at the two of them, faces so heavy with make-up it was more like war paint, hair teased up fashionably high, Spandex leggings skin-tight, shirts casually ripped to the correct Flashdance proportions, gold dangling from their ears and bangles clinking on their wrists as they put their heads together like co-conspirators, clearly trying to figure out a way to lure the new guy into their trap.
I watched his gaze skip over the Flashdance twins but he was heading straight for them, threading his way slowly, easily, through the maze of tables like a big cat surveying his territory, looking for the best rock to sun himself on while everyone watched him with baited breath. I felt myself sinking in my chair, trying to make myself invisible behind my notebook, keeping only one eye on him, part of me hoping he wouldn’t see me, part of me hoping he would.
He didn’t walk so much as saunter, taking his time. I think he knew everyone was watching, whispering about him behind their hands. Most new kids would have been embarrassed but he seemed unaffected. In fact, he seemed rather used to the sort of attention he attracted, and I guess I couldn’t blame him. Some people were just like that. They had a kind of magnet inside of them that drew people like moths to a flame.
I’d fallen in love with Tyler Vincent in an instant, the first time I saw him on a television screen, even before he opened his mouth and began to sing. I understood that sort of instant fascination, the thrill it gave you just to watch someone walk across a room, filling all the available space, radiating so much energy people found themselves turning toward the source, like the sun. They couldn’t help it.
And I couldn’t help staring at Dale Diamond like that, even though I told myself not to. I was giving myself a very stern lecture in my head. Where was my loyalty? What kind of fan was I, if my head could be turned by some look-alike, just a wannabe, a cheap knock-off, nothing even close to the real thing? My mind was trying hard to reason with my body, but it wasn’t gaining much traction.
My hands, gripping the edges of my notebook to keep them from trembling, were damp and clammy. There weren’t butterflies in my stomach, there were fire-breathing dragons. My belly burned. I felt like I could barely breathe, which was good, because I thought I might just breathe fire, I was so hot. The temperature in the room had risen by about a hundred degrees. I was actually sweating, quivering, sure I was going to melt into a little pile of nothing, and that was before he met my eyes.
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Emme Rollins is an up and coming author of New Adult/Mature Young Adult fiction. She’s been writing since she could hold a crayon and still chews her pen caps to a mangled plastic mess. She did not, however, eat paste as a kid.
She has two degrees, a bachelor’s and a master’s, one of which she’s still paying for, but neither of which she uses out in the “real world,” because when she isn’t writing, she spends her time growing an organic garden to feed her husband and children (and far too many rabbits and deer!) where they live on twenty gorgeous forested acres in rural Michigan.
She loves tending her beehives (bees are wonderful pollinators and Hello!? Honey!) and keeping up with her daily yoga practice and going for long walks in the woods with her boxer, Rodeo, who loves chasing squirrels almost as much as Emme loves writing!
Emme loves hearing from fans, so feel free to use the contact page on her site (www.emmerollins.com) to connect with her.