“We had zippo in common.” He shook his head. “What a waste of a year. I’m really not her kind of guy. She’s into image, social climbing, all that stuff that skeeves me out. And, apparently, sleeping around.”
“So true.” I shook my head. “If she wants to hook up, fine, but why wasn’t she careful? We all took the same health class.”
“Who knows? I’m not in her head.” He blew out a breath. “Forget the pregnancy thing. What about STDs? Herpes? HIV? You can’t take that kind of stuff back.”
Well, wasn’t he just Mr. Health Teacher. Not that I didn’t appreciate how responsible he sounded, it just struck me as amusing. “You can’t take a baby back either.”
“So, she’s going to have it?” he asked.
“How would I know, nutjob? I’m the last person she’d talk to.”
“True.”
“I guess people react the way they do, period. I know that’s an obnoxiously obvious statement, but—”
“No. I know what you mean.” He sucked in one side of his cheek. “I do feel sorry for her, though, even though I’ve been on her shit list since we broke up. But I gave up trying to make sense of Jennifer’s logic a long time ago.” He paused. “Have you ever met her parents?”
Clueless male. “Uh, Dyl? I know I haven’t mentioned this much, but ol’ Jen and I don’t exactly run in the same posse,” I said in a wry tone.
He ignored the snarkitude. “Well, they’re all about image. Doesn’t matter what’s on the inside as long as everything looks good on the outside. It’s part of what made Jennifer so irritatingly Jennifer.”
“Pressure. She got that image thing from them.”
“Totally.” He eyed me carefully. “In the interest of full disclosure, I did call to see how she was doing when I heard about the pregnancy. I was just trying to be a decent person. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine,” I said, trying not to sound choked off, trying to tamp down the icky emotions welling up inside me.
Relief cooled his expression. “You’ll be relieved to know she blew me off, but she did tell me her mom and dad were treating her like a felon.”
That sour, jealous clench from the mere fact that he’d checked in on her lingered, but I couldn’t help it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wanted a boyfriend who gave a crap in situations such as this. But she was his ex and she despised me. And my friends.
Bigger issue, Lila.
Cowgirl up.
I cleared the green non-Shrek monster from my throat and tried to channel my inner Meryl. “She didn’t tell you what she’s going to do?”
“Nope. She doesn’t confide in me either.”
“She told you about her parents.”
“That’s as far as it went before the whole ‘go to hell’ stuff started. But no way is she ready to be a parent.” He frowned. “She has a helluva lot of growing up to do before that ever happens.”
“Don’t we all. I can’t even imagine.”
Dylan’s expression softened, and he scooted his chair right up next to me. We gazed at each other for a moment, then he leaned in and kissed me softly. “I’m glad you finally asked me instead of making all kinds of assumptions,” he said, his face still close enough that I could feel the warm puffs of his breath. “I know how your whacked mind works—”
“Hey!”
“—but I want us to be able to talk about this stuff. I want us to be able to talk about anything and everything.”
“I’ve never had sex,” I blurted, my skin instantly exploding with heat. I covered my mortification by rambling onward. “And, as much as I…feel…things sometimes when we’re kissing and stuff, I’m not sure I’m ready to. In fact, I know I’m not ready to. Especially after the whole Jennifer situation. Just so you know. It’s scary.” I paused, pressing my lips together. “Crap, I can’t believe I just said all that.” Commence dying now.
He touched my cheek and kissed me again. “Well, news flash, I’ve never had sex before either.”
Shock cut through me like a lightning arc. “Really? B-but you’re a guy.”
“So? We’re not all uncontrollable horndogs.” He shook his head with mock disgust. “Geez, Lila, you’d kill me with your bare hands if I made a sexist comment like that.”
He was dead-on right. “I…I’m sorry. It just blurted out.” I was so stunned by his admitting to being a virgin, my brain stopped working, as was evidenced by my next question: “But, do you, um, feel stuff, too, sometimes? When we’re, you know…together? Like it would be so easy to just…”
Holy—did I just ask that?
What if he said no?!
Thankfully, he released this low, tortured chuckle. “Uh, yeah. I never said I was a monk.”
“Oh,” I said, for lack of something intelligent.
“I’ve never been attracted to anyone like I am to you. But we both have big plans for our life. I think we can hold off.”
Big plans: His? The Olympics. Mine? Uh…
“Definitely,” I said anyway. “But, well, I’m glad.”
“Glad?”
“That you also think about—” I rolled my hand, unwilling to say the words. “With me.” Great. Now I sounded like Tramp-o-matic. Why couldn’t I just stop while I was ahead? “I mean, not glad. I just didn’t want it to be one-sided, this…feeling stuff. Bleh, never mind, shutting up now.”
He grinned. “Lila, it’s okay. I’m glad you feel it, too. It’s a good thing.”
I peered over at him cautiously. “It is?”
“Yes.” He reached over and ran his fingers through my hair. “And if it were ever to happen with any girl, I’d want it to be you. Even though your father has a pretty impressive gun collection and knows how to use them.”
“Stop it,” I said, smacking his forearm.
He laughed. “But, seriously, when it happens, it won’t be some light, meaningless thing for me. And I wouldn’t want it to be for you, either. I really…care about you, Ly.”
Wow, that was dangerously close to the L-word. My heart swelled and certain body parts that apparently missed the abstinence memo began throbbing, causing my brain to get fuzzy. “I feel the same,” I said, lamoid as ever.
We spent the next several minutes kissing until someone driving by hollered, “Get a room!” out of their car window. I pulled back shyly, considering the convo we’d just had.
“So, we’re good?” Dylan asked.
“We’re great.”
He eased back into a guy sprawl in his chair. “It’s totally cool that you’re working with my mom this summer,” he said, out of the blue. “It’ll give you two the chance to get to know each other better.”
I groaned and pushed up from my own chair. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”
“I don’t know, Moreno,” he said, as we stood and deposited our slimy, melting trash in the marked receptacle like good little non-littering, celibate, Police Explorer citizens. “Maybe it’s your clue to get a clue.”
I punched him in the upper arm. “Whatever. Shut up. Like I’m going to take advice from you. You stole a car once, remember?”
He busted me a stink-eye. “Borrowed—”
“And got busted. Besides, borrowed, stole—semantics.”
He side-eyed me. “That was a long time ago.”
“It’s still on your record in my mind,” I teased. “In fact, it’s one of your few charms.”
He wound one arm around my neck and pulled me closer as we walked down the street. “Ladies and gentlemen, my endearingly caustic girlfriend is back.” And then he made stupid sounds of a crowd cheering.
I mocked him unmercifully, as per the unspoken rules of our relationship, but the truth was, I hadn’t felt this connected and safe in weeks.
Caressa
Let me tell you, a Broadway production vs. a high school play? Two vastly different animals, from completely separate jungles, each on their own continent, for that matter. Not that I was complaining, but I will admit to being awestruck, starstruck, and just a bit overwhelmed.
I hadn’t expected that. I mean, I’d been brought up in the entertainment industry. But all those years and the experiences that came with them were about my dad, and I was just a tag-along. This felt subtly different. Mine. Sink or swim, boys and girls, this one was all on me.
And you know what? I loved it.
But it freaked me out, too.
Who knew if I had the chops to make it? A name could only take you so far, and just because Lehigh Thibodoux had a stellar career under his belt and the Grammy statues and other awards to prove it didn’t mean I possessed any of his talent. Plus…how do I put this? While I appreciate the foot-in-the-door that my dad’s reputation affords me (who wouldn’t?), now that I was here, I wanted to stand out on my own. As me. Not as Famous Musician’s Daughter, but based on my own skills.
It was my first day on the show, and I’d been assigned to a super-efficient (read: slightly scary but ultra cool) makeup artist coordinator by the name of Sasha Savage. No lie—that is the name on her birth certificate. I know because I asked. I’m inquisitive that way, sorry.
All I had to do that first week was shadow her and take it all in, yet I was still gooberish and awkward, totally out of my element. At White Peaks High, dude, I was the reigning queen of the makeup and costuming room. Here, I was just some dumb high school girl from Somewhere Other Than Manhattan, without a single clue. (Oh yeah—in a mere forty-eight hours, I’ve learned there are exactly two locations in the world: Manhattan, and Somewhere Other Than Manhattan. Wiggy.)
To be clear, I’m fine with being the clueless newbie. Really. In fact, I am psyched into utter silence by all that I’m going to learn this summer and more happy than ever—ever!—to be here. It’s better than I expected.
But my hands still shook like a junkie who needed a fix.
The long, narrow room smelled of hot lights, melting makeup, powder, and aerosol hairspray. Mirrored makeup stations lined the walls, interspersed with racks of costumes and various duffles and cases brought in by the actors and dancers. It was beautiful organized chaos.
“Keep up, Caressa,” Sasha snapped. Well, to be perfectly fair, she didn’t really snap it. She’s been super nice to me from the get, but she’s just one of those Type-A overachievers, which is exactly why she’s in charge. And as much as I feared her, I also wanted to
be
her. Someday.
She dresses like my vision of a long-time New Yorker, with access to all the upscale boutiques in Soho (see? I was learning NYC already) and the money to buy whatever the hell she wants. The result? Understated quality. Her lightish-medium auburn hair was so expertly highlighted with a color I recognized (scary, I know) as Cuba Libre, it didn’t even look highlighted, with a capital H. It just looked perfect.
I made a mental note to study Sasha, from her clothing style to her hair and makeup, all the way down to her mannerisms and the busy, important click-clack way she moved through the backstage area, owning it. Sasha Savage was truly a force to be reckoned with, and I stood in awe of her.
I’m a Sasha wannabe. Big time. Not ashamed to admit it.
Fake it ’til you make it—that’s my plan.
“The dancers and actors should start arriving any moment,” Sasha said, in a controlled rush. “They never have a friggin’ clue, despite the fact we do the show seven times a week, so it’s important we nab them at the door, like kindergartners, and tell them exactly where to go.”
I snickered at the double entendre. Couldn’t help it.
To my surprise, Sasha tossed me a half-smirk. “Believe me, with some of them, you’ll want to tell them where to go.”
“Prima donnas?” I asked, squinching my nose.
She raised her eyes heavenward. “Not all of them, but gawd. It only takes one or two to drive you to drink.” She blinked like she realized what she’d said, and her face paled. “Well, not you. You’re too young to drink. Okay? Jesus, your dad would fly out here and kill me if I propelled you onto that downward spiraling path.”
I held up a hand. “Don’t worry. That’s not my scene.”
“Really? Good.” She exhaled. “Good for you, truly. Too many young people in this business take the wrong road and destroy everything they ever dreamed about before they ever have the chance to achieve it.”
This I knew, just from having been immersed in the entertainment world for my entire life. It’s part of the reason the drinking scene didn’t appeal to me. That and the fact that it always embarrassed me to see my peers totally sloppy and out of control, and I didn’t ever want anyone to see me like that. I didn’t ever want to be like that. Most of the time, it seemed like the drinkers didn’t even realize they were acting so…whack. That was the scariest part. Just imagining all the horrors that could happen to a person in that altered state brought a chill to my flesh.