by Lauren Rowe
After pressing send, I read my message to my girlfriends and they roll their eyes with disdain.
“That wasn’t diva-like at all,” Crystal complains. “That was self-deprecating and sweet.”
“What the hell, dude?” Kiera says. “That’s not gonna make the guy quit. It’s gonna make him want to stay even more.”
Crystal squints at me. “Is somebody already too intrigued by her possibly scorching-hot bodyguard to risk making him think she’s a narcissistic bitch?”
I bite my lip, trying to hide my smile. “But, guys, he said I’m a ‘beautiful woman.’”
We all laugh uproariously.
“You’re so damned predictable,” Crystal says. “One sexy alpha text from a possible hottie and you’re already shifting into full-on capture-the-flag mode.”
“It can’t be helped,” I say, waving at the air. “I’ve got Satan’s DNA inside me, after all. And, PS, I don’t think Zander is possibly hot. My hot-guy radar tells me this man is definitely hot as fuck.”
“Oh my God,” Kiera says, chuckling. “Sight unseen you’re already considering a tour-fling with your new bodyguard.”
“Not a tour-fling,” I say coyly. “I’d never have actual sex with my bodyguard, hot or not. But a tour-flirtation? Hell yeah.”
“Why wouldn’t you have sex with him, if he’s hot?” Kiera asks.
“Because he’s my bodyguard.”
My friends shoot me blank stares.
“Have you both forgotten what happened when I fooled around with that keyboardist two tours ago? After that fiasco, I swore off messing around with anyone on one of my tours. And the keyboardist was just a musician. I shudder to think how badly a tour-fling with my bodyguard would blow up in my face if and when the thrill was gone. A guy from the band I can avoid for the most part. A bodyguard? Not so much.”
“Bah, that keyboardist was just a fluke,” Kiera says. “I’ve had lots of tour-flings over the years on lots of different tours and they’ve never once gone sideways on me the way that one did on you.”
“Same,” Crystal says. “If both people agree up front the fun will end when the tour does, then tour-flings can be fabulous.”
“It’s different for you guys,” I say. “Paparazzi isn’t watching your every move, trying to catch you doing something scandalous. You don’t have to worry about photos leaking that will traumatize hordes of little Aloha-nators and their mothers. If the paparazzi got wind of me banging my hot bodyguard every night of the tour, photos of us would break the internet.”
My phone buzzes and I look down and gasp loudly. “My service doggie sent me a photo, as requested. A shirtless photo.”
“Lemme see,” Kiera blurts. She rips my phone out of my hand... and then gasps exactly the way I did a few seconds ago.
Crystal peeks over Kiera’s shoulder at my phone and gasps, too. “What the…? This guy makes Kevin Costner look like Dwayne Johnson!”
It’s an understatement. For the love of all things holy, the shirtless man on my phone is a shaggy, pasty-white, lanky hipster with a beard who couldn’t weigh more than a buck thirty soaking wet. To say he’s skinny is like saying leg amputations are mildly inconvenient. If this skinny man stuck out his tongue, he’d look like a zipper! And to top it all off, he looks stoned as hell—like he just finished scarfing down an entire pan of pot-brownies.
“No wonder Barry hired the cyborg as your actual bodyguard and this guy as your service doggie,” Kiera says.
My eyes narrow. She’s right. Clearly, Barry hired the cyborg to protect me while this guy was hired solely to, what... befriend me? Amuse me? Babysit me?
Crystal snorts. “So much for that tour-fling with your hot bodyguard, huh? Unless, of course, you’ve got some kind of fucked-up Shaggy-from-Scooby-Doo fetish.”
I toss my phone onto the coffee table, pick up my martini, and take a deep breath. “You know what? I’m glad Zander looks like a bearded pogo stick. Forget everything I said earlier about my bodyguard being off-limits. I was lying like a rug when I said I’d never bang my bodyguard. With no Barry to keep me in check for the first time ever, I’m positive I would have jumped Zander’s bones within the first week if he’d been even half as hot as I was expecting.”
“I’ve gotta hand it to Barry,” Crystal says. “Obviously, he senses you’re a horny little thing who’s itching to throw a Molotov cocktail at your squeaky-clean image. He must have searched the world over to find the only twenty-four-year-old bodyguard in the world you’d never want to screw.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I say, shaking my head. “Fucking Barry.”
“Aw, man, I’m so disappointed,” Kiera says. “From the service doggie’s texts, I thought he was gonna be a sexy motherfucker. I was so looking forward to grabbing a bag of popcorn and watching from the sidelines as you seduced him.”
“I’m pretty disappointed, too,” I admit. “I was looking forward to playing a game of cat and mouse with my hot bodyguard for three delicious months. Well, actually, for a week, after which point I was looking forward to the mouse getting screwed to within an inch of her furry little life until the end of the tour—or for however long she remained interested.”
“So, what now?” Crystal asks. “Are you gonna tell Barry you’ve seen Zander’s photo and there’s no way in hell you’re gonna let Shaggy from Scooby Doo guard you?”
“I can’t do that. I promised Barry if I couldn’t make Zander quit on his own tonight, I’d accept his choice without a peep. Plus, if I’m being honest, I trust Barry’s judgment too much to question his choice, as bizarre as it seems. If Barry thinks this broomstick with a beard and the cyborg are the perfect combination to replace him, then I have to believe there’s a method to his madness.”
“Well, if you want to try a last ditch effort to get Zander to quit, you could tell him there’s no way in hell you’d let a skinny guy like him share a photo frame with you. It’d be mean, yes, but it might hurt his feelings enough to make him resign.”
“Oh, come on. You know I’d never do that. I might be willing to cast myself as a narcissistic diva bitch to get my way, but I’m not going to shatter some poor, skinny guy’s self-esteem.” I sigh with resignation. “No, I just have to face it: my stupid bet with Barry is dead in the water.”
“Aw, come on, AC, where’s your fighting spirit?” Crystal says. “Just take a deep breath and disembowel the skinny bastard. You can do it, girl. Be heartless, just this once.”
I shake my head. “If Zander had been a hot alpha, I wouldn’t have felt a moment’s hesitation about giving him shit. Hot guys always need to be taken down a peg or two, in my experience. But now that I know Zander is the kind of guy who’s likely been ignored or flat-out rejected by women his entire life, I just can’t bring myself to pile on.”
“Aw, Aloha. Always such a tender little soul when you get down to the nitty gritty.”
My phone pings and I look down.
Sooooo, do you think we’re gonna be hounded by paparazzi or what? I’m thinking YES, for obvious reasons. #AbsOfSteel #PaparazziBait #HandsomeAndHappyLad
Laughing at Zander’s hashtags, I type out a reply and he quickly answers. And before I know it, we’re engaged in a rapid-fire exchange:
Aloha: Although your abs are indisputably epic, I’m thinking the paparazzi won’t be hounding us... but only because you look way too smart to get yourself mixed up with a psycho bitch nightmare like me.
Zander: You never know. Maybe I’ve got a thing for psycho bitch nightmares.
Aloha: Well, if so, then you’ve definitely come to the right place, hon.
Zander: Uh-oh. Should I be scared?
Aloha: Nah. I’ve decided to go against my inherently evil nature and be kind to you. Welcome to my team.
Zander: I’m confused. I heard from a reliable source you’d mess with me cuz I’m a newbie. Not true?
Aloha: Not true. Your source, whoever he was (Big Barry) has defamed me. I’m actually gonna be sweet to you pr
ecisely BECAUSE you’re a newbie. #SaintAloha #MotherTheresaWasAFuckingBitchComparedToMe #FuckBarry
Zander: Wow. To what do I owe this immaculate display of saintliness from a self-proclaimed psycho bitch nightmare?
Aloha: Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf thanks to your abs of steel and undeniable charm.
Zander: Oh, now I’ve got undeniable charm to go along with my abs of steel? I just keep getting better and better.
Aloha: Yep. You’re a charmsicle left out in the sun, baby. *whispers* That means you’re dripping with charm.
Zander: Oh, snap, boss! Did you come up with that lil gem on your own or is it something the cool kids are saying these days?
Aloha: I came up with it. And lemme explain how things work in my world, dude. I make crazy shit up and THEN the cool kids start saying it. PS About that boss thing... let’s pretend I never said that, okay? I was just messing with you. Barry is your boss, not me. I’m just The Package.
Zander: Ooooh, like in a spy thriller? Kewl. But it begs the question: If you’re The Package, does that make me The Deliveryman?
Aloha: Only if The Deliveryman has abs of steel and is dripping with charm.
Zander: Aw, you’re making me blush.
“Aloha.”
I look up, smack in the middle of looking for a melting-popsicle gif to send to Zander, and discover Crystal staring at me.
“What the hell is that service doggie saying to you that’s got you grinning from ear to ear over there?”
I blush, clear my throat, click out of the gif menu I was searching, and put my phone down on the coffee table with a thud. “I was just reading something funny on Twitter.” I stand and yawn. “I think I’m gonna crash now, ladies. We’ve got a big day of rehearsals at the arena tomorrow and I need to sleep off those three martinis.”
My friends amble to the door and the minute they’re gone, I race back to the coffee table and squeal when I see a new text from Zander awaiting me: the exact melting-popsicle gif I was looking for to send to him! Ha! We share a brain. Swoon.
Wait.
Swoon?
What am I thinking? I need to get a grip. Zander is a cutie, yes. But swoon? No.
This always happens when I drink. I get dangerously flirty. Horny. Uninhibited. All things I shouldn’t be in relation to the man who’s going to be my babysitter for the next three months.
Deciding I’d better take a little time-out from texting, I head into my bedroom, brush my teeth, wash my face, drink a huge bottle of water and pop two ibuprofen, and, finally, grab my phone and slide my exhausted body into my fluffy white bed. But when I swipe into my texts and discover there’s a new text awaiting me from Zander, a tiny flock of butterflies whooshes into my stomach, just like earlier. Holy hell! What’s wrong with me? Those three martinis are really messing with my head. Obviously, when the vodka in my system wears off, I won’t feel this weird attraction to Zander the Bearded Pogo Stick any longer. But since I’m feeling it now, and it’s ridiculously fun to feel it, I pick up my phone and text Zander again.
Chapter 7
Aloha
Zander: Did I put you to sleep, AC? If so, sweet dreams. I’ll see you at the arena on Thursday afternoon.
Aloha: Yo! I’m awake. Just had to say goodbye to my friends and get into bed. We’ve got a big dress/tech rehearsal tomorrow at the arena.
Zander: As your bodyguard, I can’t in good conscience tell you to break a leg, so I’ll just say good luck tomorrow and goodnight, hula girl. XO
Aloha: HULA GIRL?! Did Barry tell you he calls me that?
Zander: No. That was my own genius idea. Is it some special thing between you two? If so, I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.
Aloha: LOL. It’s fine. Barry is the only one I don’t throat-punch for calling me that. But for some reason, I kinda like you calling me that, too. It feels like Barry passing the torch to you.
Zander: Then hula girl, it is. But feel free to tell me to stop if I start to annoy you with it or any other genius nicknames I might come up with. I’ve been hanging around my best friend’s family since I was thirteen and they nickname EVERYONE. Well, everyone they like. And they’ve totally rubbed off on me.
Aloha: Ahem. You just impliedly admitted you like me.
Zander: Well, of course. What’s not to like? #PsychoBitchNightmare
Aloha: I must admit, it makes me happy you like me. Happppyyyyy! Or, wait, maybe that’s just the copious amounts of vodka coursing through my bloodstream.
Zander: Yeah, baby! It’s a party! At the moment, I happen to have copious amounts of blood in my whiskeystream tonight. I’m also stoned as fuck, too. #winner #jellyfish
Aloha: It’s a partaaaay!
Zander: Hold up. Pretend I didn’t mention the stoned as fuck thing. For a second there, I forgot the situation and just thought you were some amazing woman I met in a bar or something. Did I mention I’m stoned? #dumbshit
Aloha: No worries. California is the land of legalized Merry Iguanas. Fair warning, though: you’d better not touch anything stronger than Tylenol during the tour, or Barry will fire your ass. And we wouldn’t want that.
Zander: Look at you, tryna keep me from getting fired. That’s quite the 180 from the girl who tried to get me to quit earlier. But don’t worry about me. I’ll stay sober as a judge for the next three months, of course. Gotta stay alert to make sure The Package remains safe and sound at all times.
Aloha: *blushes* Thanks, Deliveryman.
Zander: I can’t help noticing you didn’t deny trying to get me to quit earlier.
Aloha: Why deny it? I tried. I failed. Moving on.
Zander: But why’d you try? So Barry would join the tour instead of me?
Aloha: Correct. How’d you know?
Zander: I’m drunk and stoned, not stupid, dude. So, am I in the clear now or are you gonna keep trying to get me to quit for the next three months?
Aloha: You’re in the clear. How could I try to get rid of you now that I know you’re so damned cute?
Zander: *blushes*
Aloha: So, tell the truth, Z: are you drunk and stoned tonight because you’re celebrating your awesome new job or drowning your sorrows about your horrible new job?
Zander: I’m celebrating my awesome new job and drowning my sorrows about something else.
Aloha: What?
Zander: I got dumped by the girl of my dreams.
Aloha: Oh nooooo! Who? Why? When?
Zander: Daphne. Dunno. Four nights ago.
Aloha: Oh no! You seriously don’t know why?
Zander: Nope. She basically said “It’s not you, it’s me.”
Aloha: Ooph.
Zander: Right?!? She found out she got into a prestigious art school in NYC and off she went across the country without looking back.
Aloha: Why didn’t you go with her to NYC? Sometimes, ya gotta sacrifice for love, hon. Or so I hear. I’ve never personally sacrificed for love, but it seems to be a central theme in the Hallmark movies I’ve watched.
Zander: I offered to make the move, but she said no thanks and buh-bye.
Aloha: Ooph. That sucks. I’ve given the “It’s not you, it’s me” speech a few times and I hear it’s brutal on the receiving end of it.
Zander: This was my first time on the receiving end of it and I can, indeed, confirm it’s broooootal. Hence, I’ve been drowning my sorrows tonight along with celebrating my awesome new job.
Aloha: Aw, poor little Zan-Zan. You want me to beat dumbass Daphne’s ass for you? I’ve got a mean right hook and a pair of steel-toed boots.
Zander: Um. Pretty sure if I let a former Disney star commit career-ending criminal assault for me, Barry would fire my ass.
Aloha: Good point. Then how about we humiliate Daphne, instead?
Zander: *puts palm to ear* I’m listening...
Aloha: The last stop of the domestic tour is NYC. We could invite Dumbass Daphne to the show and make out in front of her at the VIP meet and greet.
Zande
r: OMFG. Pleeease tell me you’re serious.
Aloha: As a gunshot wound. This is a bona fide offer from me to you, Zanax. Because I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this already, but I’m a fucking saint. (Other than when I offer to beat the crap out of art students with my right hook and steel-toed boots.)
Zander: Dude, I’m in...regarding the humiliation, not the criminal assault, just to be clear.
Aloha: Consider it done.
Zander: Yee-boy! The hilarious thing is that Daphne’s a HUGE fan of yours. Both your music and the show. She once told me she had an Aloha Carmichael lunchbox in grade school.
Aloha: Sorry, the lunchbox can’t save her. She’s going down.
Zander: Thanks. And, hey, if you have an ex you want to make jealous, I’m at your service. Can’t imagine dangling me in front of any ex of yours would be helpful to you, but the offer is there.
Aloha: No, thanks, but not due to any lack of appeal on your part. I’ve seen your abs of steel, remember? #hawt The truth is there’s nobody I give enough of a fuck about to want to make jealous. I’ve been single for well over a year now and have no desire to change my status. The last guy I dated was a nightmare. *shudders*
Zander: How so?
Aloha: Jealous. Possessive. He was even jealous when I had to kiss a male model for a music video. I was like, dude, this is my JOB.
Zander: You need to get yourself a guy with genuine confidence next time, hon. Show me a jealous guy, I’ll show you an insecure one.
Aloha: You never get jealous?
Zander: Never. Because I’ve got self-confidence. If a guy has something I want, then I just work that much harder to get it for myself.
I smile broadly. Damn, that’s a whole lot of swagger for a guy who could slide through a keyhole. Not to mention for a guy who’s nursing a broken heart after getting dumped. Aw, poor little skinny, shaggy Zander. How many times has this guy’s self-confidence taken a hit like the one he just suffered mere days ago? How many times has he had to smile through pain and rejection and pretend to have endless swagger? Suddenly, I want nothing more than to raise this sweet boy’s confidence. Yes. I’m going to make it my mission to boost Zander’s ego to the moon and back during the next three months.
