Famously First: A Second Chance Romance

by Roxy Reid

  When the concert ends, Finn walks backstage and kisses me hard on the mouth. For a moment everyone backstage freezes. And then they loosen up and start catcalling us.

  It’s the first time he’s kissed me in public, and I can feel any remainders of the happy secret bubble we were in being swept away.

  For better or worse, we’re out in the real world now.

  Finn’s on cloud nine as we take a taxi back to the hotel, his arm slung casually over my shoulders. He’s damp with sweat after being under the stage lights, and I know I’m pretty far gone because even that smells good. Fresh and clean and masculine.

  I hesitantly let myself lean in to him, settling against the warm strength of his chest. Maybe the real world isn’t as close as I think it is. Maybe when we go back to the hotel, and it’s just us, it will feel like nothing has changed after all.

  “God, that was amazing,” Finn says, rolling down the window so that the cool night air whips through the cab, bringing the scent of the city to us—street-food and exhaust and crisp fall air.

  “I played a new song, and they liked it. I feel like I can breathe again,” Finn says.

  I smile against his chest, “They should like it. You wrote a damn good song.”

  “You wrote it too,” he says. And then he kisses me.

  My emotions are so tangled. I don’t know whether to shove him away for making our relationship public without consulting me, or cling to him with everything I have, for as long as I possibly can. And then under all of that is the simple fact that kissing him feels good. He’s warm and strong and there and fun, and he wakes me up like no one else can.

  I curl my fingers into his t-shirt, and let him pull me deeper into the kiss.

  The driver clears his throat, “It looks like we got traffic. It’s going to take a while to get you to your hotel.”

  “That’s fine,” I say, at the same time Finn says, “Then let’s go get dinner.”

  I blink up at him, “Why? We can just order in. Like we always do.”

  “Always,” Finn scoffs. “It’s been a week. And I haven’t taken you out.”

  “What do you call New Orleans?” I point out.

  “A poorly conceived campaign of emotional manipulation,” Finn says. “And I’m not talking about wandering the city. I’m talking about going somewhere nice for dinner. Sitting down. Talking. Like adults.”

  Like a couple. That’s what he means.

  I feel the panic rising inside of me. Why does Finn have to do this? We’ve got something good, despite the odds. And now he wants to change it. It’s like he’s inviting the odds to come in and take their shots.

  Because if we go out like that, someone will take a photo. And that photo will make its way back to Shaun. And then Shaun will run it in a story that mentions I was hired to betray Finn.

  I imagine the hurt and anger on Finn’s face as he reads that story and feel sick.

  “I’m tired,” I lie. I move over to the other side of the car. “Some other night.”

  “Come on, we’re both wired after the concert, we might as well go out and celebrate—”

  “Just drop it, Finn.”

  There’s a moment of tense silence, and I think he’s going to press it.

  “So am I taking you to the hotel or a restaurant?” the driver asks. “Because I know some great restaurants around here …”

  “Just the hotel,” Finn bites off.

  We drive the rest of the way in silence. And as we pull up in front of the hotel, I finally hit on one of the things that’s been niggling at the back of my brain.

  Nobody knew Finn hadn’t written the stuff for his new album but me. Unless someone else on Finn’s tour figured it out?

  Who the hell is Shaun’s source?

  And did they already see Finn kissing me?

  11

  Finn

  I half expect Charlie to ditch me as soon as we get back to the hotel. If she’s as tired as she claims, that would make the most sense.

  But I don’t think she’s really tired. She taps her foot while we wait for the elevator and fiddles with the straps on her camera bag. Like she’s full of nervous energy.

  “Is there something bothering you?” I ask, my voice quiet in the luxurious hotel lobby.

  “What? No. NO. Why would you think that?” Charlie punches the elevator button a few more times.

  “So you’re just jumping out of your skin because you’re tired?” I ask.

  “What are you talking about?” Charlie asks absently. The elevator dings, and we wait for the elevator to empty before getting on.

  “In the cab. You said you were too tired to go out.”

  “Oh. Um. Yeah.” She runs her hands nervously along the waist-height bar running along the wall of the elevator and avoids eye contact.

  With a sinking heart, I realize why she’s lying.

  Charlie doesn’t want to be seen in public with me. I don’t know why I didn’t put it together sooner. She froze when I kissed her backstage. Which isn’t the sort of reaction you expect from a woman who’s spent hours fucking in your bed over the last week. But I’m realizing now it was the first time I kissed her in front of anyone. And she’s happy to come back to my room for dinner but doesn’t want to go out where someone might see us together.

  “Finn? What’s wrong? You look like you want to kill someone.”

  This time I’m the one who looks away. Because I don’t have the balls to say I just realized I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to date. So yes, I’m pissed.

  The elevator dings, and more people get on. Charlie backs over toward me, close enough I can smell the jasmine scent she wears. It’s a heavenly stab to the gut. When a drunk guy stumbles sideways, Charlie presses into me.

  “Is he bothering you?” I murmur into her ear. Charlie gives a tiny shake of her head but stays where she is.

  We get off on our floor and head to my room. Charlie jangles her leg restlessly while I swipe us inside.

  “You know, you can tell me when something’s bothering you,” I say, holding the door open, and I’m not really talking about the drunk guy. You can tell me why you don’t want to be seen in public with me. I can take it, whatever it is. Just tell me so I can fix it.

  So I can be good enough for you.

  Charlie strides past me into the room, “I told you he wasn’t bothering me.”

  I let the door slam behind me, as I follow her, “Then why did you—”

  “Because I feel better when I’m close to you!” Charlie whirls to face me. “I’m used to having to be tough, ok? When a drunk guy makes a pass, or someone’s following me too close on the sidewalk, I handle it by myself. And that’s fine. I’m good at it. But it gets tiring, having to be on guard, and after today, I just wanted to …” She runs a hand through her hair. “I just feel better when I’m next to you, and I gave in to that for two floors on an elevator. So sue me.”

  Charlie turns her back to me and starts putting her camera gear back in its spot.

  “Charlie. What happened today?”

  Her hands still on her bags, “What do you mean?”

  “You said ‘after today.’ What happened today?”

  At first she doesn’t answer. Finally, she turns back to me. Her arms are wrapped around herself, and she looks vulnerable, holding herself together like that. Like maybe there have been more times in the last ten years when she had to save herself than I thought.

  “I just … uh … I got some bad news,” her voice cracks, and she shrugs. “I mean not bad news exactly, because I knew it was coming. I just thought I had more time.”

  Charlie’s eyes shine, like she’s about to cry, and I’m beside her in an instant, wrapping my arms around her. She clutches my shirt and buries her head in my chest, taking shaky breaths.

  Here’s the thing. I was there when Charlie got rejected from her first choice college. I was there when her mom had a cancer scare. I was there when she lost her virginity. I was her first real r
elationship, and I’ll never forget the look on her face when told her I didn’t love her anymore and broke up with her.

  But I’ve never seen her cry, until now, and it slices right through every instinct of self-protection I have. I don’t care if she’s ashamed of me. I don’t care if she breaks my heart again. I just need her to be ok.

  “Can you tell me what it is?” I ask.

  Charlie shakes her head into my shirt.

  “Can you at least tell me how I can help? Do you need time off? Money?” I rub her back. “Anything I can give, you have it.”

  For some reason, that’s the thing that breaks her, and she starts crying in earnest.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

  “Please, Charlie,” I beg. “Tell me what I can do.”

  She gulps in a breath, “Can you just … hold me like this? I need to be weak for a while.”

  “Sure, honey. Sure,” I hold her tight to me, until her breathing evens and her shoulders stop quaking.

  I reach down and tilt her chin up, so she’s looking at me. “But you know you’re not weak, right? You’re one of the toughest people I know. It’s not weak to need support every now and then.”

  Charlie closes her eyes. “There’s a difference between tough and strong,” she says quietly.

  “I don’t think I understand the difference.”

  “Tough is when no one can break you,” Charlie steps out of my arms. “Strong is when you’re brave enough to break yourself. If there’s someone … something worth breaking over.”

  Charlie shakes her head, “UGH. I’m being so melodramatic. Do we have any leftovers?”

  She heads over to the fridge, clearly ready to be done with the conversation.

  I want to respect her space. But I’ve also been on this earth for twenty-eight years, and I know enough to know this conversation isn’t really over.

  So I admire her ass while she squats to check out the bottom shelf, giving her time to think. Because I’m evolved like that.

  Charlie finds a carton of leftover Chinese take-out and a fork, “Want anything?”

  “I’ll take a beer.”

  Charlie passes it to me, then settles against the fridge, digging into her General Tso’s chicken.

  “I thought you said Chinese food outside of San Francisco was inedible,” I say.

  Charlie gives a tired laugh, “It’s been a rough day. I need comfort food. Even if it’s shitty comfort food.”

  Now’s my chance. I take a sip of my beer, and ask the question I don’t want to ask, “So it was just the bad news? It wasn’t … anything else?”

  Charlie looks up from her takeout container like she’s been caught, “Well … it did catch me off guard when you kissed me in front of your employees, who are my coworkers, without talking to me about it first.”

  I wince, “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about the work thing. It’s just temporary, so I didn’t think …”

  Charlie sets her food down on the counter, “Ouch. Well, glad we’re on the same page about this being temporary.”

  “Of course it’s temporary,” I say, frowning. “The tour’s going to end, and after that—”

  “—we won’t see each other again.”

  “—I’m not going to hire someone I’m dating.”

  We blink, and stare at each other.

  “You think we’re dating?” Charlie asks, cautious.

  “You think we’re not?” I ask, hurt. We spend every waking minute with each other. Every sleeping one too. I told her about my writer’s block, which I’ve barely told anyone about. Just Charlie and my brother Jim, and Zane, although I didn’t tell him everything.

  Then again, Charlie can’t even tell me what this horrible news is, so maybe we’re not that close after all.

  “I thought we were just …” Charlie gestures helplessly, trying to find the words.

  “Fucking,” I supply viciously.

  “No! I just … I thought we were having a fling. You know, for the rest of the tour.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched. “A fling,” I say, the disbelief heavy in my voice.

  I mean sure, objectively, this looks like a fling. But, come on. This is Charlie. We have history.

  “I mean, maybe with someone else, I’d think this was dating,” Charlie says, in a painfully inverted parallel of my own thoughts. “But this is you.”

  “Right,” I say.

  Because what else do I say to that? When a woman says if anyone else did what you’re doing, she’d assume you cared about her, and were interested in her, and maybe saw a future with her? But because it’s you, she can’t possibly imagine that.

  I’m suddenly feeling too exposed, and I’m in a foul mood, so I grab my guitar and settle on the couch on the other side of the room, my back to Charlie. I start playing something, anything, to make it sound like I don’t care that this is how she sees me.

  It’s just my luck that my fingers start playing some melancholy shit.

  “Finn,” Charlie says, coming toward me. Pleading with me not to be mad.

  “It’s fine, Charlie,” I bite out. “We were on different pages. It’s not a big deal. It was just a week.”

  A week that felt like a world, but what-fucking-ever. I shake my fingers out and try for something with a little more edge to it.

  Charlie sits delicately down next to me. I can feel her warmth, but I resist the pull to look at her.

  “Finn,” she says.

  I play louder.

  “FINN!” Charlie yanks my chin so I have to look at her. She’s not nearly as gentle as I was with her.

  “I didn’t think you wanted to date me because we already know you don’t love me, and I don’t see that changing. You didn’t love me when I was young and sweet and willing to give up the world for you, and now I’m older and jaded and I don’t know if I’m willing to give up anything for you.”

  I did love you. I loved you so fucking much.

  But it’s not fair to say that. So instead I say, “I don’t want you to give up anything for me.”

  She closes her eyes, like she’s praying for strength.

  Finally, she looks me square in the eyes and says, with a sure, steady voice, “Do you think it’s possible that you could love me again?”

  “Do you want me to?” I ask.

  We stare at each other, neither of us wanting to be the one to break.

  Tough, not strong.

  But she’s asking for a much bigger break than she knows. Because I’m realizing that not only did I love Charlie then, I don’t think I ever stopped. I think there’s a reason none of my other relationships have stuck, and I think it’s because none of them were with Charlie De Luca.

  But how do I say that, when she didn’t even think we were dating? How do I say I love you when she only wants me for a fling?

  Abruptly, Charlie erupts off the couch, throwing her hands in the air, “Fine yes, fuck me because I’m being a fucking idiot, and I’m going to regret saying this, but yes. I want it to be maybe a tiny bit possible that you could love me again. Because apparently, when it comes to you, I’m dying to make the same mistake twice.”

  I lunge for her, backing her into a wall, and kiss her with all of my might.

  She’s grabbing my hair, clawing my back, while I cage her in, pressing my hands into the wall, because I don’t trust myself with something as delicate as her skin right now.

  I kiss her fiercely, trying to express all the things that will scare her away if I say them out loud. I love you, Charlie. I love you, and it’s terrifying me because I’ve fucked this up so bad. Please give me a second chance. Please.

  I nudge her thighs apart with my leg, and she moans into my mouth.

  I feel better when I’m close to you. That’s what Charlie said. And she said it when she thought all I wanted was a fling. So maybe I haven’t fucked this up as badly as I think.

  The thought calms me down enough that I trust myself to touch her.


  I break the kiss and cup her face, “I’ll never hurt you, Charlie. Not again. I promise. I know you have no reason to believe me—”

  “—I believe you,” Charlie says, wrapping her arms around my neck. “That’s the hell of it. I believe you.”

  Her words are like a shot of euphoria. I pick Charlie up and carry her to our bed. Painful hope stabs my chest, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

  12

  Charlie

  I stare at my phone, then back up at the ceiling. 9:55 a.m.

  I have to call Shaun in five minutes.

  Finn’s sleeping like a rock beside me. His arm is flung out so that it rests across my waist. I’ve been lying awake for the last two hours trying to figure out what to do. And every time I shift to get a little more distance from the man I’m supposed to betray, he frowns in his sleep and rolls over until he’s touching me again.

  I try to swallow past the tightness in my throat. I can’t betray him. I just can’t.

  Whether or not Finn ever loves me, I’m beginning to suspect I love him again. And maybe … maybe that’s not the stupidest thing in the world. He looked so shattered when he realized I thought we were only having a fling.

  No matter what comes out of this, I can’t live with myself if I hurt him.

  I slide out from under his arm and pad out to the living room, clad only in his shirt, clutching my phone to my chest.

  I can’t betray Finn, but I might have one last play left. Finn said he’d do anything to help me. Now if I can only convince Shaun to go for it.

  I take a deep breath and call Shaun.

  “Yes?” Shaun barks.

  Shit. He’s not in a good mood.

  I straighten my spine. Finn played our song in front of a stadium of people. I can stand up to Shaun Coleman.

  “It’s Charlie. I’ve got a new angle for the story,” I pace toward the windows, keeping my voice down so as not to wake up Finn.

  “Oh? Is he really on drugs? That’s great news, Charlie.”

  “What? No. There’s no scandal surrounding Finn Ryan.”