reputation

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  My hand rubbed gently up and down her arm, encouraging her to let me bear some of her burden.

  “I love singing and performing. I love my fans. But sometimes, I feel like I’m in an aquarium, drowning behind a layer of glass and people are paying to see it. It hurts to think that they’ll be entertained whether I survive or not.”

  “Your fans love you, Blake,” I said with a low, hoarse voice.

  “Most of them, yes. But, after all of this, I just can’t help but feel like the world is just waiting for me to trip and fall.” She paused, her exhale accompanied by a pained laugh. “I don’t even know how to explain what it felt like when Tay told me how the press had twisted my last breakup—and how it went viral. There was even a freaking hashtag for ‘Blakeup,’ I mean, who comes up with this stuff?”

  “People are morons,” was all I could get out through gritted teeth, wanting to punch each and every fucking person who’d made this gorgeous girl feel guilty for having her heart broken. I wanted to fuck up every person who had broken her heart—including myself.

  I couldn’t stop myself. I heard her heart and I just wanted to help heal it, if just for a little while. Shoving my anger back down, I reached for something deeper. Something that she didn’t know, but that she needed to hear. Something to show her that just because there are people who follow you, doesn’t mean it’s not ok to get lost once in a while.

  There are no roads in life except the ones that you build for yourself. And sometimes, you have to lose your way a little before you know which way you are supposed to go.

  “Did you know I almost didn’t take the scholarship?” I admitted hoarsely. “I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life senior year. I almost turned Alabama down.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Her incredulous face was priceless. “You… you loved football. You loved Alabama. I think that’s the only hat you’ve ever owned.”

  I knew she’d be surprised. I hadn’t talked about it to anyone except Ash and after graduation, well, I doubted he wanted to mention anything about me to his sister.

  “I started to realize that football wasn’t what I wanted for my life; it was just something that I was good at. And I almost pulled out.”

  “Then why did you go?”

  “Because I didn’t know anything else. And I didn’t have the confidence to… go against what everyone thought of me—‘Franklin’s Football Star.’” I ended with a slightly mocking tone, adding, “I’d always had this reputation.”

  “We… they would have supported you, believed in you.” She wasn’t wrong. But it wasn’t about them. It was about believing in myself.

  “Blake, your family, your friends, your fans… they all believe in you. None of them doubt who you are or why you dated and broke up with those guys. They know who you are. So, for you… for me, too… it’s never about them. It’s realizing that the only person doubting your character is yourself.”

  I stared at the old New York buildings that passed along the side of the park. Gorgeous and unassuming. And worth more than I could imagine. Just like her.

  “Blake, no one… No. One… has everything figured out. Not even me. And especially not them—” I nodded to the invisible masses who would judge her.

  “Sometimes, I feel like my family—who I only see when I’m home—and Tay, who is half-business and half-not… are all I have to hold onto. Them and my music. And after all of this, I just have to wonder if it’s really worth it…” she murmured as she physically deflated against me, like a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders.

  I cleared my throat. “It took me a while to decide, but I finally quit football sophomore year to focus on my music… the band. And yeah, people said stuff. But they weren’t the people that mattered. People will always say shit. People will complain about a rainy day until the sun comes out and then they’ll complain that it’s too hot. But it was worth it, because it was the real me. Some of us take time… and trials… to realize what we want and to believe in ourselves enough to take it. You can’t make everyone happy, Blay. But making yourself happy, that you can do and that is what we all want to see.”

  It tore my insides apart hearing her voice thicken as she continued, “I’m trying to be happy. But it’s hard when all I can think about is that I’m getting lost in the fake, getting lost in the show. I’m afraid of losing myself.”

  I tipped her chin towards me, forcing those stormy seas to mine. “Blake, baby,” I rasped, my thumb brushing over her lower lip, “you are beautiful and talented and compassionate. You aren’t losing yourself. You just care too damn much for people who don’t deserve it.”

  “Zach…” she inhaled my name with a small gasp.

  I was saying too much, I knew, but it wasn’t enough; it wasn’t enough for what she deserved.

  “You are the most painfully, annoying, awkward, yet inspiring real person I’ve ever met. You, who shares personal stories while on stage. You, who runs into the ocean for midnight swims without a care in the world. You, who lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree when you saw the carriage ride. You wear your too-damned-big heart on your sleeve, Blay. So, don’t ever mistake your feelings for fake.”

  My mouth inched closer to hers, our breaths mingling into the fog of desire that already surrounded us.

  “They love you. Say it.”

  I watched her throat bob, my lips tingling to touch hers.

  “T-they love me,” she whispered practically against my mouth.

  “Not because you are a pop princess. Not because you entertain them or because it’s the cool thing to do. They love you because you bring to their lives—our lives—this soft, warm light that reminds us all that it’s ok to be human, even if ‘human’ means mistakes, it also means happy.”

  “Thank… you,” she choked out. My thumb swiped away tears that stained down her porcelain cheeks. “You didn’t have… to do this. But thank you.”

  The pure, soft gratitude in her voice destroyed me. She may be a pop princess, but she was also a warrior. And warriors were only strong when they could recognize their weakness.

  “Blake, baby, I will write a goddamn anthem and sing it to you every day and any day to remind you to never doubt yourself again.” My eyes drifted to her lips as I added, “Either that or I will fucking kiss you so damn hard your mouth will think twice before it repeats those words again.”

  Wide eyes, parted lips… she looked like my fucking wet dream. I groaned, my cock stiffening unbearably underneath the layers of blankets, knowing she would taste even better. Forget about blurred lines. I’d just blown so far past the lines that they turned into the horizon behind me.

  “I think,” she said softly as her tongue licked her lips and my whole body tensed with the restraint it took to not crush my mouth to hers. “I’m done doubting… but I would like that kiss anyway.”

  I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. And I didn’t. My lips drifted to hers because at some point, the ocean always meets the shore.

  Gently, my mouth pressed against her lips. She was the snowflake on the tip of my tongue. Chilled for a second just before she melted. Swaying into me, her head tilted against my shoulder and her mouth parted.

  I captured her sigh. Claimed it. Used it for my own purposes, pushing my tongue into the warm, sweet haven of her mouth; she tasted the kind of sweet that—in all these years—I could never find any other word to describe aside from ‘forbidden.’

  I wished there weren’t a thousand fucking layers between us. I wished it was seventy-five degrees out and she was in that damn bikini. Later, I could be thankful that she wasn’t.

  Slow. Searching. I licked every inch of her, my cock jealous of the liberties my tongue had. I sucked on her lip, pulling it into my mouth and feeling as her entire body quivered against me. For some, it’s a sound or smell; for me, it was tasting the salty insecurity on her tongue that she’d trusted to me that triggered my déjà vu back to the day I should have made her mine. And not just back. Forward
. Left. Right. Up. Down.

  Alternate realities.

  In every instance of space and time, I’d always find her waiting for me and she’d always be mine.

  I should stop.

  I needed to stop.

  My heart was racing, my dick pulsing to be inside of her—any part of her. It was this point where my mind was so fogged with need for something I couldn’t have that I did stupid things—that I said stupid things.

  I didn’t stop. Instead, I explored her mouth like she was my last supper and like I was Judas betraying my heart.

  The carriage jolted back, forcing me to break the kiss. Her eyelids drifted open slowly, as though she was coming out of the best dream and was reluctant to wake up.

  I slid my hands down from where they’d been cupping her cheeks. Her gloves were still curled into my jacket, no longer trying to pull me closer but refusing to let go.

  Her eyes were on me, wondering what just happened. I wished I had an answer for her.

  Something very real.

  What happens when the road to what’s real is impassable?

  The jerk of the carriage was the driver forcing the horse backward. Judging by the comfortable stance of the dozen paparazzi several feet away, we’d been in the same spot for awhile and he was trying to do us a favor.

  “We should get going, Baby Blake,” I said hoarsely, desire still laced through my voice.

  Camera shutters fell faster than the snow around us. Her lashes fluttered down, peering out underneath hooded eyes at the crowd that had gathered.

  “Yeah,” she said softly, the word tearing through me like a dull knife.

  I wanted her to know that I would always be here for her, to remind her that who she was was enough; instead, I’d kissed her because what I had would never be enough without her. And now, I’d have to let her believe that was fake, too.

  Way to go, Asshole.

  I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to go on with this. I didn’t want to fucking live with everything I ever wanted sitting right in front of me. What I did want was to finally tell her how much I’d always needed her—and how much it had killed me to deny it.

  That was the problem with Blake Tyler.

  What we had was so damn real that all she could ever be was my fantasy.

  Track 11: Love Struck

  “Like lightning cracks through the sky.

  Hot. Bright. Burning. Silent.

  Love struck me and I fell.”

  MY FINGERS RUBBED ABSENTMINDEDLY OVER my lips. Plump. Tingling. Slightly chapped. Many words that my lips could be registering except the only thing I felt was Zach.

  I was grateful that Lin knew me well enough to hum quietly while she worked on my hair and make-up for tonight’s performance because I was too lost in thought to contribute meaningfully to any sort of conversation.

  Zach’s kiss yesterday had been the best thing to happen to my mouth since chewing gum. And that’s why I hadn’t indulged my habit since. Odd for me to the point where even Tay made a comment.

  Everything about yesterday had been perfect. No. More than that. As far as ideal Valentine’s dates go, yesterday had been a fairytale. The huge snowflakes falling around us, the carriage ride all bundled up against Zach as he held me… It was out of a dream that I’d had for a very long time.

  Who was I kidding? It was still a dream.

  What else do you call something that isn’t real?

  Did I think the kiss was part of his plan? No. Did I know he’d say that it was—or worse, a mistake? Yes. And that’s why I didn’t ask.

  I may be slow at it, but I was learning my lesson when it came to Zach Parker.

  We left the park with a warm and easy familiarity between us, conversation and chemistry taken down a notch—at least on the outside. It was a step back from the admission of my biggest fears that had seem to come out of nowhere. And it was two steps back from that kiss—a kiss that was as beautiful and brief as a shooting star, leaving me wondering if what I’d just felt was something to wish on or a flicker of something destined to disintegrate.

  Oh, that was a good one. I pulled out my phone and opened up the notes app, typing furiously, ‘Kisses like shooting stars, if only I could wish on ours. Brightly beautiful. Swiftly gone. Brilliantly burning into flashes of the dawn.’

  The cameras were convenient reminders of the purpose it played.

  My heart though was an annoying insistence that it also served a greater purpose.

  We’d grabbed sandwiches from a random deli on our way down to his—also secret—afternoon activity: hours spent roaming through Bryant Park’s Winter Village. Tiny glass shops littered the walkways of the park, surrounding the giant Christmas tree and ice skating rink. Winter Wonderland was what came to mind.

  Sure, I wore fancy brands because they sent me stuff or because I was paid to. Most of the time, I passed as much as I could off to Taylor because it was too fancy for me. I loved the soft wool scarves from the third pop-up shop on the right that didn’t have a tag, let alone a brand. Zach insisted on buying me one because it was the only outer accessory that I wasn’t wearing. I loved the hand-made sterling silver jewelry, set with brightly colored stones in designs that most ‘high-fashion’ would consider ‘highly reproachable.’ My stomach twisted when I saw a charm bracelet similar to the one I’d lost on that memorable prom night.

  And in spite of the giant sandwich we’d shared, remembering back to the days when we’d split numerous Italian subs while working on the treehouse, we still managed to end up with a cup of Max Brenner’s hot chocolate in one hand and Nutella crepes in the other.

  Somewhere between Zach’s stories about living in Alabama and the ones about all the trouble my brother got into while at college, the press gave up trying to weed through the crowd for any more photos, leaving us to wander in peace.

  In a world where days were planned down to the minute to fit everything in, my heart raced with the relaxed spontaneity of what he’d chosen for us to do. It made the date feel more real than any of the other ‘real’ relationships I’d been in before which was a sad commentary considering that it was purely for show.

  Part of me hated that he knew this—whether consciously or unconsciously—that he knew I wanted simple days like this and not the fancy cars or the fancy parties or five-star restaurants or a house in the Hamptons.

  Cue Shaina Twain, ’That don’t impress me much…’

  Lin’s hands in my hair froze. Crap. Guess I sang that one out loud.

  Shrugging, I gave her a weak smile and she just laughed, shook her head, and went back to work trying to straighten my waves.

  I just wanted hot chocolate and carriage rides with someone who wanted to look at the stars instead of using me to become one.

  There was a war going on inside of me whether I should be sitting here reliving each and every moment like a love-struck teenager or if I should be focusing on that line that Taylor insists I’m so skilled at drawing.

  Real.

  Not real.

  He loves me.

  He loves me not.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!” I yelled with a huge smile. I don’t know why but every time I went out on stage, I forgot for a second that I was mic’d and felt the need to yell to reach everyone in the crowd. Like I actually could.

  Good thing my sound crew knew this about me and planned accordingly.

  Goosebumps covered my legs underneath the dress I had on. Black tights, black boots, and an off-white dress that looked like a mirror had shattered over it. And that meant that I was cold now, but a few more minutes under these lights—and on stage with Zach—and I’d be warmed right up.

  “Thank you—” I paused with a laugh at the classic ‘I love you, Blake’ that at least one fan always managed to belt out loud enough to reach the stage. “Thank you… everyone… for deciding to spend your Valentine’s Day here with me. Ladies,” I continued with a wry voice, “give your man a big kiss right now for bringing y’al
l here to see me.”

  I loved these moments when I knew the camera flashes were mostly not for me.

  ‘What about your man?’ My head jerked to the left as someone yelled.

  3… 2… 1… And my face was officially as red as my lips.

  ‘Bring him up there!’

  ‘We want Zach!’

  My heart dropped into my stomach. They knew. I mean, of course they knew. The photos from yesterday were all over the internet well before we even got back from dinner. By the time I got out of the shower, Taylor already had a press release ready to go and a tweet ready for me to post.

  At this point, I didn’t know what would be worse, listening to them—or not. I went with or not.

  “Ok, ok,” I said, holding up my hands. “I don’t know that he was quite ready for this welcome, but if you could all join me in welcoming my… Zach Parker to the stage—”

  The cheers erupted and I couldn’t even remember what else I was going to say.

  Oh, God.

  He looked hot. Hotter than usual hot. Maybe it was the whole Valentine’s Day aura. Or maybe it was because I was finally letting myself look at him like he was mine. Tonight, there’s no baseball cap. Just the unruly mahogany waves, mostly pushed back from his face (probably from the repetitive run-through with his hand) except for one lock that hung defiantly in front of his forehead. Typical Zach—mostly following every rule except in his own way. The dark, fitted jeans were new—and even though they looked amazing, hugging every muscle, I missed the ones that had me ripped and stained into them. The deep red shirt was unfamiliar, too, buttoned-down and straining over his chest before being tucked tightly into his pants. He looked like a magical blend of classy and country that was hot as hell.

  I tried to swallow. Twice. I would have had an easier time getting a mouthful of sand down my throat for how dry it was.

  His lips broke into a smile and I felt my panties begin to slip…