Escaping Perfect (17 page)

Chapter Seventeen

I'd been off the bus from Sweetbriar
maybe thirteen seconds when Jasper had started talking, and he hadn't come up for breath once in the last hour. He was so excited about his publicist and his stylist and his meetings and just being in Nashville, it was like listening to a little kid describe his first ride on a horse. No, on a space shuttle. He was that beside himself.

Not that I was complaining. As we toured the streets of Nashville, the sun sinking low over the gleaming buildings, I was perfectly happy just relaxing into his excitement. I didn't have to worry. I didn't have to think. I could just be.

“Check this out!” Jasper grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a shop window surrounded by fluorescent orange lights. “They have every guitar known to man in this place,
and a whole wall of 'em signed by every country act you've ever heard of—Emmylou Harris, Blake Shelton, the Dixie Chicks, Brad Paisley—everyone!”

“Maybe one day you'll have your guitar on the wall of fame,” I suggested.

Jasper laughed, an incredulous laugh. His eyes were bright as stars. “Can you even imagine?”

“God, you're so cute. Just like the time when you—”

I paused, coughing on my own words. I had been seconds from giving myself away, from bringing up a memory I had of Jasper executing his first backflip off the monkey bars when we were little. He'd run around the playground with his arms raised in the air as if he'd just won a gold medal.

“The time when I what?” he asked, tilting his head quizzically.

“When I first saw you perform,” I improvised. “I mean, you were all excited. Like a little kid.”

Not really, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. Jasper eyed me in a suspicious sort of way, and I was sure I was toast. He was just about to figure it all out. But then he cracked a smile. “You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

I shook my head once. “Wasn't planning on it.”

We turned and strolled in silence, hand in hand all the way down to the river, where the colorful lights of the city
were reflected in the lazily moving water. Jasper paused and leaned in to the railing, looking up toward an illuminated bridge connecting the city to the far banks.

“I can't believe I'm actually here,” he said, wide-eyed.

“You've been to Nashville before.”

He lifted a shoulder as he turned around to look back at the downtown area. “Yeah, of course, I've been here a lot, but that's not really what I mean. I mean
here
, as a real musician, living the dream. It's insane.”

My heart rate quickened on his behalf as I leaned back next to him.

“I guess I just never really thought it would happen. I mean, after my father bailed, I didn't think
anything
good could happen. Not for a really long time,” he said. “Daria's great, don't get me wrong, but I always sort of felt like I was just waiting for the next tragedy . . . for the next person to up and leave. I think I knew she'd never do that to me, but I still woke up in a cold sweat more than once, terrified about it.”

On impulse I reached out and took his hand. He let me, and I held it between us, gently rubbing his skin with the pad of my thumb.

“That's actually why I started writing music,” Jasper told me. “To try to find a way to sort of deal with the loss. To deal with the fear. Ya know?”

“I can see that,” I said.

“But I feel good now,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze. “I feel sort of . . . solid, if that makes any sense. Like I can actually do this. Have a life and a future and live my dream.”

I sighed and leaned over to rest my head against the side of his arm. It must have been so nice to feel that certainty. To know where you were headed and to feel secure in the fact that you were the one who'd chosen your path. I'd never chosen anything for myself. At least not until I met Jasper.

“You're not gonna up and leave, are ya?” Jasper asked. His tone was light, but I could hear the worry behind it, and it broke my heart. Because I might have to leave. I might have to leave in the very, very near future.

But when I looked up into his eyes, I knew I couldn't tell him that. Not now. Not when his whole life was about to change.

“No,” I said. “I'm not going anywhere.”

And in that moment I meant it. Because while someone might swoop in here and force me to go, I was never going to
choose
to leave him. Of that I was one hundred percent sure. And that had to mean something. It had to.

*  *  *

“Room service!”

I pushed myself up in bed as Jasper rolled the silver cart
into the room on Saturday morning. So far this trip had been an absolute dream. On Friday, whenever Jasper wasn't working, we'd spent our time cozied up in his posh, all-expenses-paid hotel room, and I felt completely detached from the outside world. Occupied as we were with each other, neither one of us had felt the need to turn on the television or look at his laptop or phone, and I was loving every minute of it. I'd spent my life locked away in a proverbial cell, resenting my isolation, but if I could have been locked in this room with Jasper forever, I wouldn't have minded it at all.

“What's your pleasure? Pancakes or waffles?” Jasper asked, lifting the silver domes off the plates with a flourish.

“One of each,” I said.

“Indecisive, I like it,” Jasper joked.

“Not indecisive. Adventurous,” I corrected.

Jasper's grin widened. “Even better.”

He handed me a wineglass full of orange juice, then grabbed the two plates and plopped down next to me on the bed, making me bounce. OJ sloshed over the rim onto the thick white hotel robe I was wearing.

“Oops. Sorry.” He grimaced, then held out a piece of sausage. “Peace offering?”

I took a bite of the sausage. “What, no silverware?”

“You need silverware?” he asked, rolling up a pancake and taking a bite out of it like it was a burrito.

“No. I guess I don't.” I snagged a waffle, dunked the corner in the tiny pitcher of syrup, then bit it off. Yum. I really did love this no-rules-having existence. My mother would have been appalled.

“So, tell me a little bit more about your dad,” Jasper said out of nowhere.

He munched on a piece of bacon, an open, totally interested look on his face. Meanwhile my guts had twisted themselves up so tightly that the hunger I'd felt moments before was obliterated.

“My dad?” I repeated, stalling. The waffle found its way back to the plate, and I gripped the sheet at my sides. Suddenly all I could see was that image of my father from the press conference. His sad, staring eyes.

“Yeah. Or your family. I know you don't want to talk about your mom, but do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No.”

“Cousins?”

“Not really,” I replied.

“Well, what about school? Did you like the school you went to? I bet you were adorable as a kid.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” I blurted.
“Have you talked to Shelby yet?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

Jasper's expression darkened. I knew I'd done something seriously wrong when he picked up his plate and put it on the bedside table. He leaned back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his perfect and bare chest. “No. I haven't. I figured I'd do it in person when I got home. And nice maneuver, trying to turn this around on me. I told you some pretty personal stuff last night, you know. I thought maybe you'd be in the mood to share.”

I was at a loss for words. I hadn't meant to “turn it around on him.” I'd simply panicked. And I had loved the fact that he'd opened up to me the night before, but there was no way I could do the same. I chewed on my lip, trying to figure out what to say. When I took too long to answer, Jasper reached for the TV remote.

“Forget it.”

“No! Don't.” I put my hand over his and he looked at me, startled. “I'm sorry, okay? I just didn't have the greatest childhood. The whole reason I came to Sweetbriar was to put it all behind me, so that's where I'd like it to stay. Behind me.”

Please just leave it alone,
I hoped.
Please, please, please.

Finally Jasper lowered the remote into his lap. The look he gave me was so sympathetic it made me feel like a tremendous
jerk. He thought I was some kind of victim. Like I needed to be handled with kid gloves. And maybe I was, on some level. Maybe the way my mother had treated me was wrong enough to call me a victim. But I certainly had it four hundred times better than a lot of other kids with negligent parents. At least I was always fed and clothed. I'd had a great education. I'd been protected, for what it was worth. And here I was, letting this awesome guy think I was needy and vulnerable and hurt.

“I just want you to know that you can trust me,” Jasper said finally.

“I know,” I told him. God, I sucked.

“Okay then. I hope one day you'll decide to tell me, but in the meantime I can wait.”

“Thanks, Jasper,” I said weakly, cuddling into the crook of his arm.

He kissed the top of my head, and I felt like the worst person alive. He was going to hate me when he found out who I really was, when he found out I'd been lying about everything. And I knew in that moment that it could never happen. I could never let him find out. I'd do everything in my power to keep my past a secret.

*  *  *

The photo shoot was in a long white room with lots of windows. Sunlight cut across the floor in big trapezoidal shapes
as the photographer rearranged his screens to block it out. I sat on a wide, soft suede couch near the craft services table—which no one other than the photographer and Jasper had seemed to notice—and watched while Jasper was pawed by a half dozen models.

Not my favorite way to spend a Saturday morning, but Jasper was loving every minute of it.

“All right, Jasper, give me that closed-mouth smile the girls seem to love,” the photographer directed.

A few of the leggy stick figures murmured their approval of this plan. One of them ran her hand through Jasper's thick blond hair, and then the stylist had to rush in and fix it. I tried not to turn entirely green.

“What is this for again?” I asked Evan Meyer, Jasper's new publicist.

There were about a dozen random people milling around, and only a few of them had been introduced to me. Micah, an A&R rep; Jasmine, the stylist; and Evan, who was permanently attached to his phone.

“Publicity stills,” Evan answered, glancing up from the screen and through his thick glasses. He was wearing a wool scarf and a fedora, even though we were inside and it was ninety degrees out. “And possibly the album cover.”

“Oh. Okay.” So someday soon Jasper was going to be all
over iTunes being assaulted by six hot chicks in barely there dresses. Cool.

“Rebecca! Get in a little closer!” the photographer instructed. “Pretend he's a chocolate bar and you haven't eaten in two weeks.”

“I haven't!” Rebecca joked, flipping her thick black hair over her shoulder. Everyone laughed. She had the darkest skin I'd ever seen and very full, very wide lips. She and Jasper made a dazzling couple, which was probably why she'd been chosen to stand right next to him for the photos.

Rebecca draped her arms around Jasper's chest and brought her leg up to his waist, where he was forced to hold it by the crook of her knee. She leaned so close her breasts flattened, and she made this fierce face, like she was actually about to bite a chunk out of his neck.

Jasper grinned.

“No, no. Give me the serious face for this one,” the photographer ordered.

Jasper's eyes went smoldering. He was so good in front of the camera, while I couldn't even imagine being in his position. I absolutely hated having my picture taken. Always had, probably always would.

After snapping off about a hundred shots, the photographer told the girls to take a break. He wanted to get some pics
of Jasper solo. Thank God. I was shocked when the model contingent raced for the craft services table. Every one of them grabbed a bottle of water, a coffee, and some sort of vegetable—dry.

“So, you're Jasper's girlfriend?” Rebecca asked, standing in front of me while she gnawed on some celery.

“Yes,” I replied, rising to my feet. I tried to channel my mom's confidence, but they were all half a foot taller than me—which was weird, because I was used to being the tallest girl in any room—and a zillion times prettier. I shook my hair back, but of course my hair wasn't there anymore. “I'm Lia Washington.”

“I'm Becks,” she replied. “This is Sonia, Martika, Jen, Tonya, and Free.”

“Hi,” I said in a friendly way. None of the others replied.

“So tell us about him,” Becks said, perching on the arm of the couch and sipping her water. “He is soooo hot. Where did he come from?”

“He's from Sweetbriar, Tennessee,” I said. “A little less than an hour south of here.”

They all laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. It was quiet and snickery, as if no one had ever taught them how to properly feel or express joy.

“No, she means what's his deal? How was he discovered?
Is he actually going to be someone?” the girl named Sonia asked. She was wearing a white tank dress that was nearly the same color as her skin, and her shoulder blades stuck out of her back like shark fins. Her white-blond hair was cut short and styled so that it hid one of her eyes.

“He already is someone,” I said defensively, and a few of them rolled their eyes. “He's a talented songwriter and an amazing singer.” When these declarations seemed to bore them, I threw in, “Gary Benson signed him himself.”

This got their attention. Every last one of them turned to look Jasper up and down covetously.

“Really?” Becks dragged the word out for the ultimate dramatic effect. “That's interesting.”