The Secret Life of a Dream Girl (Creative HeArts) (11 page)

He smells like cinnamon, warm and sweet and inviting. I take a deep breath, pull the scent deep inside me. Hold it in as long as I can. Then I sway to the beat of the music, closer, closer, closer, and still he doesn’t look away.

Instead he just watches me with eyes bright as fireworks as Ani sings the chorus one last time.

I expect him to pull away when the song ends, to go back to his listening booth. But he doesn’t move. Instead, he stays right where he is—just a little too close—for several long, breathless seconds.

I should pull away, should drop my hand, should move back. My mind is screaming at me to do just that, to remember Dream Girl. But my body isn’t listening. How can it when every cell I have is straining toward him? When every particle of my being wants to melt into his?

He leans forward then, drops his head down, and for a moment—just a moment—I’m certain that he’s going to kiss me. But just as I’m holding my breath, just as he’s sliding his hand up my arm, “Suck My Kiss” from the Red Hot Chili Peppers starts blaring through the house system.

The moment shatters like dropped china—into so many pieces it would be impossible to pick them up again. Even more impossible to try to fit them back together.

I start to laugh and so does he, the strange tension between us disappearing as suddenly as it came.

“What do you want to listen to next?” he asks when we can finally look at each other without cracking up.

“Actually, I want to look at their postcards over there.” I nod to one of the carousels in the far corner of the store.

“You want to look at postcards in a record store?” But he’s putting the headphones back on their stand even as he teases me.

“I collect them.”

“Yeah? Any particular kind you like most?”

“I just pick whatever I’m in the mood for at the time. But I am working on getting all the Beatles and Rolling Stones covers.”

He looks surprised. “I didn’t peg you as old school.”

I shoot him an amused look. “Yes, well, we’ve known each other pretty much four days. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asks as he leads me over to the postcards.

“Maybe.” I glance up at him through my lashes. “Maybe it’s just an observation.”

He pauses for a second and just looks at me, a little half grin on his face that makes my hands shake and my heart beat double time. Oh my God, we’re flirting. Or more like, I’m flirting and he’s not running away. That has to count for something, right?

In the world I come from, it doesn’t count for much. I flirt with everyone—just part of the job description, or so every manager/producer/PR person I’ve ever had has told me. In that same world, I would have kissed him. I would have stepped forward, pressed my body against his, buried my hands in his shaggy blond hair, and laid one on him that would have made both our knees shake.

But this isn’t L.A. and I’m not Cherry. I don’t have the protection of her glitter and glamour here in Austin, don’t have the sex appeal that she wears like armor. No, here I’m just me. Just plain Dahlia. And while I like just about everything that comes with being me again, I have to admit that right here, right now, I wouldn’t mind Cherry’s self-confidence. Or her irresistibility.

“So, exactly how many Beatles covers
do
you have?” Keegan asks as he spins the metal rack.

“Seven,” I answer after I swallow the unfamiliar lump in my throat.

“Seven.” He narrows his eyes as he scans the postcards as they go by. Already I’ve spotted five Beatles ones and I’m barely looking—three that I do have and two that I don’t. “And how many albums did they make?”

My mouth drops open then. “You mean you don’t know?”

He laughs. “You don’t have to sound so scandalized.”

“I am scandalized! You know so much about music. How can you not know this?”

“Truth is,
I’m
not very old school. I mean, I know the big bands and the big songs, but if you want serious musical knowledge, mine starts at the eighties.”

“I feel so betrayed.” I smile to let him know I’m just teasing.

“Hey! I’m not on the music track. I don’t have to know this stuff.”

“Everyone should know this stuff!”

“Yeah, well, if you want to teach me a few things, I wouldn’t say no.”

Okay, so this time he’s the one who’s flirting—especially with that look in his eyes. The one that says music isn’t the only thing he’s interested in learning about from me…or at least I think that’s what the look means.

I hate being this confused, hate all this second-guessing stuff. God. If this is the experience the judge was so hell-bent on me getting—the experience Finn was trying to tell me about the other night—it’s so, so overrated. I don’t want to guess. I don’t want to have to try to figure out what every word, every touch, every
look
means.

I must take too long to respond, because Keegan’s hopeful grin fades and he takes a couple steps back. “Or not,” he says, and it comes out sounding awkward for all that he wants it to sound like a joke.

“No, no, of course I will.” I’m trying to get them out so fast that I end up stumbling all over the words. I don’t know why I was in such a rush, though, because now there’s nothing else to say. An awkward silence hangs over us.

For the first time, he looks almost as uncomfortable as I feel, and for a moment I pray for the ground to open me up and swallow me whole. Except Keegan obviously feels as weird as I do, and that’s so not okay. Not when he’s been so, so nice to me.

Which is why I shove down my embarrassment when all I really want to do is curl up in a corner and hide. It’s also why I give him the breeziest smile I can manage as I say, “The Beatles had twelve studio albums, thirteen extended-play albums, and released twenty-two singles. The Rolling Stones, on the other hand, have twenty-nine studio albums so far. They’ve also got thirteen concert albums.”

“And how many singles have they released?”

He’s teasing me, but I answer anyway, just because I can. “One hundred and nine.”

“Seriously? You actually know that?” He looks impressed. “How do you keep that all stored in your head?”

“You do realize that’s not that much information to remember?”

“I think that depends on how many bands you know the stats for, doesn’t it?”

I don’t answer him, because the truth is I know the stats for hundreds of bands and solo artists. It was kind of my thing early on, what I’d do when I was sitting in my trailer at Disney waiting for my cue on the first season of the show that made me famous. Then it became what I did on the tour bus and backstage, when it seemed like my whole life was one long hurry-up-and-wait.

A lot of other performers had their family and friends around to hang out with, but my dad isn’t a hand-holding kind of guy. And he isn’t a big believer in me having friends, either, so I spent my time learning everything I could about my favorite bands and singers.

Including, as it turns out, how to get away from a too-controlling father and manager.

Things have gotten serious fast, and it’s the last thing that I want. I’ve spent too long keeping people out to let Keegan Matthews in just because he’s got a killer smile and eyes that see too much.

“So,” I say, reaching out and giving the postcard carousel another spin, “let’s make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“Pick out a Beatles postcard that I don’t have and you win. Pick out one that I do already have, and I win instead.”

He looks wary, but intrigued. “What exactly do I win?”

“Umm…the right to say you won?” I answer with raised brows.

“Wow. You really know how to tempt a guy.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. What do you want to bet?”

When he grins wickedly, I know I’ve been suckered. Big-time. “We are so not betting that!” I hiss, reaching out to smack his arm.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His look goes from wicked to angelic in no time flat. “I was going to suggest we bet on another date.”

Did he just say
another
date? Like, implying that we’re
currently
on a date? That what we’re doing here isn’t just two friends hanging out? Suddenly I’m more than a little breathless.

“Another date?” I ask, working to keep my voice neutral.

“Yes.” He clears his throat, looks a little bit over my shoulder as he continues. “If I win, we go on another date that will help me figure out how to woo Dream Girl. And if you win…”

Just that easily I deflate. Of course the bet is about Dream Girl. Isn’t everything? “If I win?” I prompt.

He cocks his head to the side, studies me. I force what I really hope isn’t an awkward smile.

“What do you want?” he asks.

To go back to L.A. where I know what’s going on and how to handle myself.

To come up with what to say that won’t make a fool out of me.

To figure out how to make Keegan like me.

The last thought sneaks in, and it takes a few seconds for it to register. When it does, I can feel my cheeks flaming, my heart beating way too fast.

My brain short-circuits for a second, but Keegan is watching me, a quizzical look on his face, and I know I have to say something, quick, before he gets suspicious. “Ice cream.”

Both eyebrows go up. “Ice cream?” he repeats.

“If I win, you take me for ice cream.”

It’s a little lame, but I’ve got no choice but to go with it at this point. God only knows what else might come out of my mouth if I say anything else.

He grins. “I’ll take you for ice cream right now, if that’s what you want.”

“Only if I win. Rules are rules, after all.” I shoot him a prim look. “Now, are you actually going to pick a postcard or are we going to stand here negotiating terms all day?”

Chapter Fourteen

Part of him wanted to stand there negotiating terms all night—especially if it meant her standing that close to him. Or her smiling at him like that. Or her unconsciously angling her body forward so that they were only a couple inches apart.

But at the same time, he wanted to quit while he was ahead. It was a good deal, after all. A great deal, actually, when what Keegan wanted more than anything was another date with her. Now the stakes for both of them included him getting a chance to take her out again. That had to be a good sign, right?

Still, as he turned back to the postcards, he was determined not to lose. Determined to show her that he knew her a lot better than she thought he did.

He reached out, spun the carousel around slowly this time, and as he did he counted how many Beatles postcards there were. The answer was thirteen, but only five of them were album covers—or at least, he was pretty sure that was true. Now the only question was, which one didn’t Dahlia already have?

He ruled out
Abbey Road
right away, because of course she had
Abbey Road
—last recorded Beatles album, even if it wasn’t the last released.

And she probably had
Sgt. Pepper
, because
iconic
.

But he also ruled out
Revolver
, though he didn’t have a clear reason as to why. He didn’t know much about the album at all, but he had a feeling the cover art really appealed to Dahlia.

Which left him postcards for
A Hard Day’s Night
and
Let It Be
, both of which he would choose over
Sgt. Pepper
any day—the artwork and the albums. But then he wasn’t some music scholar like she was, so his opinion wasn’t worth much…

In the end, he picked them both up and handed them to her. It was kind of a gamble considering he could be wrong about either one of them and in doing so had just doubled his chances of losing the bet. Then again, he was totally up for another excuse to take Dahlia out, so it wasn’t like he really had anything to lose here, except his pride.

She didn’t say anything at first, but her eyes widened as she looked at his choices. Then she looked at him with such a startled expression that for a second he thought he’d totally screwed up, but then she smiled at him. Really smiled at him, and it brightened up her whole face. Hell, it brightened up the whole room
and
his whole night.

He liked seeing her happy, and it wasn’t until right this moment when she was beaming—actually beaming—that he realized happy wasn’t a look she wore that often. He hadn’t noticed before because she rarely looked
un
happy, either. But if anyone knew the difference between being happy and not being unhappy, it was him. He felt like he’d spent the last few months walking around that way. Kind of dazed, kind of worried, but determined to be hopeful. Determined to stay strong for his parents’ sakes.

He thought back to what she’d said earlier, about being emancipated from her father. And couldn’t help wondering just how much of her own shit Dahlia was holding together.

It couldn’t be easy to be doing what she was doing. Couldn’t have been easy to go to court—especially after her mother had died—and ask for her father’s parental rights to be terminated. It couldn’t be easy living on her own, paying all the bills and making all the decisions about her life without anyone else’s input. He couldn’t help wondering
how
she was doing it. Any more than he could help wondering how she was doing—if she was managing or if she was drowning under the weight of it all.

Now wasn’t the time to think of all that, though. Not when she was smiling up at him, her eyes faintly quizzical at his continued silence. Not now when he only had a couple more hours with her at most before he had to take her home and end what had been—to him, anyway—a very special date.

So he filed his questions away, promising himself he’d think about them later when he was alone and could try to figure out how to talk to her about the situation. Try to figure out if there was anything she needed, anything he could help her with.

But right now, all he wanted was to lose himself in her smile. In the tiny crinkles by her eyes and the dimple in her left cheek. He was pretty sure he’d never seen that dimple before, but now that he had…now that he had, he really, really wanted to kiss it.

Wanted to kiss her.

That wasn’t exactly part of the plan, though—at least not yet—so he rocked backward a little. Shoved his hands in his pockets. Reminded himself that most girls didn’t like being grabbed in the middle of record stores. At least not by someone they weren’t dating…

And still it was hard to resist doing just that. Harder still not to tell her exactly how he felt about her. Only his plan—and his fear of blowing things between Dahlia and him before they ever had a chance to get started—kept him from doing just that.

“How did you know which postcards to choose?” she demanded after it became apparent that he wasn’t going to say anything. “I made sure not to let on at all.”

“So I’m right?”

“You already know you’re right,” she said with a big smile. “I just want to know how you figured it out.”

He shrugged even as he grinned right back at her. “Guess I’m just magic like that.”

She snorted a little. “Yeah, like I don’t know that already.”

His stomach dropped even as his heartbeat pretty much tripped over itself. Had Dahlia just called him magic? Because it sounded like she had, and that wasn’t something you said to a guy you weren’t interested in. Right? Right?

Was his plan actually working? Just the thought had excitement racing through him. Maybe Jacen was right. Maybe Finn wasn’t holding all the cards. Maybe he actually stood a chance here…

But then she leaned forward and put one of the postcards back. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want
Let It Be
?”

“I totally want it. But I’ve got rules for this collection, and one of them is that I can’t buy more than one postcard from any record store.
A Hard Day’s Night
is more difficult to find, so I’m going to get that one today. I’ll pick up
Let It Be
some other time in some other store.”

“Seriously? Just one per store?”

She nodded. “One per store.”

“Why? Have you thought about how long that’s going to take? I mean, how many record stores even sell postcards? You already said the Rolling Stones have a ridiculous number of albums, so how is that even going to work? It doesn’t make sense. Especially since Austin only has a few record stores. If you can’t go back to them to get another postcard, how is it even possible—”

“Whoa!” She stopped him by placing her fingers gently against his mouth. “I know this is going to come as a shock to someone as goal-oriented as you, but sometimes it’s not about getting to the finish line, Keegan. It’s about the journey. Each postcard I pick up is a specific memory, an experience I want to remember. So, sure, I’m adding to my collection with this postcard. But I’m also choosing a memento of tonight. One that will remind me of you whenever I look at it.”

He only thought his heart had been tripping before. Even after she took her hand away, it took him three tries to get any words out. “So, you want to remember tonight?” He knew he was fishing, but could anybody really blame him? He was a desperate man, especially considering that the girl he’d had a crush on for weeks was standing right next to him, saying things he could only have imagined just a few days ago.

She gave him a weird look, which he was honest enough to admit he deserved—especially if he was coming across even half as desperate and needy as he felt. It was just that he was flying blind with her. It seemed the harder he tried to figure out where they stood, the more complicated things became.

But then she said, “Are you kidding?”

He shrugged. “You did choose
A Hard Day’s Night
as the album to remember the night by. It doesn’t exactly give a guy confidence.” He tried to sound like he was joking around, but he couldn’t tell if he’d pulled it off or not.

“There are a lot of great songs on this album, you know. The title track doesn’t sum it up the way you seem to think it does. Besides”—she grinned at him—“tonight is the most fun I’ve had in I can’t tell you how long. Actually, the whole day’s been great. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

And just that easily, the tightness in his shoulders eased. Suddenly, all the planning and preparation and angst he’d put into the day felt totally worth it. Because Dahlia was having a good time with him, and that was all that mattered.

Reaching forward, he plucked the postcard from her fingers. Then he grabbed the
Let It Be
one from the rack and carried them both up to the front counter.

“I can’t get them both here,” she said as she followed him through the store. “I told you—”

“Who said the second postcard is for you?”

“Isn’t it?” She gave him a look, all narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

It totally made him want to kiss her even more. Not that he said that—it was still a long way from having a good time to kissing a guy you barely know. So he returned her look with interest instead, then said, “Maybe you’re not the only one who wants a memento for tonight.”

Then he plopped the postcards down on the counter and pulled out his wallet. And tried not to grin at the look of surprised pleasure that replaced the narrowed eyes and twisted mouth.

It was crazy how much he liked surprising this girl. Even crazier was just how fast—and hard—he was falling for her.

They had dinner at 24 Diner and he insisted on buying her a caramel milkshake for dessert. She’d argued that she’d lost the bet and with it her chance for him to buy her ice cream, but the bet was the last thing he cared about. Especially when one of the women next to them had gotten a milkshake with her dinner and he’d spent the next half hour watching Dahlia surreptitiously eyeing the thing over and over again as she’d picked at her kale salad.

No way was he taking her home without getting her one first. If ice cream was her thing, he’d bring her some every day and consider it money well spent—especially if it made her smile like she had when her milkshake had arrived.

He knew he’d spent most of the day with her, but still the drive back to her place went too fast. Suddenly he was pulling into a spot right in front of her town house and he still hadn’t worked out what to do next. Did he ask her out again? Did he wait to see if she mentioned the fact that she lost the bet? Did he ask to come in? Did he wait for her to offer?

Did he kiss her?

God, this uncertainty was really driving him nuts. With the other girls he’d dated, nothing had been this big of a deal. Things had just kind of happened naturally and they’d both been okay with it.

But with Dahlia, it was different. He wanted to get this right, needed to get this right. Because she mattered more than she should. More than was probably wise, considering everything else he had going on in his life at the moment.

It was that thought that calmed him down, that had him knowing exactly what he was going to do as he climbed out of the car and hurried around to open Dahlia’s door for her. He’d walk her to her front door, give her a hug, and then text her when he got home, just to say good night. She’d know he was still thinking about her, but there would be no uncomfortable awkwardness at the door as they both tried to figure out what to do.

He was convinced it was a good plan, but it still got blown out of the water before he had a chance to do much more than offer her a hand out of the car. Because Dahlia took his hand, let him pull her up, and then
didn’t let go.
She kept her palm against his, her fingers intertwined with his, even as he reached inside and pulled the gift he’d decided on earlier out of the glove box. Even as he pocketed it and she gave him a curious look.

Even as they walked up the path to her door.

“I’d ask you to come in,” she said after they arrived on her doorstep, “but if I do, I’m pretty sure my econ homework will remain unfinished forever.”

“Oh, crap. I’m sorry for keeping you out so late. I totally forgot you still had homework.”
Way to behave like a dick on the first date, Matthews.

But she just shook her head, laughed. “I’m not. I had a really great time with you, Keegan.”

He melted just a little more. “I had a great time with you, too.”

“Good. Then the day was a success all around—I got ideas for a new Lizzie Borden song from Nick’s poem, and hopefully, you’ll have a decent plan for how to woo Dream Girl after our next date.”

So much for melting. He hadn’t given the plan—or the mythical Dream Girl—a thought for hours. Guess he couldn’t say the same for her.

“About that,” he said, clearing his throat. “I made you a thank-you gift.”

“Made me…” Her voice drifted off as he handed her the small peacock he’d spent most of Sunday whittling and polishing.

Her eyes grew wide as they jumped between him and the small wooden statue. “You made this?” she asked, her voice gentle, reverent. “For me?”

He loved the sweetness of her voice, loved even more the softness of her face as she looked at him. Still, it embarrassed him a little and he shuffled around, glanced away. “It’s no big deal—”

“It’s a very big deal!” she corrected him as she held it up to the porch light so she could get a better look. “He’s gorgeous. Really detailed and beautiful. How did you even know I liked peacocks?”

“You were—” He gestured to his ears. “You were wearing those earrings at the dance, so I took a chance.”

“You noticed my earrings?”

He didn’t want to say that he noticed most things about her, so he just shrugged. “They looked good on you. You looked…really beautiful.”

Her smile grew impossibly wider. “You looked really good yourself. I liked your tie.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And the way that suit made your shoulders look.”

It was his turn to grin. “You were checking me out.”

“No!” she said, suddenly flustered. “I was assessing what I had to work with. You know, to attract Dream Girl.”