by Marni Bates
Who me? I’m totally not thinking about the fact that our faces are plastered across magazine covers in every supermarket across the nation—and the rest of the world. I always dreamed of having hundreds of thousands of people openly debating whether our relationship is an abomination to God on network television. Doesn’t faze me at all.
I shrugged lightly as I searched for a plausible excuse. “Sorry. Mackenzie called me yesterday. Apparently her dad wants to be back in her life. Now that she’s famous.”
Tim stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, concern written all over his face. “Is she okay? Do you need to go see her or—” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in the process, which only made him look like more of a rock star. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, she’ll be fine,” I reassured him, slipping my hand around his waist and wishing that Darryl would come up with some excuse to make himself scarce. “Mackenzie’s not a pushover, and she knows we’ve got her back no matter what she decides to do.”
Tim growled and I tugged my cardigan closer so that I could pretend my shiver was related to the Portland chill instead of the fact that I was head over heels crazy about my boyfriend.
My boyfriend.
It still didn’t feel real.
Maybe because when he was first confronted about us, Tim had lied and told the world that he was as straight as the next guy . . . provided that the next guy wasn’t, y’know, gay.
Nothing could bring me back to earth faster than that little reminder. Every now and then I would catch myself staring up at him, wondering how someone so thoughtful and confident about his musical abilities could ever have thought it was okay to throw me under the bus. Even knowing that he had bought a freaking billboard and wrote that he loved me on it didn’t erase the past.
Not completely.
“I hate people like that,” Tim snarled. I let my arm fall back to my side as we swiftly returned to the Portland Rose Garden. It had been my idea to take a walk while the concert crew did their thing. Now I was wondering if it would’ve been a better idea to have stayed in the backstage room with all of his bandmates.
Or if I should’ve suggested we book a hotel room together.
We both knew where our relationship was going. We’d been dating for months, and if he hadn’t been working on his new album in Los Angeles while I tried not to turn into a congealed lump in Oregon, it probably would have happened already.
Unless there was something he wasn’t telling me, which was becoming more and more probable to my way of thinking. I mean, we had been in the same state—the same city—for over three hours and all I had to show for it was a few measly kisses.
Okay, maybe they weren’t exactly measly.
But they had all taken place in super public areas where we couldn’t exactly take it any further without risking arrest. And the last thing I wanted to explain to my attorney father was that I’d been hauled off to the slammer because of public indecency. I didn’t care how many rainbow flag bumper stickers my parents put on their cars, there were some things they definitely didn’t need to know about my personal life.
“. . . looking for a payday. You wouldn’t believe some of the emails I get.” Tim rolled his eyes, and I forced myself to concentrate on him again. Maybe he’d been right to say I was a million miles away. “Hi, Tim! Remember me? My cousin Bradley played on a Little League team with you. Anyway, I have a band of my own now and we’d love to go on tour with you. I’m sure we’d bring ReadySet up to a whole new level.”
He looked so adorably indignant, I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Maybe he thought Bradley made quite the impression on you.” I pretended to be jealous as I tugged him against me. “Any details of those Little League games you want to share, Tim?”
“Bradley who? Never heard of him. I do know this other guy, though. Smart. Funny—” I felt his hand slip into my hair. It was at sheep-dog length because I hadn’t gotten around to booking an appointment for a haircut. “Incredibly sexy . . .”
Even knowing that he had to be talking about me—because hello, how awkward would it be if he was describing anyone else that way—it was hard to believe. It’s not that I thought I was an ogre or anything. The cardigan looked damn good on me in a clean-cut, Ivy League kind of way.
But I wasn’t Hollywood-caliber hot. Nobody was going to start handing me modeling contracts or anything.
So I tried to play it off as a joke. “Really? Want to give me his number? Turns out, dating a rock star isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be in the press.”
I wasn’t entirely kidding, but Tim didn’t pick up on that either.
“What if I told you it was about to become a whole lot easier?”
I blinked up at him. “I would say that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He grinned. “I’ve talked to the guys and they’re willing to move to Portland.” Tim winced a little. “Well, okay, Nick would rather we stay in L.A. for a while because his girlfriend, Holly, lives there, but the other guys are okay with spending more of our time here. I agreed we should do it on a temporary basis, but there’s no way they won’t agree to make it more permanent. The city is great. The people are nice. The traffic doesn’t give us road rage.... I’m sure they will be recognizing themselves in episodes of Portlandia in no time. And I will be able to spend more time with you.”
Tim had definitely managed to capture my full attention, but I was too stunned to know what to say. Part of me wanted to ask Darryl to give us some privacy, and then go somewhere I could kiss the hell out of my boyfriend. And part of me wanted to ask if he had thought this plan all the way through.
Because if he was doing this for me—moving to an entirely different city just because I was temporarily stuck there—that wasn’t some cute romantic gesture I could reciprocate. It wasn’t the same thing as getting flowers on Valentine’s Day or having a song on their upcoming album dedicated to me. Those I could handle.
Those were thoughtful gestures that didn’t take all that much from him.
But this?
This was huge. And if it didn’t work out between us, then all of them—from their manager to their roadies—would probably resent me for being behind the move. And as crazy as I was about him, there were times when I wondered if I had bitten off more than I could chew.
I used to roll my eyes when characters on TV dramas said crap like, “We’re just from two different worlds!” But there was more truth to it than I wanted to admit. He was L.A. and I was Portland. Something as small as a change in area code wasn’t going to change that, especially since he wouldn’t be leaving the madness behind.
His loyal fanbase would stalk his movements here too.
Tim looked at me expectantly, and I saw a shadow of fear pass over his face. “Well,” he prompted. “Aren’t you excited?
Yeah, I am. I’m absolutely thrilled at the idea of spending time alone with you. But, um . . . can you excuse me for a moment? I need to have a panic attack in the bathroom real quick.
I glanced over uncomfortably at Darryl. “Of course I am. But shouldn’t we talk about it somewhere . . . more private?”
Tim dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Darryl won’t repeat anything we say. That’s the beauty of confidentiality clauses.”
I knew he expected me to grin or make some joke out of my need for privacy. Maybe something like, Wow, for a guy who took so long coming out of the closet, you sure have no trouble putting it all out there now. Any other dirty laundry you’d like to air?
Scratch that. He would never expect me to be that passive-aggressive. Maybe because on the rare occasions we were together, I spent most of it focusing on ways to steal just a little more time together. I’d offer to drive him to the airport because it would mean we could have a few more minutes together. We could pretend to be normal, as if we were just two guys who happened to like each other, instead of a Grammy award winner . . . and his ordinary high school boyfriend.
Funny
how I was getting exactly what I’d been complaining about for weeks—a chance to spend some quality time with Timothy Goff—and now I just wanted to ask, Are you sure? Because I don’t want to inspire your next hit song called “My Biggest Mistake.”
“That’s really . . . uh . . . great,” I finished lamely.
“And since I convinced the guys that we should spend some time after the concert tonight getting to know Portland, we’re going to be sticking around for a while. Which is why I was thinking . . .”
I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready to hear another one of his genius plans, except Tim looked so pleased with himself, I couldn’t disappoint him. So I smiled encouragingly while I noted with a sinking heart that we were only a handful of blocks away from the concert hall. In a matter of minutes he would disappear with Darryl, not to be seen for the next twelve hours . . . unless something unexpected changed his schedule.
“Well, how do you feel about prom?”
I stared at him in shock. “I don’t really have many feelings on the subject. It always seemed pretty cheesy to me. I mean, maybe it’s great for girls if they actually get to have that Hollywood moment when they have a spotlight following them down a staircase and right into the conveniently open arms of their one true love or whatever. But most girls don’t actually get that. And since I definitely wouldn’t—”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Corey. I agreed to perform with the guys at your prom.”
My mouth fell open and I didn’t even care that I looked like a koi fish trying to suck food flakes on the surface of the water.
“You are going to my prom.” I said the words slowly, hoping they would make more sense that way.
“Nick and Chris will be with me. We’ll play a quick set and then join you for the full high school experience. It’s no big deal.”
“I . . . you know it might be held in the gym, right? Which means the whole place could stink of feet. Are you sure you want to go?” I conveniently failed to mention that the Leftbank Annex had already been rented, because . . . hey, the King family could still decide to pull their donation.
“Well, when you put it that way, how could I resist?” Tim elbowed me lightly in the stomach, so it was more of a love tap than anything else. “Don’t you want to go to prom with me?”
I did. I really did.
But what I wanted even more was to skip that stupid thing entirely, check into a hotel, and lock the door on the rest of the world for the next sixteen hours.
Too bad life didn’t work that way—even when you were dating a rock star.
Chapter 2
It has now been confirmed that the acclaimed rock band ReadySet will be playing at this year’s prom!
We just became the envy of every high school in America.
—from “ReadySet . . . Performing at Prom!”
by Lisa Anne Montgomery
Published by The Smithsonian
“So . . . Tim’s thinking of moving the band to Portland.”
I half expected Mackenzie to leap out of her chair and cheer when I told her the news about Tim, the hearing of everyone in the cafeteria be damned. I hoped she wouldn’t try to hug me, because knowing Mackenzie, she would probably trip herself over one of the chair legs and then slide across the table toward me, knocking over trays of food in the process.
“Seriously? That’s awesome!” Mackenzie beamed at me. “That would be so great for you guys! And we could all get together. On a regular basis. And actually do things.” A thoughtful gleam entered her eyes. “I might even be able to collaborate on another song with them. Maybe. Do not mention that to Tim, though, or he will never give it up. Then again . . . I’m willing to say whatever it takes to convince them to move here.”
I cracked up. Mackenzie’s enthusiasm was infectious, which was kind of why I’d waited to tell her in person. If anyone could convince me that the drama was all in my head, it was Mackenzie and Jane.
Not that anyone would tell me this was bad news.
Because who in their right mind wouldn’t be thrilled to have their rock star boyfriend uproot his life just so that the relationship could stop being long-distance?
“Yeah, well, it gets better—”
Mackenzie’s smile quirked up. “Yes, it really does.”
“Focus, Mackenzie. Tim is going to prom. With . . . uh, us.” I had no idea what our prom plans were now. Before Tim had decided to crash the event, I’d assumed that I would chip in for a limo and ride there with Mackenzie, Logan, Jane and her boyfriend, Scott, and whoever else felt like joining in. I’d thought it would be a stress-free evening, because I didn’t need to impress anyone there.
Now I would probably spend most of the night trying to come up with ways to leave Darryl in the lurch.
Mackenzie squirmed happily in her seat. “You’re going to prom together? That makes it official. This is going to be the best night ever! Bar none.”
Logan grinned down at her. “You sure about that, Mack? I have some pretty fond memories from last Thursday. . . .”
She flushed and I looked aside and fought the urge to start whistling to myself.
“Okay, so it’ll be the best night that I can talk about in public, then,” Mackenzie amended sheepishly. “My point is that it’ll be great.”
I rolled my eyes. “C’mon, this is high school we’re talking about—there’s no way you can put all the upperclassmen in a room and expect everything to work out perfectly. Speaking of which”—I winked at her—“have you practiced your shocked expression when you’re nominated prom queen?”
“Don’t even joke about that!” Mackenzie hissed. Then she pitched her voice louder. “I’m not going to be prom queen!”
Logan laughed. “Mack is convinced she’d trip in front of everyone.”
I had no trouble picturing that at all.
She jabbed her boyfriend in the arm. “I will happily dance with you before and after your crowning moment. But if you, in any way, try to get me up on that stage with you, Thursday will become a distant memory, Logan.”
“I seriously doubt that, Mack.”
“A very distant memory.”
I laughed and surveyed the cafeteria, hoping to see Jane’s familiar red mop of hair somewhere. Ever since she had taken on creating a fiction paper for the school, most of her lunches were spent staring at a computer screen fiddling with layout issues. There was no sign of her and since I didn’t see a certain green-eyed camera-wielding menace, I assumed Scott was working on it with her.
But my sweep of the cafeteria did bring something else to my attention.
“Is that Isobel Peters?” I said in disbelief as I pointed to the Notable table. The one that was usually reserved for Fake and Bake and the rest of that ilk. “Please tell me it’s not opposite day. That’s the only explanation I can think of at the moment.”
Mackenzie shot me a mock glare. “C’mon, Corey. No need to be snarky.”
I nearly choked on a sip of my soda. “You’re kidding me, right? I love the girl, but she is not Notable material any more than you or I—holy crap! Spencer is sitting down next to her. I repeat, Spencer King is sitting next to Isobel!”
“Thanks for the play-by-play,” Logan said dryly. “We do have eyes.”
“Okay, then does one of you want to explain this to me?” I rose out of my seat, only to hesitate. “Does she need rescuing, do you think?”
I watched as Spencer stole one of Isobel’s fries. She smiled up at him as her hand darted out and she nabbed two of his. I sat back down. Well, that answered one of my questions . . . more or less.
“Oh, she definitely needs a big, strong man like you to save her from the guy stealing her french fries,” Mackenzie said sarcastically. “The scoundrel!”
“I’m not exactly puny,” I pointed out. Not that Mackenzie was listening.
“The knave!”
Logan grinned. “The rascal?”
Mackenzie burst out laughing. “Yes! I love it. Spencer King: The Rascal.”
She spread her hands as if she were envisioning the words on a billboard.
“Okay, I get your point. I just didn’t realize they were, y’know, together.”
I barely managed to refrain from pointing out that nobody at Smith High School would have expected the two of them to pair up. Then again, I was starting to think that prom was messing with everyone’s minds. Maybe that explained why my boyfriend was willing to suddenly throw away the life he had built for himself in the City of Angels . . . for me.
Logan shrugged. “I’m not sure they’re official yet.”
I was on my feet in an instant. “If he’s messing with her, I’m going to—”
Mackenzie cut me off, which was probably for the best because I had no idea how to finish that statement. Beat him up? Unlikely. I’m not exactly the strongest guy at school. Jane could probably take me in a fight, thanks to all her self-defense classes. So attacking a hockey player was an idea destined for failure.
But I couldn’t sit back and watch Smith High School crush someone else simply because they were a little bit different. Not after countless days of being shoved against lockers after P.E. simply for trying to change my clothes.
And okay, I didn’t think Spencer would physically hurt Isobel. But if he didn’t care about her—if he was simply using the geek as a bit of entertainment—that would ache a whole lot worse than any bruise.
I would know. I’d been on the receiving end of both kinds of hazing ever since I came out of the closet my freshman year. Then again, I wasn’t sure if it really counted as “coming out” if someone else yells that you’re gay during the busiest lunch peak in the cafeteria.
I’d never forgiven Alex for that, but I doubted it kept him up at night.
“Chill. He’s not going to hurt her.”
I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And you know this how, exactly?”
“Because I saw the way he looked at her when they came over to my house a week ago. Trust me, he wasn’t trying to make her the punch line for a joke.”
