Heartbreakers

by Ali Novak

  “There might be a coloring book in the kitchen,” Xander suggested cheekily. He grabbed JJ’s legs and flipped them over his friend’s head. With a crash, JJ crumpled to the floor. I let out a laugh, and even Alec, who still had his headphones in, cracked a smile. Drew and Oliver were too wrapped up in a battle to even notice.

  “It’s not funny,” JJ complained as he sat back up and rubbed his head. He threw a punch at Xander, who ducked out of the way with a smirk. Giving up, JJ scowled in the direction of the TV. “Seriously, they’ve been at this forever.”

  “I agree,” I added. As much as I loved watching Drew kick everyone’s butt, it was getting a little redundant. Besides, how long were we actually going to hang out with the Heartbreakers? Drew had made another attempt to leave when JJ quit, but Oliver quickly took his place. The band seemed almost desperate for some type of outside interaction.

  “Well, what do you guys want to do?” Xander asked as he sat back down on the couch.

  JJ thought for a moment before turning to me with a grin. “Strip poker?” he suggested.

  I raised an eyebrow. “You want to play a game where, besides yourself, four guys might potentially end up stripping? Isn’t that a little—”

  JJ cut me off before I could finish. “Okay, let me rephrase that. Us guys will play regular poker, and you can play it strip style.”

  At the mention of strip poker, Drew spoke up. “I have no interest in seeing my sister naked. That’s gross.”

  “Yeah, totally not happening,” I agreed and crossed my arms over my chest protectively.

  “Aww, come on,” Oliver complained. At first I thought he was upset about my response to JJ’s poker proposal, and my face turned red. But then I noticed that Drew had beaten him again, and the fact that I’d thought Oliver was talking about me made me blush even more.

  “Naked Twister?” JJ asked.

  I threw my hands up in the air. “How is that any better?”

  “JJ, Stella obviously wants to do something a little more mature. Get your pervy head out of the gutter,” Xander said.

  “Fine, I can be more mature. Would the lady care for a stimulating round of Twister in the nude?”

  “JJ!” Xander and I both shouted.

  “Fine, fine,” he said with a scowl. He leaned back against the armchair, deep in thought. Suddenly a slow smirk made its way over his face. “Guys, I have the best idea!”

  “Why do I have the feeling that it’s going to be terrible?” I asked Xander.

  “Because it probably will be.”

  JJ didn’t seem to hear. He was bouncing up and down on the seat in excitement. “Aren’t you going to ask me what my idea is?”

  “Depends,” Xander said. “Is it something ten-year-olds would do?”

  Ignoring Xander, JJ continued. “Okay, how about this?” he said as he leaned forward in the chair. “We’re going to toilet paper the hotel lobby.” It was silent for a moment. JJ stared at us, eager for a response.

  “Um, that sounds fun and all,” I started with a frown, “but I’d rather not get kicked out of the hotel.”

  JJ waved his hand dismissively in the air. “Don’t worry, Stella. If you’re with us, you won’t get in trouble,” he assured me.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, JJ,” Xander said, shaking his head. “Do you really want to waste all of our toilet paper? You had that chili dog for lunch.”

  “Oh, gross,” I said and moved to the other side of the couch, hopefully upwind from JJ. “Way too much information.”

  “I don’t see you guys coming up with any bright ideas,” he snapped back.

  “There’s the pool,” Alec said, and I jumped in my seat. It was the first time I’d heard him speak, and his voice was both deep and quiet. I had completely forgotten he was there.

  “Yeah,” Xander said, nodding his head in agreement. “We could go swimming.”

  “Skinny-dipping?” JJ threw out.

  “No, JJ,” we all said at once.

  “Figures,” he huffed, “but I guess that will work.” He grumbled to himself for a little longer, even though we could all tell he liked the idea.

  I looked down at my watch. “I hate to be the party pooper, but isn’t the pool closed by now?”

  “Yup,” JJ said happily. “Nobody to bother us.” He wiggled his eyebrows in my direction.

  I ignored him and turned to Xander. “So we’re just going to sneak in?”

  “Come on, Stella. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Um, hiding under the couch hoping not to get arrested,” I told him.

  They both laughed. “Touché, but you won’t get arrested. There are perks to being in a band. We have a key.”

  “Well then,” I said, turning back to JJ and Xander. “Looks like we’re going swimming.”

  • • •

  “Why exactly are we ditching your bodyguard?” I whispered to Oliver as we stepped off the elevator and onto the fifth floor. This late at night, only one man was actively guarding the band, and the boys had come up with a plan to sneak away from him that involved me retrieving a swimsuit from my room. Somehow I ended up with Oliver as my escort.

  He smiled at me like a little boy. “Because it’s fun. Besides, do you really want him standing at the edge of the pool watching us swim?”

  “No,” I said and shook my head. “Not overly.”

  “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

  As we rounded the corner toward my room, I glanced back at Oliver’s bodyguard. He was still standing in the elevator, hands folded in front of him as he waited for us to “grab my suit,” the one I had never packed. When we were out of his sight, Oliver picked up the pace and rushed right past my room.

  “Wait. I want to grab a T-shirt for a cover-up,” I told him.

  “Not enough time,” he told me as he shook his head. “Once we’re gone for too long, he’ll come looking for us. Then the guys will be able to sneak out.”

  “What am I supposed to wear in the pool?” All the guys had their own swimsuits, and JJ had offered to loan Drew one of his extras.

  “Your underwear,” he said like it was no big deal.

  “I am not swimming in my bra and underwear. Did you hear JJ before? Your friend is a total perv.”

  “What’s the difference between a swimsuit and underwear? They look exactly the same.”

  “The difference is that one is acceptable to wear in public and the other isn’t.”

  “You’re not going to be in public. It’s just us guys.”

  “Yeah, just you guys that I met like four hours ago.”

  “If you’re so uncomfortable, just leave your camisole on. But I don’t understand why you’re being so self-conscious. You look great.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but then I realized the compliment he’d paid me.

  “Come on,” Oliver said, completely unaware of how flustered he’d made me. “If we don’t hurry, he’s going to find us.”

  Oliver pushed open the door to the stairwell, and we started taking the steps two at a time. I kept looking over my shoulder, afraid that his bodyguard was going to burst into the stairwell and attack me. Maybe he’d even accuse me of kidnapping Oliver. I could see the headline in my head: “Teenage Girl Abducts the Heartbreakers’ Lead Vocalist!” As absurd as it sounded, I was starting to get nervous.

  “Are you sure we won’t get in trouble?” I asked Oliver.

  Before he could answer, two girls opened the door to the fourth-floor landing just above us. They glanced down as Oliver tried to pull his hoodie up over his head, and suddenly I understood why he insisted on wearing a sweatshirt in such hot weather. But it was too late—the girls did a double take when they realized who he was.

  Oliver looked up at them, and I noticed his hesitation, but then he grinned at me and grabbed my ha
nd. “Come on.”

  We flew down the steps before the girls had a chance to shout out his name. By the time we reached the first floor, I was breathless. Not because I was out of shape, but because something about being with Oliver as he was being chased was surprisingly exhilarating. I could hear feet pounding down the stairs and a chant of “Oliver! Wait up!” but we didn’t stop.

  Pushing open the door, Oliver poked his head out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear before tugging me after him. We raced down the empty hall, and I realized we were going in the wrong direction. The pool was on the other side of the hotel.

  “Hey, where are we going?” I asked. “I thought we were meeting the guys at the pool.”

  “We’re making a pit stop,” he whispered to me as we crept down the hall. His eyes were scoping out possible fan girls, his body pressed up against the wall as if that might hide him. Oliver squeezed my hand as we continued to tiptoe down the hall, and I realized that our fingers were still intertwined.

  I slowly looked down at our hands, not sure of what to do. A nagging thought ran through my head. Don’t get too close! After tonight, you’re never going to see him again. But it was hard to pull away. The tingles that were shooting up my arm felt too good to let go of, and Oliver didn’t seem to mind.

  “Bond, James Bond,” he muttered to himself. With his free hand he was pretending to hold a gun as he peered around the corner. Screw it, I thought and smiled. I was going to enjoy tonight and worry about my heart later. “All clear,” he muttered again.

  We cautiously continued down the hallway like any good spy would until we reached a set of metal doors with circular windows that revealed the kitchen beyond.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Dinnertime,” he said and rubbed his stomach. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” Oliver shoved the doors and they swung open with ease. We were blasted in the face by thick, hot air that smelled of fried food.

  It was well past dinnertime, but the kitchen was bursting with activity. I watched as a woman in a hairnet chopped up carrots, her knife a flashing blur. Meat sizzled on a nearby grill as a cook flipped it over. A boy with a mop and bucket zoomed right by us, water droplets spraying everywhere. He was hurrying to clean up a carton of milk that had spilled on the floor.

  “Are we allowed to be in here?” I asked. I wanted to leave before someone noticed us and we got kicked out.

  “Of course,” Oliver said, like it was perfectly normal to stroll into a hotel kitchen. “Xander has some really dangerous food allergies. We always stay in the same hotels, and the kitchen staff learns exactly what he’s allergic to. I’ve gotten to know everybody who works here.”

  As if on cue, one of the cooks shouted at Oliver. “Perry, my man! How’s it going?”

  Oliver grinned at me before turning back to the cook. “It’s going great, Tommy,” he answered. “How about you?”

  I smiled and bit my lip as I listened. It was nice to see him interacting with regular people like he wasn’t someone famous.

  “Same old, same old. The rest of the guys coming down to see me?”

  Oliver shook his head and rolled up his sleeves. “Not tonight, but I’m sure they’ll be down for breakfast,” he said, and I watched in confusion as he washed his hands in a nearby sink. What the heck was he doing?

  “They better,” Tommy joked as he turned back to stir something simmering over the stove.

  When he’d finished scrubbing his hands, Oliver turned to me. “I kind of have this thing for cooking,” he explained. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

  “Um, no…” I said slowly, completely confused.

  “Great,” he said, cutting me off. “You just wait here. I’m going to go whip us up my favorite.”

  I stared after him as he made his way over to a huge refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients. Was the lead singer of America’s most popular boy band about to cook me dinner?

  He was.

  After finding some empty counter space and spreading out the different food items, Oliver grabbed a knife and a cutting board. When he started to chop up a potato, I realized the photo opportunity I was missing and reached for my camera. As stealthily as possible, I took a few steps back and snapped some shots of Oliver working before he noticed. The potatoes went into a fryer, and while he waited, he started to slice something green. The food didn’t take long, and when he was finished, he packed everything into a paper bag.

  “Ready?” he asked and grabbed my hand again.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Instead of heading toward the pool like I thought we would, Oliver led me out the back door of the kitchen. “Grab the stop,” he instructed as we stepped out into the warm summer night. “The lock on the door gets jammed sometimes, and we don’t want to get stuck out here.”

  Bending over, I scooped up the wooden block and shoved it in the door before it closed. Oliver sat down on the concrete steps, and when I dropped down next to him, he placed the food between us. I had no clue what he’d made, but a grease stain was already creeping its way up the brown bag, and I knew whatever had made it would give me a heart attack.

  “So, James Bond, what do you have for us?” I could feel my stomach grumbling, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten dinner, and just the smell of something fried was enough to make my mouth water.

  Leaning over, Oliver unwrapped the bag and pulled out a Styrofoam box. “Why don’t we start with this before it gets cold?” he said, placing it between us. He opened the box to reveal the source of the grease as steam poured out. It looked like french fries, but they were covered in a white sauce with shredded cheese sprinkled on top. “I had this in Dublin during our European tour. Now I can’t get enough of it.”

  “What the heck is it?” I asked, feeling less hungry. I wasn’t normally a picky eater, but whatever it was looked disgusting. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Oliver cook for me—just because he enjoyed it didn’t mean he was any good.

  “Garlic cheese chips. You’re never going to look at a fry the same way again.” Oliver picked up a loaded fry, shoving it into his mouth before anything fell off. A piece of shredded cheese stuck to the corner of his mouth.

  “Um,” I started, not sure how to tell him. “You got something right here…” I used my thumb to brush the edge of my mouth.

  “Oh.” Oliver licked his lips. “Did I get it?” Momentarily, my gaze lingered on his mouth and I wondered how it would feel if he pressed his lips against mine. “Stella?”

  “Huh? Oh yeah. It’s gone,” I said, directing my attention to the fries as my heart rate picked up. “So what exactly is the white stuff?” I could already hear the “that’s what she said” joke, as if JJ were sitting next to us.

  Grabbing another crispy fry, Oliver dunked it in the goo. “Maymays favor ith galic owder,” he said with a full mouth.

  I looked at him and laughed. “Never heard of that before.”

  Oliver swallowed. “It’s mayonnaise flavored with garlic powder.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I like ketchup.”

  “Figured that,” he said and pulled a handful of packets out of the bag. As I reached for the sugary tomato sauce, he pulled away, keeping the ketchup just out of reach. “If you want it, you have to try this first.”

  “Come on, Oliver,” I said, staring down at the sloppy mess. “That looks gross.”

  “Nope. You gotta try one.”

  “What if I said I’m allergic?” Oliver lifted both hands to his face and covered a sneeze. “Bless you,” I said on reflex.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

  “Hey,” I complained and whacked him on the shoulder. “That’s not funny.”

  Picking up another fry, Oliver cupped his other hand underneath to catch the droppings. “Just close your eyes,” he told me. I clasped my hands together and
blinked. He wants me to do what? When I didn’t react, Oliver frowned as if it were perfectly normal to hand-feed the girls he hung out with. “Stella, just do it.”

  Unsure how else to respond, I did as he said, but not before grabbing my water bottle from my backpack in case I needed to wash down the fry. Oliver brought the food up to my mouth, and his finger grazed my lip as I slowly opened up.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked, as I chewed tentatively. It was a masterpiece of cheesy, salty heaven. I was too stubborn to admit that out loud, so instead I picked up another fry and shoved it in my mouth.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said with a bemused smile. We finished the rest of the fries quickly and fought over the last one before continuing with the next course.

  “Ready for round two?” he asked me. Wiping my greasy fingers on a napkin, I nodded my head. “Okay, this is something my grandma used to make me when I was a kid.” Oliver pulled out another container. He opened the lid and revealed a weird, pink-and-green food.

  “Is that…ham and pickles?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  He nodded his head. “And cream cheese. It holds it all together.”

  “You eat the weirdest food ever,” I said. Oliver had spread cream cheese over slices of ham, placed a pickle in the middle, rolled it all up, and cut them into to bite-sized pieces. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had pulled out a rainbow eggplant dipped in chocolate and told me it was his favorite food.

  He cradled the box against his chest. “Don’t insult the pickle rollups. They’re delicious.”

  I held back a snort. “Sorry, I didn’t know pickles had feelings.”

  “They do.”

  “If I try one, will they forgive me?” I asked, as I covered a grin with my hand. The pickle rollups didn’t sound appetizing, but they looked much safer than the garlic cheese chips. The first dish had surprised me, so why couldn’t this one?

  Oliver glanced down at the food in consideration before looking back up at me. “I suppose so.”

  I picked up a pickle rollup and took a bite. “Pretty good,” I told him. The cream cheese actually brought the combination of foods together nicely.