Awkwardly Ever After (19 page)

“I want to kiss you again.” I avoided looking at his face in case that would make me lose my nerve. Instead, I focused my attention on the scraped sides of my battered sneakers. “And I still want to watch
Battlestar Galactica
with you—except this time, I plan on eating the pizza. But I'm not the kind of girl—” I stopped myself and tried again. “I'm still getting to know you, so . . . I want us to be friends who also make out.” My eyes darted up to his face and my heart leaped when I saw the grin that was beginning to spread across it.

“You want to be my girlfriend.”

“That's not—” I choked. “I mean . . . can we hold off on the labels?”

He placed a firm finger under my chin and lifted it so that I would have no choice but to get the full force of his laser green eyes. “You want to get to know me better.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“You don't want me to be kissing anyone else, do you?”

My stomach plummeted painfully at the thought. I shook my head.

Spencer gestured to the tickets that were now seconds away from being mangled in one clenched hand. “Good. I'm guessing one of those is for me?”

“Um . . .” So much for my plan to do the actual asking. “Yeah.”

“Okay. You totally want back on my couch,” he crowed. “You're just dying for me to—”

I shoved him, but since he didn't budge or stop laughing, I decided I needed to try a nonverbal approach. One that had worked out pretty well the last time we had been alone. So I cut him off with a long, slow kiss.

The sensation of his lips against mine swamped me.

I didn't care who stood gawking and whispering at our public display of affection. Sure, Principal Taylor could effectively kill the mood by clearing his throat and telling us to get to class, but it no longer mattered to me what the general population of Smith High School thought about the bad boy and the geek getting caught up in a heated lip-lock.

Because it was just Spencer and me.

He gently nipped my lower lip and then grinned irresistibly as I let out a quiet gasp. “I'd love to go to prom with you. Although if you want . . .” His voice lowered as he kissed his way over to my left ear. “We could always leave early. You could teach me all about the Cylons.”

“I've got a better idea.”

Spencer smiled against my jaw. “So do I. Mackenzie's yoga moves looked like a whole lot of fun—”

I smacked his arm but couldn't contain the laughter spilling out of me. He was ridiculous, and way too sure of himself, and . . . I could hardly wait to be alone with him again.

“I was thinking you could teach me how to play pool.”

“How about strip pool?” he suggested teasingly, before he sobered as he stared directly into my eyes. “What changed your mind, Belle? About us. You weren't exactly wanting pool lessons yesterday.”

I had spent half the night wondering if I had lost my fracking mind. I had even double-checked the details of Stockholm syndrome to make sure I wasn't suffering from the actual condition. But the answer—the most honest answer I could provide—was that I liked him.

I even liked the way he joked about playing strip pool.

“It was time for me to fight for what I wanted,” I said slowly. “And, um . . . that includes you, I guess. My turn, similar question. What is it that you see in me? We both know you don't need my geeky reputation anymore, so why—”

“Because you'd do anything for your friends, even if that means watching Disney movies with strangers.” Spencer's voice lowered, became more intimate. “Because you're smart and funny, and you can hold your own in a frozen yogurt fight.” Something in his eyes heated. “You also kiss like a slightly unhinged librarian. And speaking from experience, I happen to love the way you—”

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the warning bell, which left me wondering if he'd been about to insinuate something perfectly innocent. He might love the way I . . . smiled. Maybe he loved my laugh. Or maybe the two of us were equally eager to feel my body pressed against his, and he was imagining what it would be like with fewer barriers in the way.

He grinned, as if he could tell
exactly
where my mind had wandered. “I'll let you mull over all the possibilities, Belle.”

Then he pressed a quick, hard kiss to my lips before he sauntered off in the direction of his first class. Leaving me bemused and flustered and . . . smiling like a fool as my body buzzed with anticipation. He liked me too. All of me, not just the parts that conveniently helped him thwart all Notable plans for prom.

The rest of the school could dismiss me as a geek, but in Spencer's eyes I was more than a Notable.

I was the Belle of the fracking ball.

And that was totally cool with me.

I
used to envy the people who dated rock stars.

Not just rock stars; all of the Hollywood elite, the award-winning actors and screenwriters who showed up to red carpet events clad in designer everything. I thought life must be fun for their plus one, to know that they were
beyond
special to be desired by someone who could have their pick from a pool of over 80,000 screaming fans.

But I had never considered the logistics of dating a celebrity until I was stuck trying to steal a moment of privacy with my boyfriend while his new bodyguard, Darryl, loomed conspicuously beside us. It wasn't supposed to work that way. Evading the media attention was supposed to be sexy and glamorous and
really freaking hot.

There was nothing sexy about looking over my shoulder for a homophobe with a gun every time I wanted to reach for my boyfriend's hand. Even if that was supposed to be Darryl's concern.

Yeah, tell that to my parents, who were still wading through last week's death threats.

“You okay, Corey?” Tim asked me, tossing an arm around my shoulder in a possessive move that never failed to make something inside me flip over with excitement. “You seem like you're a million miles away.”

Who me? I'm totally not thinking about the fact that our faces are plastered across magazine covers in every supermarket across the nation—and the rest of the world. I always dreamed of having hundreds of thousands of people openly debating whether our relationship is an abomination to God on network television. Doesn't faze me at all.

I shrugged lightly as I searched for a plausible excuse. “Sorry. Mackenzie called me yesterday. Apparently her dad wants to be back in her life. Now that she's famous.”

Tim stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, concern written all over his face. “Is she okay? Do you need to go see her or—” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in the process, which only made him look like more of a rock star. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, she'll be fine,” I reassured him, slipping my hand around his waist and wishing that Darryl would come up with some excuse to make himself scarce. “Mackenzie's not a pushover, and she knows we've got her back no matter what she decides to do.”

Tim growled and I tugged my cardigan closer so that I could pretend my shiver was related to the Portland chill instead of the fact that I was head over heels crazy about my boyfriend.

My boyfriend.

It still didn't feel real.

Maybe because when he was first confronted about us, Tim had lied and told the world that he was as straight as the next guy . . . provided that the next guy wasn't, y'know,
gay.

Nothing could bring me back to earth faster than that little reminder. Every now and then I would catch myself staring up at him, wondering how someone so thoughtful and confident about his musical abilities could ever have thought it was okay to throw me under the bus. Even knowing that he had bought a freaking billboard and wrote that he loved me on it didn't erase the past.

Not completely.

“I hate people like that,” Tim snarled. I let my arm fall back to my side as we swiftly returned to the Portland Rose Garden. It had been my idea to take a walk while the concert crew did their thing. Now I was wondering if it would've been a better idea to have stayed in the backstage room with all of his bandmates.

Or if I should've suggested we book a hotel room together.

We both knew where our relationship was going. We'd been dating for months, and if he hadn't been working on his new album in Los Angeles while I tried not to turn into a congealed lump in Oregon, it probably would have happened already.

Unless there was something he wasn't telling me, which was becoming more and more probable to my way of thinking. I mean, we had been in the same state—the same city—for over three hours and all I had to show for it was a few measly kisses.

Okay, maybe they weren't exactly
measly.

But they had all taken place in super public areas where we couldn't exactly take it any further without risking arrest. And the last thing I wanted to explain to my attorney father was that I'd been hauled off to the slammer because of public indecency. I didn't care how many rainbow flag bumper stickers my parents put on their cars, there were some things they definitely didn't need to know about my personal life.

“. . . looking for a payday. You wouldn't believe some of the emails I get.” Tim rolled his eyes, and I forced myself to concentrate on him again. Maybe he'd been right to say I was a million miles away. “Hi, Tim! Remember me? My cousin Bradley played on a Little League team with you. Anyway, I have a band of my own now and we'd love to go on tour with you. I'm sure we'd bring ReadySet up to a whole new level.”

He looked so adorably indignant, I couldn't hold back a laugh. “Maybe he thought Bradley made quite the impression on you.” I pretended to be jealous as I tugged him against me. “Any details of those Little League games you want to share, Tim?”

“Bradley who? Never heard of him. I
do
know this other guy, though. Smart. Funny—” I felt his hand slip into my hair. It was at sheep-dog length because I hadn't gotten around to booking an appointment for a haircut. “Incredibly sexy . . .”

Even knowing that he had to be talking about me—because
hello,
how awkward would it be if he was describing anyone else that way—it was hard to believe. It's not that I thought I was an ogre or anything. The cardigan looked damn good on me in a clean-cut, Ivy League kind of way.

But I wasn't Hollywood-caliber hot. Nobody was going to start handing me modeling contracts or anything.

So I tried to play it off as a joke. “Really? Want to give me his number? Turns out, dating a rock star isn't everything it's cracked up to be in the press.”

I wasn't entirely kidding, but Tim didn't pick up on that either.

“What if I told you it was about to become a whole lot easier?”

I blinked up at him. “I would say that I have no idea what you're talking about.”

He grinned. “I've talked to the guys and they're willing to move to Portland.” Tim winced a little. “Well, okay, Nick would rather we stay in L.A. for a while because his girlfriend, Holly, lives there, but the other guys are okay with spending more of our time here. I agreed we should do it on a temporary basis, but there's no way they won't agree to make it more permanent. The city is great. The people are nice. The traffic doesn't give us road rage.... I'm sure they will be recognizing themselves in episodes of
Portlandia
in no time. And I will be able to spend more time with you.”

Tim had definitely managed to capture my full attention, but I was too stunned to know what to say. Part of me wanted to ask Darryl to give us some privacy, and then go somewhere I could kiss the hell out of my boyfriend. And part of me wanted to ask if he had thought this plan all the way through.

Because if he was doing this for me—moving to an entirely different city just because I was temporarily stuck there—that wasn't some cute romantic gesture I could reciprocate. It wasn't the same thing as getting flowers on Valentine's Day or having a song on their upcoming album dedicated to me. Those I could handle.

Those were thoughtful gestures that didn't take all that much from him.

But this?

This was
huge
. And if it didn't work out between us, then all of them—from their manager to their roadies—would probably resent me for being behind the move. And as crazy as I was about him, there were times when I wondered if I had bitten off more than I could chew.

I used to roll my eyes when characters on TV dramas said crap like, “We're just from two different worlds!” But there was more truth to it than I wanted to admit. He was L.A. and I was Portland. Something as small as a change in area code wasn't going to change that, especially since he wouldn't be leaving the madness behind.

His loyal fanbase would stalk his movements here too.

Tim looked at me expectantly, and I saw a shadow of fear pass over his face. “Well,” he prompted. “Aren't you excited?

Yeah, I am. I'm absolutely thrilled at the idea of spending time alone with you. But, um . . . can you excuse me for a moment? I need to have a panic attack in the bathroom real quick.

I glanced over uncomfortably at Darryl. “Of course I am. But shouldn't we talk about it somewhere . . . more private?”

Tim dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Darryl won't repeat anything we say. That's the beauty of confidentiality clauses.”

I knew he expected me to grin or make some joke out of my need for privacy. Maybe something like,
Wow, for a guy who took so long coming out of the closet, you sure have no trouble putting it all out there now. Any other dirty laundry you'd like to air?

Scratch that. He would never expect me to be that passive-aggressive. Maybe because on the rare occasions we were together, I spent most of it focusing on ways to steal just a little more time together. I'd offer to drive him to the airport because it would mean we could have a few more minutes together. We could pretend to be normal, as if we were just two guys who happened to like each other, instead of a Grammy award winner . . . and his ordinary high school boyfriend.

Funny how I was getting exactly what I'd been complaining about for weeks—a chance to spend some quality time with Timothy Goff—and now I just wanted to ask,
Are you sure? Because I don't want to inspire your next hit song called “My Biggest Mistake.”

“That's really . . . uh . . . great,” I finished lamely.

“And since I convinced the guys that we should spend some time after the concert tonight getting to know Portland, we're going to be sticking around for a while. Which is why I was thinking . . .”

I wasn't entirely sure I was ready to hear another one of his genius plans, except Tim looked so pleased with himself, I couldn't disappoint him. So I smiled encouragingly while I noted with a sinking heart that we were only a handful of blocks away from the concert hall. In a matter of minutes he would disappear with Darryl, not to be seen for the next twelve hours . . . unless something unexpected changed his schedule.

“Well, how do you feel about prom?”

I stared at him in shock. “I don't really have many feelings on the subject. It always seemed pretty cheesy to me. I mean, maybe it's great for girls if they actually get to have that Hollywood moment when they have a spotlight following them down a staircase and right into the conveniently open arms of their one true love or whatever. But most girls don't actually get that. And since I
definitely
wouldn't—”

“I wouldn't be so sure about that, Corey. I agreed to perform with the guys at your prom.”

My mouth fell open and I didn't even care that I looked like a koi fish trying to suck food flakes on the surface of the water.

“
You
are going to my prom.” I said the words slowly, hoping they would make more sense that way.

“Nick and Chris will be with me. We'll play a quick set and then join you for the full high school experience. It's no big deal.”

“I . . . you know it might be held in the gym, right? Which means the whole place could stink of feet. Are you sure you want to go?” I conveniently failed to mention that the Leftbank Annex had already been rented, because . . . hey, the King family could still decide to pull their donation.

“Well, when you put it that way, how could I resist?” Tim elbowed me lightly in the stomach, so it was more of a love tap than anything else. “Don't you want to go to prom with me?”

I did. I really did.

But what I wanted even more was to skip that stupid thing entirely, check into a hotel, and lock the door on the rest of the world for the next sixteen hours.

Too bad life didn't work that way—even when you were dating a rock star.