by Lauren Rowe
“I don’t follow.”
“I’ve been looking for a chance to show the world I’m no longer the squeaky clean virgin-princess they watched on TV for a decade—that I’ve become a grown woman of twenty-three. A sexually liberated woman. But finding the right way to let them in on that little fact has proved challenging for me. I’ve got young fans. I’m their role model. Disney princesses aren’t supposed to have sex unless it’s with Prince Charming in a committed relationship, if ever.” I snort. “So, I’m thinking... now that this supposed fling with my smokin’ hot bodyguard is out of the bag, I kind of don’t want to stuff it back in again. I mean, come on, that video’s not all bad for you, is it? You can’t possibly be bummed Daphne thinks you’re banging the hell out of me.”
Zander’s wicked grin tells me I’ve got him pegged right.
I return his smile. “We were already planning to make Daphne jealous in New York. So, why not make her jealous every day for the next three months? Go big or go home, right?”
“I’m in.”
I hoot and high-five him. “Now, don’t worry. We won’t have to actually do anything. No faking or play-acting required. I simply won’t address or retract the ‘boy toy’ video. That alone will be enough to keep endless speculation going. As people see us together in photos throughout the tour, even if we’re just standing near each other doing nothing, they’ll drive themselves crazy analyzing our body language and seeing secret looks and signals that aren’t even there. I guarantee you, by the end of the first month, people will be convinced we’re ravenous fuck buddies or secretly engaged. Either way, they’ll be picturing you banging me every night of the tour, and that will go a long way toward helping me blemish my squeaky clean image without necessarily blasting it to high heaven in a way that would be a bit much for the poor little Aloha-nators to process.”
Zander chuckles. “Fine with me, as long as I can tell anyone who actually knows me what’s really up.”
“Of course.”
Zander bites his beautiful lower lip. “Not gonna lie, I’m definitely digging the idea of Daphne thinking I’m fucking you to within an inch of your life every night in cities across North America.”
My clit pulses. Yes, please.
“Aloha Leilani Carmichael!” a deep, rumbling voice bellows behind me.
I turn around calmly. “Why, hello there, Big Barry. What a lovely surprise.”
“Don’t ‘Hello there, Big Barry’ me. And wipe that smile off your face. I just saw the video, Aloha. I hope for Zander’s sake you were merely attempting a little drunken revamp of your image, because if your new bodyguard thought it was okay to make a move on the drunk-ass woman he was hired to—”
“No, Barry,” Zander blurts. “I swear, I didn’t—”
“Back the fuck off, Big Barry,” I say. I crawl on top of Zander and splay my body over his like we’re in the trenches of a war zone and I’m protecting him from an incoming grenade. “My shaggy swaggy bodyguard has been a perfect gentleman, top to bottom. A perfect bodyguard and babysitter and friend. I was just messing with that TMZ pap. You know how I get when I drink—what a loose-lipped little hussy-famewhore I can be.” I gesture to a nearby armchair. “Now push that bulging vein back into your neck and sit down. We’ll have ourselves a little room service and chat like civilized adults before Zander and I need to board my bus for San Diego.”
Chapter 19
Zander
I’m watching Aloha from a loveseat on her luxury tour bus as we make the three-hour drive from LA to San Diego. Crystal, Aloha’s tour manager, explained to me that, depending on the distance from one city to the next, Aloha will sometimes travel by private jet and other times by this bus—an unmarked luxury behemoth that’s configured more like a condo than a bus. For the past hour or so, I’ve sat and watched Aloha chatting on the far end of the “condo” with her team. Among other items, they’re finalizing details for Aloha’s performance at the Billboard Music Awards in Las Vegas in a couple months.
Aloha finishes her meeting with a robust “Good work, everyone!” and when her team disperses to open laptops and check phones, she bounds over to me on the loveseat. With a wide smile, she plops herself down and swings her legs over my lap like it’s her birthright to do it.
“Hey there, Shaggy Swaggy,” she says. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”
“Nothing much, lettuce and tomato. I’ve just been chillin’ like a villain. Have you been drinking plenty of water like I told you, drunkard?”
“Yes, sir.” She holds up an almost-empty water bottle.
“Good girl. Keep hydrating. And when we get to the hotel, I’ll lead you through some stretches, just to get the toxins out of your system as quickly as possible.”
“Wow, I got me a bodyguard and personal trainer, all in one? Score!” She slides her hand in mine. “So, did your mom reply about the dinner in Seattle?”
“Yep. She’ll be there. My little sister, too.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you have a sister.”
“Yeah, she’s in her last year at U of Oregon.”
“What’s her name?”
“Zahara Theodora Shaw.”
“Zander and Zahara. Your mom likes Z names.”
“My mother’s name is Zelda.”
“Well, that explains it. Does Zelda Shaw live in Seattle?”
“She does.”
“And that’s where you grew up?”
“It is.”
“Why the short answers, dude? You got something to hide?”
I chuckle. “No. I’m an open book.”
“Good. Then tell me everything there is to know about you.”
“That’s a bit broad.”
“Okay. Then give me the highlights, starting with your birth.”
She snuggles against me and I proceed to do as I’m told—I tell her the basics about my childhood in Seattle. When she asks how I met Keane, I tell her the story of how I met him in eighth grade and instantly knew he was my soulmate. “Everyone thought Keane was nothing but the class clown with a pretty face,” I say. “But I could tell there was much more to him than that.” I tell her about high school, including plenty of stories involving Keane, and then describe how I became like family to the entire Morgan clan over the years. “Aren’t you bored by now?” I say after talking for an outrageous amount of time. “I haven’t stopped talking in fifteen years.”
“You’ve only been talking for, like, twenty minutes, dude. And I’m hanging on every word. Let’s move on to your post-high-school years now. Did you attend college?”
“Yes. I went to Arizona State University on a football scholarship—the same place where Peenie Weenie went that same year on a baseball scholarship.”
“Oh my gosh. How amazing to get to go to college with your best friend.”
“It was a dream come true. I actually got accepted to U Dub in my hometown, which almost anyone would say is a better school on paper. But I chose ASU to get out of Seattle, even though I love it, and, of course, to get to be with Peenie. As it turned out, it was a great decision. Peenie and I were roommates in the dorms the first year and, after that, we lived together in an off-campus apartment until Keane was drafted at the end of his junior year.”
“Keane was drafted?”
“By the Cubs.”
“The Cubs? Holy crap! I had no idea.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, Keane was an all-star star pitcher. All-American. He was the shit.”
“All I knew about Keane is he’s a former stripper trying to become an actor-model in LA.”
“That’s Peenie’s most recent résumé. But before that, he was a superstar pitcher. Everyone thought he’d get to the majors and lead his team to the World Series one day. Unfortunately, his baseball career crashed and burned in the minors after he injured his elbow, but if it weren’t for that, he’d have done great things with that amazing arm of his.”
“Poor Keane. Was he really bummed about his injury?”
“He was
devastated. I can’t even begin to tell you how hard Peenie took it. But he’s good now. Chasing a new dream. Plus, he’s got the sweetest girl in the world cheering him on.”
Aloha rests her cheek on my shoulder. “I love Keane and Maddy.”
“They’re perfect together.”
“I can’t even imagine how much fun you and Keane must have had in college.”
“Oh, baby girl, you have no idea. Peenie and I were Salt and Pepper—not to be confused with Salt ‘N’ Pepa, by the way, who were far cooler than us two clowns ever were. But, yeah, we were the party, no matter where we were. The eye of the storm. Double Trouble. The Hype Man and the Headliner. Bonnie and Clyde.”
“Which of you was the Hype Man?”
“Peenie, of course. Most days.”
“And which of you was Bonnie?”
“Me. But only because Bonnie was way more badass than Clyde. I didn’t even wanna be Clyde. We were also Wesley and Woody. Dressed up like them every year for Halloween. And Wesley was unquestionably way cooler than Woody.”
“Wesley and Woody? Don’t you mean Buzz Lightyear and Woody?”
I chuckle. “Dude, keep up. White Men Can’t Jump. Wesley Snipes and Woody Harrelson.”
“Oh, I’ve never seen it.”
“Then put it on the list of movies we’re gonna watch together, right after Rudy. You gotta be able to appreciate how perfectly Peenie and I pulled this off.” I pull out my phone and show her a throwback Halloween photo of Peenie and me dressed as Wesley and Woody, and then find a photo on the internet of the movie poster for comparison, which we recreated for our photo, and Aloha absolutely loses her shit. Which, of course, spurs me on to show her even more photos of Peenie and me from back in the day, all of which prompt Aloha to laugh and me to tell her story after story. After a while, I find myself talking about the year I stayed in school after Peenie had already gone off to seek his fortunes with the Cubs. “I wanted to make my momma proud and get that college degree. So I stayed in school a fourth year, unlike Peenie, and didn’t enter the NFL draft my junior year. I figured I’d enter it my senior year, after I got that precious piece of paper. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out as planned. I wound up getting one too many concussions during my senior year and decided the risk wasn’t worth it. No sense playing a few seasons in the NFL only to lose my mental faculties for the rest of my life.”
“Why so many concussions? What position did you play?”
“Linebacker. And I was good, too. I probably wouldn’t have gone first round in the draft, but I was a shoo-in for the second. But, oh well. Wasn’t meant to be. After that, I graduated, moved back to my hometown with my degree in exercise physiology in hand, and started my career as a personal trainer while Peenie tore it up in the minor leagues. When Keane’s baseball career ended, he moved back to Seattle, we got an apartment, and it was Wesley and Woody, together again.”
“And that’s when Keane started stripping?”
“Yep. Eventually, he became the top male stripper in Seattle. Ball Peen Hammer.”
Aloha giggles.
“And now he’s in love with the girl of his dreams and working on his dream of becoming the next Brad Pitt or Channing Tatum.”
“And what about your dream? What is it?”
“At the moment, to become the best bodyguard I can be for a pop star who won’t stop asking me questions.”
Aloha twists her mouth sympathetically. “I’m sorry if this job isn’t what you’ve ever envisioned for yourself.”
My heart melts at the earnest expression on her face. “Aloha, honest to God, there’s no place I’d rather be.”
Aloha visibly swoons and we share a smile that sends butterflies releasing into my stomach.
She grabs my arm and snuggles into my shoulder again. “So what’s the story with your father? You haven’t mentioned him yet.”
“Aw, come on, dude. My life is normal and boring. Let’s talk about your exciting life now.”
“I want to hear more about you. I love hearing about how you grew up in a normal family with a normal mother—a mother who wasn’t hell-bent on making you famous. And with friends. Oh my God. So many friends.”
“Did you have any friends growing up?”
“I had one. The girl who played my best friend on It’s Aloha! was also my best friend in real life. I also sometimes hung out with kids working on nearby sound stages, but I wouldn’t call any of them close friends like her.”
“You had a boyfriend for years as a teenager, right? Jacob somebody?”
“Ah, you looked me up.”
“Did you know he was gay? Did he?”
“Not at the very beginning. But then, when we kissed this one time, I opened my eyes and I could see he was going like this.” She scrunches up her nose like she’s smelling something unpleasant. “And that’s when I knew my gut instinct was right. He liked boys. We talked about it and he was so relieved to be honest with me—and with himself. But he was also deathly afraid for anyone to find out his secret—afraid his fans would reject him and the studio would cancel his show. So I agreed to be his ‘girlfriend’ until he was ready to come out. And that was fine because I really did love him. I was never ‘in love’ with him. He was always like a brother to me. A really messed up brother with a serious drug addiction.” She sighs. “Our relationship was one long, continuous intervention, if you wanna know the truth. Not what I’d call fun.” She lifts her cheek from my shoulder and flashes me a lovely smile. “So you see, talking about your supposedly ‘normal and boring’ life is like talking about a lovely fairytale to me. A beautiful dream.”
My heart skips a beat at the sincerity on her face. But I’m done talking about me. I’m aching to peel off Aloha’s mask and find out who she is behind that pretty smile and all that glitter. “Tell me about your mom.”
“Not much to tell. She’s Satan.”
“Will I meet her during the tour?”
Aloha snorts. “No. My dear mother is presently on a yacht with her new, billionaire boyfriend, traveling the world, and simply can’t be bothered.”
I grimace.
“Yeah. My mom’s a real peach. But let’s not talk about her. Back to you. You still haven’t told me about your father. Is he in the picture at all? Does he have a Z name, too?”
“No Z name. He’s Fred. And, yes, he’s in the picture, but three-quarters of his face is cut out of the frame.”
“Ah.”
“My dad was never fully absent from my life. Just not fully there, either. Sort of in and out. Noncommittal. More like an uncle than a father. My mom has always held down the fort by herself, basically, without any meaningful help, economic or otherwise, from the ever-unreliable Frederick Shaw.”
Aloha assesses me for a long beat. “Well, that explains it. You were raised by a strong woman and you’ve always looked out for your little sister.”
“That explains what?”
She beams a huge smile at me. “You.”
My heart skips a beat, yet again, at the way she’s looking at me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Again, Aloha nestles against me. “So tell me, Zander Shaw, what did your strict, God-fearing mom think of the amaaaaazing Daphne?”
“I never introduced my mother to Daphne. My mom doesn’t even know Daphne existed.”
Aloha bolts upright. “But you were ‘in love’ with Daphne!”
I shrug. “Introducing a girlfriend to my momma is a big-ass deal. Not done lightly.”
“But you were ‘in love’ with Daphne.”
I make a noncommittal sound.
“The plot thickens,” Aloha says, cocking one of her perfect eyebrows and drumming her fingertips together. “Why wouldn’t you tell your mother about a girl you loved?”
“Don’t read into it too much. I never introduce my mother to girlfriends before six months, no matter how ‘in love’ I think I am.”
Aloha’s eyes bug out. “You and Daphne weren’t even together for si
x months?”
“Four months.”
“Jesus Christ, Zander Shaw! You made Dumbass Daphne sound like the great love of your life!”
I chuckle. “Love doesn’t follow a strict timeline. People sometimes get engaged after a month and stay married for fifty years.”
“But you dated the girl for four measly months and then went on and on about how badly she broke your heart!”
“She did break my heart. I’m a leaper by nature. If I’m feeling it, I cannonball into the pool without hesitation. It’s who I am. When I go in, I go all-in.”
Aloha rolls her entire head, not just her eyes. “So, have you called Dumbass Daphne, the great love of your life after four months, as she requested in her ‘I am shooketh’ text from this morning?”
“I haven’t responded to Daphne yet, no.”
“You’re ghosting her?”
“No, I just haven’t responded yet. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t you think you owe poor Daphne a reply after those four loooong and amaaaazing, earth-shattering, life-changing months together? Don’t you think a text is the least you can do after she gave you the best four months of her life?”
“Enough.”
“Hey, let’s send the great love of your life a photo!”
“Of what?”
“Of us. Maybe one of me sitting on your face?”
I burst out laughing. “Well, that would definitely get her attention. Not to mention mine.”
“Wouldn’t that be hilarious? Ha! Let’s do it!” Aloha thwacks my shoulder. “Hand me your phone, Mr. Bodyguard.”
“Oh, my God, Aloha. No.” I peek toward the other end of the bus. “Nobody is paying a lick of attention to us at the moment, but I think that would change if you suddenly straddled my head and sat on my face.”
“I wasn’t serious about that. Duh.” She flashes me a snarky look, her hand still extended. “Phone. Now. I’m gonna reply to Daphne’s text for you. Ghosting is for pussies.”
I look at her sideways. “What are you gonna say to her?”
“You’ll see.” She bats my shoulder again. “Come on. Not sure if anyone’s told you this yet, but I always get my way. At least on tour, I do. It’s an unwritten rule: ‘Nobody says no to Aloha on tour.’ Now do as I say and hand it over.”
