Tapped by the Rockstar
By Christina Hovland
Chapter One
“Nobody told me Twister was a bad idea,” Samantha “Sam” Johnson mumbled under her breath as her right hand went to green, left foot to blue, and her ass in the air. She balanced precariously, so she didn’t tip over into Great Aunt Etta Jane, the reason she’d come to work at Purple Peony Assisted Living.
Thanks to her great aunt, Sam’s reputation as the premier activities director for the over-eighty crowd continued the upward trajectory she’d begun at The Plains in Newark and continued at Hillsong in Birmingham.
Of course, that was all after the whole Sami Jo fiasco that had landed her with—
“Tits up, sweet cheeks,” Betty announced in Sam’s general direction.
Crud, what had she missed during her little near-tumble down memory lane?
“Right foot yellow, Sammy Lamb-y,” Mertle mumbled out of the edge of her lips.
Sam stilled at the quirky nickname, her blood draining unreasonably from her cheeks. Dammit, she was over this. Why did it still bug her? Sami Jo…
“Sam,” she corrected quickly, with all the cheer she could muster while in an awkwardly fragile downward-facing dog pose. “Just Sam.” Always, just “Sam.” She shivered.
Yeah.
“Sam the ma’am, bam, bam,” Mertle sang, as she handled the pose beautifully. Like a swan playing Twister without a care in the world. What would that be like?
And where the heck had a woman of her… uh… age learned to be so limber? Seriously, the woman’s ligaments must’ve been made of rubber.
Sam’s were not. She’d sort of hoped when the women in her care had requested the twister, they’d meant the movie with Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton from 1996. Or perhaps a dance party featuring Chubby Checker.
Luck was not hers, since they’d meant the activity she’d accidentally created based on the classic children’s game.
“Left foot, red!” Nadzieja hollered from her perch on the edge of a chair. She came to the United States from Russia ages ago, and her accent remained true to her heritage. Also, Nadzieja's stash of vodka; that Sam had negotiated to a more reasonable level.
Everyone moved their left foot to red.
Of course, Sam didn’t have the elderly women in her Tuesday group class all on one large plastic Twister board—that would be dangerous. No, she set them up on multiple carefully crafted, non-slip felt alternatives. She’d used special Velcro strips to adhere the dots to the plum-colored carpet.
All the latest literature suggested that the elderly in these communities benefited from daily activity. Things like yoga and outside walks when the weather allowed.
The assisted living crew scoffed at her idea for all of that, but Sam was not one to give up. So she’d tricked them into doing some yoga via Twister. The walks? She made a scavenger hunt around the neighborhood that ended at the cookie shop. They loved her ideas so much that they insisted not only on playing Twister 2.0 but also her participation. This required her to hand over calling duties to Nadzieja.
Nadzieja, who was a master manipulator and the Monarch of the Purple Peony. That’s what Sam had called her in her head, anyway.
“Left hand yellow,” Nadzieja announced, cackling a little since that was going to really shake things up. There was not a way for Sam to move her arm in that direction without toppling over.
Instead of moving her palm, Sam spared her dignity and stood. She clapped her hands three times in quick succession. She always did this to give notice to the residents that she was ending the activity and they were moving onto the next. “Nice work, all. Let’s call it a day?”
Dammit. The moment those words slipped from her lips, she knew she shouldn’t have phrased them in question form. These women found loopholes in everything and had no issue climbing right on through those holes to get what they wanted.
As could be expected, the participants all fussed an array of “no!” and “we’ve barely started.”
She sighed, internally. But it was nearly time for the backgammon tournament to start in the other rec room. It couldn’t start without her there to set it up and then harass the seniors to play. What could she say? Her job wasn’t exactly easy now, was it?
Nadzieja stood from her walker with the arrow still in her hand. And the look in her eyes—that flash of mischief and confidence?
Oh, no, no, no. Sam didn’t like it.
She wasn’t wet behind the ears here. Working the retirement home circuit for years had taught her a few things. So she’d had her eye on Nadzieja from the first time the woman “slipped” on a puddle in the dining hall the night they served kale chips with turkey burgers, and Nadzieja demanded a hot dog with crunchy sweet potato tots instead. Nadzieja loved her tots.
Unfortunately for her, Chef Mike had held his ground.
Nadzieja got the same gleam in her eye and promptly slipped on the puddle, going down, down, down.
At least Nadzieja had said there was a puddle. Sam had opened a report and done an entire investigation and it didn’t seem like the puddle existed for anyone but Nadzieja.
Chef Mike still took on that guilt and ensured Nadzieja got whatever she wanted from there on out. To that very day, every meal in the entire community came with optional tots.
Funny thing about that, once Nadzieja got her dog and tots for dinner that night, her hip returned to prime condition, and she had no issues at all.
Though the day Sam told her she’d have to stop dialing the non-emergency police line? Nadzieja got the same gleam in her eye. She’d been calling it often to request the most attractive officers stop in for a welfare check. Not her welfare—theirs. It was a whole thing.
The first time they found it funny. By the fifth time? They weren’t amused.
Sam could’ve sworn Nadzieja had a mat with the grippy bottoms in her room. Sam ensured all the residents had one. But it’d disappeared and Nadzieja went down again.
The officers who arrived with the EMTs? Not bad looking. And Nadzieja had a remarkably speedy recovery from that one, too. Minutes, really. Seconds, even.
So, in this moment, Sam knew what was coming.
This was a blip in time where she had a choice to make—force the issue and call the game, or just play another round so she didn’t have to deal with all the blah blah and the reports that came with it.
She went with option B.
“One more game,” she said with a perky smile, holding up her index finger.
Nadzieja sank right back down to the chair, wry grin in place, and spun the wheel like the woman had just won the Showcase Showdown on The Price Is Right.
The game ticked along and Sam was nearly ready to call the ending—the real ending—when the door to the room squeaked open. She needed to WD-40 that before she left for the night.
Nadzieja let out a squee and dropped the spinning arrow board.
Sam was in a modified version of a downward dog, so she had to peer through her legs to the doorway. Of note, she did not topple over at the sight of the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her freaking life standing there in the doorway. Thing was, there wasn’t truly anything super special about his appearance. Hot guy? For sure. But he looked like he stepped out of a catalogue—unreal and probably fake. Gorgeous men like him were of the processed variety and did not come from natural sources.
His cropped blond hair stood messy-spiked on the top, but cut close on the sides. The black tee he wore strung tight across his chest. The guy wasn’t ripped, but he was definitely athletic. And the light denim jeans taut against his thighs? Very nice choice. Those jeans led down to nothing-special sneakers, and still her heart thumped louder in her ears.
Balanced in his arms he held several large, purple candy boxes.
This was like her favorite wet dream come to life because… charisma. The guy was doused with buckets of hot guy sauce that he probably tossed all over wherever he went.
Seriously, the way her blood whooshed to her brain and her face flushed was entirely unnecessary. Downward dog, notwithstanding.
His eyes caught hers and her bum was right up there in the air, so she should’ve stood up, straightened her Purple Peony polo shirt, turned and said, “Hello.” Like the professional she promised herself she was on the regular.
Did she stand up? Oh no. Instead, she held his gaze with hers and smiled at him through her legs. As one does when faced with a hot dude who makes one’s cheeks flush.
Good thing that Nadzieja wasn’t calling a color-appendage combination because all Sam could focus on was this guy. If he had a vibe, it would shout, “God, yes!”
He lifted his eyebrows at her and sort of grinned. Even upside down, the symmetrical perfection of his lips was too much. Too, too much. Somebody call American Eagle because she had a brand-new model ready and waiting for their summer photo spread.
“Hey ladies,” he said with a rumble of a voice that made Sam seriously consider what it would be like to play strip-Twister and eat chocolates with him.
Gah, no. Stop it.
Besides, she didn’t mean him. She meant someone like him.
She dated sometimes—not too much. Best not to get too close to anyone, she’d found out. Keeping a comfortable distance was necessary for, well, comfort.
“It’s Tanner,” Nadzieja shouted, holding her hands together in front of her chin.
Uh-huh, that made sense that this guy would have a hot guy name to go along with his “God, yes” vibe.
The other ladies all straightened, welcoming Tanner. Sam straightened, too, when what she really wanted to do was sit there criss-cross applesauce and grin stupidly at this guy who made her heart pitter-patter like she was a teenager and he was a boy band star.
Which was why she did not do any of that. While he handed out candy boxes, she stood taller and pressed her palms down the front of her shirt, into the pockets of her wrinkle-free, khaki Dockers. She should go say hello. Introduce herself.
But the ladies all circled around the man—whoever this Tanner was. Sam ignored the carnal tug in her low belly and focused on cleaning up the room instead. He had enough company to keep him busy, and the felt dots needed to be put away, along with a few chairs stacked back in the closet. And that backgammon game would not set itself up.
Cautious not to chance any glances in his direction—though, of note, the boxes were filled with truffles—she made quick work of her job. There. Done. But just as she turned to evacuate, and move along to her next task, Nadzieja tossed herself on the floor.
Seriously, she threw herself down like a rag doll. A rag doll being entirely too careful with her box of chocolates. Somehow she managed to set those aside on the way down. That was a pretty neat trick.
Sam had never caught her in the act so blatantly before, but she couldn’t exactly do nothing. So she rushed to Nadzieja’s aid, even as Tanner did the same. Since he was closer, he arrived first.
“Hey,” he said, gentle and kind and—“You okay, Babushka?”
Oh great, he got to call her Babushka. Everyone called Nadzieja that. Everyone except Sam, who had not been invited to use the nickname. Blatantly un-invited was more like it.
Tanner slipped a glance to Sam and something between them opened right up. Right there. He didn’t buy Nadzieja’s act either.
“It is fine.” Nadzieja hefted herself up to sitting. “I am fine.”
Of course, she was fine. Even if she wasn’t fine, things would still be fine, since Sam was a professional who had loads of emergency medical training. One didn’t work with senior citizens and not come prepared for all scenarios. Which was why, though Sam knew the ruse, she still started a quick eval for the paperwork that would come with even Nadzieja’s Fakey McFakerton episodes. Sam began with a pupil reaction test. Nadzieja, however, wasn’t having it.
“Tanner, this is Sam,” Nadzieja said, brushing aside Sam’s attempts at triage.
Sam glanced around, but no one else was in the room. Where the heck had they all gone?
“This is Sam?” Tanner asked, disbelieving.
“Yes, I’ve told you all about her.” Nadzieja grinned a quick flash of dentures.
Well, that was sweet. Even though Sam didn’t know a thing about this guy.
“I thought Sam was a dude?” Tanner sort of said, sort of asked, blinking hard.
Well, no. She was definitely a girl.
“My job is done. You are officially introduced.” Nadzieja stood, snagged her chocolates, and waved between them. “I’m off. Enjoy your talk.”
Though she said this, she did not leave. Instead, she stood there stuffing a truffle in her mouth while she observed.
“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Sam whispered, still crouched down. She stood, rubbing her forehead.
“Agreed,” Tanner said, also standing. Then he sort of breathed what sounded like it was supposed to be a greeting, turned the color of a ripe cherry tomato, and seemed to choke on his tongue.
She pointed to herself. “I’m Sam.”
Dammit, they’d already covered this part.
“I guess you know that,” she continued with a quick side-glance to Nadzieja.
“Uh-huh.” He looked at the floor. Closed his eyes like he was woozy.
“You okay?” she asked. Maybe he needed a quick triage.
Wouldn’t that be a fun pickup line? Let me check your pupils! How are your reflexes!?
He seemed to have some quick internal gut check, and then he pierced her with his gaze.
“I’m fine,” he semi-stuttered. “Now. Now, I’m great.”
She didn’t buy it. And, yet? The way he looked at her like he wanted to nibble her neck? Dear goodness, it made her stomach flutter, and she seriously considered tossing herself on the floor if it meant he’d keep talking to her.
Any argument she’d made about why this—he—was a bad idea deflated right there.
Getting close to anyone is a mistake.
Especially someone with the ability to wreck her heart. Someone just like him. A guy with staying power who would make her consider staying when it came time to leave.
The red still flamed against his cheeks and the thread tethering him to the moment seemed shaky. “It’s nice to meet Babushka’s famous Sam.”
Famous. No. No, she wasn’t famous. Not anymore.
God, no. Her heartbeat quickened, and the intense desire to bolt took hold.
She rocked back and forth on her toes. “I…uh…gotta go back to work,” she said. If she hurried, she could finish the rest of her shift and be out of there by the time Chef Mike started baking his tots.
