Celeb Crush (6 page)

“Works out great then.”

“Well, good.  I thought I’d run it by you first—mmmph!”  She chokes a little, spitting out her bite of brownie onto her hand.  “Oh, my gosh!  It tastes like poo!”

I snicker while she wipes her tongue with a napkin, and then takes a big drink of her milk.  When she looks over at me with watery eyes, I have on an innocently confused expression.

“Now I see why no one eats my brownies,” she says drily. 

“I thought they were pretty good,” I say with a shrug, pointing to my half-eaten piece while clutching my balled-up napkin in the other hand hiding under the table.

“Hm.”  Ellen gives me a suspicious look. 

We sit there in companionable silence until she suddenly thinks of something.  I can tell because she jolts in her seat, and wags a finger at me.

“So, little miss, when were you gonna tell me about practically being engaged to Lucas Greyson?!”

And I smile because I’m thinking of how screwed Bran is gonna be when I break his other leg.

Chapter 5

My cousin, Megan, is the fresh-faced kind of gorgeous that doesn’t need makeup or filters to look like she just stepped out of an ad for shiny hair and clean living.  Or one of those commercials with the flawless-skinned girls laughing and smiling like they know some pretty girl secret.  Tall, willowy, and blonde, with a great bone structure and big hazel eyes, she’s the quintessential all-American beauty. 

She got kind of snooty in high school, when all that popularity went to her head, but for the most part Megan’s a nice girl.  She’s not a saint, but she’s not a bitch, either.  We never had much in common, but we always got along okay.  Well enough that getting an apartment together after high school seemed like a great idea.  But we all know how that turned out.

Megan doesn’t look pregnant, or sick.  Her skin is tanned and glowing, and I detect no signs of a subtle bump under her pink summery top.  In fact, she looks better than ever.  Her straight blonde hair falls to her waist now, almost as long as mine.

Our first encounter after two years doesn’t go the way I imagined it.  We’re both shy around each other, and don’t say much beyond “how are you.”  I congratulate her on her pregnancy and upcoming wedding, and she looks pained, like she wants to say something, but can’t quite spit it out.  An apology, maybe?  Ha.

Aunt Susan’s home nurse—who is also her good friend—is there at dinner.  Connie thinks it’s hilarious that I’m part Mexican, and I don’t speak a word of Spanish.  I try to point out that my mother—Luz Grace Chinn Kelly—was also half Chinese, and I can’t speak that language, either.  But Connie just laughs at me, and points to objects around the house, telling me the Spanish names for them.  It’s really obnoxious, but I keep my mouth shut.  She keeps an eagle eye on Aunt Susan and makes her breathless with laughter, so I guess she’s okay.

I’m seated between Bran and Talon at the table.  I ignore Bran and focus my attention on my little cousin.  But Talon is uncooperative, acting withdrawn and sullen no matter how many times I poke him.  Or maybe he’s pissed because I’m poking him really hard.

I expect the conversation to be dominated by talk of the wedding, but no.  Everyone wants to hear about Lucas Greyson and the fairy tale of how we began.  I can tell Megan is the most curious and excited of them all; she indirectly asks me questions about him while trying not to look at me.  I try to keep it simple, sticking to the truth as much as possible.

How did we meet?
  At a beach, where I saved his ass from drowning—he was drunk swimming. 
What’s he like?
  Just like he seems in his interviews:  down-to-earth, charming, and good-natured.
Is he good in bed?
  That one’s from Connie, and I wouldn’t have answered it—but I catch Megan and Bran exchanging a very couple-y look.  I give Connie two business-like thumbs-up.

“We’re trying to keep our relationship out of the media,” I say in response to another one of her nosy questions.  “He needs to maintain the illusion of being single and available.  It’s better for his career.  And I definitely don’t want the attention.”

I glare at Bran as I say this and he flushes, ducking his head sheepishly.  He seems to take the hint and changes the subject to the wedding, listing the relatives on his side who can make it.  I am off the hook for now, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s weird to be back in the fold.  Part of the family, but not.  You think I would be used to it by now.  The others don’t have to think of things to say to each other, or wonder if whatever they say will offend anyone.  How do they all know how to maintain the illusion?  Is it a blonde thing?  Even Connie seems to belong more than I do, and her hair’s dyed an ashy blonde.  And Bran, well, he’s always been a part of the family—even before I moved in.

Dinner is mercifully short.  Aunt Susan is tired, though she hasn’t stopped smiling once.  She’s eaten very little of the pot roast, but then no one but Connie seems to have had much of an appetite tonight.  The food was good, though.  I’m about to compliment Uncle Charlie on the meal, when he casually mentions that Bran did all the cooking.  I snap my mouth shut.

“Come for breakfast tomorrow,” my aunt tells me.  Her breathing is a little labored, but her eyes are still shining with happiness.  “We have so much planning to do, and only three weeks to do it!”

Instead of looking daunted at the task ahead, she looks thrilled.  Uncle Charlie throws her an anxious, loving look before turning to speak with Megan.  I force a smile to my face.  “I’ll be here,” I tell my aunt.

I mumble out a goodbye in everyone’s general direction.  Talon seems to be in a better mood; he’s playing some bloody zombie game, so he barely looks up when I tell him I’m leaving.  Ingrate.  I make a mental note to find out what’s been bugging him.

Bran is lurking by the door when I leave.  He seems sad—or maybe wistful is a better word.  He smiles tentatively at me.  “Bye, Andi.  I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yup.”  I open the door and am halfway out when his soft voice stops me.

“I still care about you, you know.”

I immediately stiffen, all my muscles clenching in the wake of a tidal wave of anger.  How dare he say that to me now, when I’m weak from the emotional turmoil of repressing my true colors at dinner?!  Stupid skater boy.

With my head and my heart pounding, I escape to my car.  For just a few seconds, my hands clutch the steering wheel in a death grip while I take shallow breaths through my mouth.  Anger and guilt churn in my guilt.  I don’t know what to make of the guilt; it’s a rare emotion for me.  I’ve never had a wide spectrum of them.  Emotions, that is.  Usually, I’m either angry, or…not angry.  Where is the guilt coming from?

I drive back to Ellen’s.  She’s still not home, and I can’t help but be relieved.  I grab a blanket and pillow from my room and take it to the deck outside.  I settle into the chaise lounge, cocooning myself in the blanket.  When the sun is out, it’s nice and warm, but at night it can get pretty chilly.  I stare out at the turbulent sea and congratulate myself on surviving dinner, and Bran.  And Megan.  And Ellen’s brownie.

Things will be better in the morning.  I’ll be more in control.  I’ll be a rock, a pillar of support—and I’ll do it all with the brightest fake smile you can imagine.  I can do it.  You’ll see.  Everything will be better tomorrow.

Sometime during the night, it must have rained.  I wake up with the dawn, wet and disoriented.  Keeping my damp blanket around me, I stumble down to the kitchen for…?  I don’t know.  I actually wanted to go to the bathroom. 

I’m heading back up when a knock at the front door stops me in my tracks.  Who the hell?  If it’s Bran this early in the morning, I’m going to knock him on his ass.  I don’t even care about his stupid leg.

Gathering my blanket around me more securely, I tramp over to the door.  Somebody better be selling something I can eat.  I yank open the door with my early morning scowl in place.

My scowl falls off and somewhere onto the floor. I gape at the tall figure on the doorstep.  Shock and horror have me glued to the spot.  The blanket falls from my weak grasp and pools at my feet.

“Hey, there, Tiger.”

Chapter 6

Luke flashes me Number Seven—the Endearing Boyish Grin—from his personal arsenal of lethal smiles. “I know you think this is some hot fantasy, but I’m really here,” he says from under the brim of his Yankees ball cap (his lame idea of going incognito—and yet strangely, it works).

“I—what the hell are you doing here?!” I finally manage to squeak at him.

“You weren’t answering any of your texts.”  His smile transforms into an accusing frown, and he leans an elbow against the door jamb.  “So I came to see what’s up.  So, what’s up?  You gonna invite me in, or not?”

My hand grips the doorknob.  For a split second, I contemplate just shutting the door in his face, and going back upstairs.  I sigh.  “Come in,” I relent, gesturing with a quick movement of my hand.

He slides past me with a triumphant grin.  I take a quick peek outside to make sure no one’s witnessed his arrival.  Aside from a lone singing bird, and a couple of crackhead squirrels twitching around on the lawn, there are no signs of life in front of the house.  I vaguely register the presence of a big black truck parked next to my little silver Scion. 

I close the door and turn to Luke, who is looking around Ellen’s place with undisguised interest.  “Nice place,” he says, poking around in the kitchen.

“Yeah.  What happened to your eye?”  I point to the fading bruises around his right eye. 

“Ah.”  He shakes his head slightly, chuckling.  “You know those sharks we were talking about?  Turns out one of them has a pretty mean right cross.”

I just roll my eyes.  Luke is always covered in scrapes and bruises.  I’ve learned not to worry unless something’s broken or concussed.  “Seriously, though,” I begin.  “What are you doing here?”

He stops his restless prowling and comes to stand in front of me, leaning against the back of the couch with his arms crossed.  He gives a little shrug, studying my face.  “You’re stuck in a shitty situation right now.  I thought you could us the support.  After all, you’re always there for me.”

“That’s because you pay me to be,” I reply bluntly.

“Well, then consider yourself lucky because I’m all yours—free of charge.”  He holds his arms out in a “take in my glory, bitches” gesture.

I stare at him, appalled.  “For how long?”

“However long it takes.  I’m in no hurry.   Besides, I think I’m going to like it here.”

I feel faint.  “Oh, no.”

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment—because deep, deep down I do—but Luke being here is straight up disastrous.  Besides the fact that everyone here thinks we’re together, I—ugh, it’s just weird!  I’m one of those people who keep different facets of their lives into separate and distinct compartments.  I don’t like for those parts to intersect.  L.A. Andi and Oregon Andi are two completely different animals.  My work life and family life should never mix.  It’s like seeing your teacher at a strip club weird.  I won’t know which me to be.  The world will tilt off its axis and implode.  I’ll turn spastic and feral.

All these panicked thoughts are running through my head at breakneck speed when something terrible happens:  Ellen suddenly appears.

She’s stifling a yawn and looking at Luke with polite curiosity.  Then she blinks, and recognition crosses her features.  Her eyes widen.  “Holy balls,” she gasps.  “You’re Lucas Greyson!”

Luke straightens, immediately going into his celebrity meet and greet mode.  He flashes his most charming smile.  “Hi, there.  You must be Ellen.  I’m sorry to drop in on you like this.”

Ellen actually giggles, self-consciously wrapping her raggedy robe more securely around herself.  “Not at all.  Any boyfriend of Andi’s is welcome in my house anytime.” 

Damn.

Luke’s eyebrows go way up at that.  “Boy—?”

I cut in with a nervous laugh.  “Actually, Luke was just leaving.  He just stopped by to say hi on his way back to L.A.  Wasn’t that nice of him?  But he really has to go now.”  I glare at him warningly.

“Oh, shoot,” Ellen pouts, obviously disappointed.  “I have so many questions to ask you.  I think it’s my duty to pump you for information because this one—” Here, she points to me.  “—is like a closed book on the subject.  I would love to hear all about how you two fell in love.”

“Yeah?”  Luke is now looking at me, and I don’t like the grin that’s beginning to form on his perfect face, or the dangerous glint in his gold-y green eyes.  “It’s a hell of a story.  Care to tell it, Andi?”

I laugh again.  “Not even if you shoved a flaming hot poker up my ass.”

“Andi!” Ellen scolds, but she’s laughing too, already heading over to the kitchen—no doubt to start her morning pot of coffee.

While her back is turned, I try to communicate silently to Luke with frantic expressions and threatening hand gestures.  He looks completely amused now, understanding beginning to dawn on his face.  Sharp, that one is, despite all the knocks to the head he’s received over the years.