But it was at the Meadowlands, and it was a weeknight. They tried to drag me out to see them just recently.” I don’t intentionally listen to much current rock music, except for Micah’s. “I don’t normally listen to them unless they come on the radio. I shrugged, reaching for a safe nonchalant answer. Was this a litmus-test question? Like asking someone if they like Nickelback? What if he had a checklist, too? What if he only liked girls who listened to the “right” music and immediately disdained girls who listened to whatever he found uncool? And why did I suddenly care what kind of girls he might like? “So you like that band, Walking Disaster?” He sidled up next to me and bumped me with his shoulder. I smiled as a dead sexy Arctic Monkeys song started. Unfazed, Adam dropped an album onto the turntable. How much chance would I have with a freaking rock star? I laughed at myself for losing my head temporarily. Guys within my limited reach rarely bought me beers and flirted. What was I thinking? As if some famous musician would just hang out at a club and buy me beers. If someone famous had my name, I’d find it annoying. “ Riiiight.” He settled on an album and slid the vinyl record from the sleeve. I scraped my brain, tapping my fingers on the bed post.
“You know that band? They have a song that gets played about a million times an hour.” On the spot, I couldn’t even remember the band’s name. Awkwardly, I fumbled for an explanation, rambling. He froze in place like a deer caught in the headlights, like he had no idea what I was talking about. “Huh?” He pulled out a Van Morrison album and then dropped it back down, still on the search for whatever he was looking for. “So, does everyone ask you if you’re any relation to that guy from that band?” I picked at the hem of my shirt, and then, as though I was teasing, I tested the waters.
If I asked him straight up, he’d think I was crazy, so I casually sauntered over to the side of his bed and leaned back, facing him. He went back to flipping through albums, nonplussed. If he was a rock star, wouldn’t he have some lavish penthouse overlooking Central Park? The apartment was his parents’, so the money was probably his parents’, too. “Your name is Adam Copeland?” My mind raced. The guy certainly had money.Īdam glanced up from a stack of records and caught me staring at him. A wave of nausea crested as I took in my surroundings.
What if this was that same guy? They would die. I could never keep their celebrity crushes straight. Stacy and Kelly had crushed on a rock singer with the same name for a few weeks last summer, another impossibly hot guy with red hair. A Netflix envelope sat on top, and I read the address. I walked over to check out his movie collection. An entertainment unit held a wide-screen TV and a stack of DVDs. I scanned the rest of the room. I wasn’t surprised to see he had a turntable.
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