Rock Star's Daughter { A Blake Mcnarie Novel }

Chapter 5: The Third Wheel Complex (Part 2)

"Blake Mcnarie," My father's voice echoed through the hall as I walked in through the door. "You're a half an hour late young lady."

"Sorry," I said, blushing.

One sweet smile and Dad shrugged off my tardiness. He didn't need to know that I was late because I'd been kissing a boy in the woods, and that it had been the most epic make out session of my young life.

"Well, you have a visitor," Dad said. "Some guy named Aaron. I think you need to slow down with the boys, unless you want to put your father in an early grave."

"Wait, you don't want to be a grandfather before you turn fifty," I mused. "Oops, I must have misunderstood the message there. Is that a problem?"

"Ha," Dad said. "Don't worry, after the prom incident I am betting Bryan will be the first one to make little people call me papa Joel. Besides, it's common knowledge that I'll murder any man who touches you, so good luck with getting pregnant."

"So Aaron," I said, trying to place a face to the name. "Oh wait, I know who it is. This paparazzi guy said he wanted to be friends. Weird, right?"

"Not really," Dad said. "You remember Steve and Kate? Your mom met Steve when he worked for TMZ, as her paid stalker. They're not all bad."

"Ok," I said. "Still, don't tell him any revealing secrets."

"Ok," Dad said with a smirk. I passed by him and he stopped me, holding a hand up to my shoulder.

"Daughter of mine," he said. "How on earth did you get leaves in your hair?"

I groaned, hating my Dad's CSI skills to a tee.

"Well, would you believe me if I said I lost a fight with a bush?"

"Nope," Joel said. "So, do I need to go all ninja-assassin on the boy with the dimples?"

"Dad, no, don't do anything. He only got to first base, and I gave him full permission. I'm graduating from high school tomorrow. I think I can kiss a boy on the lips and not let it be a big deal."

"Fine," Dad said. "But for the record, I want to meet this boy again. He should come tomorrow, meet the family."

"You mean you want him to meet all of my very tall, intimidating uncles. Fine, I'll see if he isn't busy. But his mom is flying in from Toronto so you might have to wait to put the fear of God into my..."

I almost said the word boyfriend, but then I stopped myself. What was Brady to me, exactly?

Dad saved me by kissing my forehead.

"Go talk to the paparazzo," Dad said. "And if you feel so inclined, maybe make me a sandwich."

"Bryan makes better sandwiches," I called out as I walked past.

Aaron was anxiously sitting in my dining room, holding a manila envelope. I waved awkwardly.

"Look, I'm not a big fan of what you do, but I can give you some good advice," I said. "If you want pictures of me, you need to wait outside in the bushes or something. Then you need to antagonize me and get picture where I look like I'm having an aneurism; it's the entire paparazzi, pseudo celebrity relationship."

"I'm not a paparazzo anymore," He said, his voice thick with worry. Clearly he was stressed. "I just got fired."

"Oh," I said. "Well, I am sorry. I know you said you needed that job, and I am sorry you lost it."

"I made a choice," He said. "I just don't think it's fair for them to pick on a seventeen year old girl; you're practically a child still. And that story you told me about the clown at your birthday party, it got to me. I don't want to be that guy, you know. So I did something stupid, and I got fired."