Coughing for a moment to clear my throat I said, “You want to prove how you feel for me? Then don’t call me anymore, Michael. Don’t call me or try and see me. Let this one go.”
And with that, I flipped my phone shut and wondered if I hadn’t just thrown away something truly precious and rare.
“Hey, surfer girl.” The husky voice jolts me back to the moment, and I whirl around to find Casey Porter studying me. For a moment, I’m so caught off-guard that I’m rendered speechless, my hand going protectively to the scars along the side of my face.
He tilts his head sideways. “Thought we’d made friends after Malibu.”
“Of course. How are you, Casey?” I manage to rescue my common sense and behave more smoothly in his presence. Never mind that this is one of Michael’s two best friends and that bumping into him unexpectedly terrifies me. I’m likely to get a lecture or unsolicited advice, or something else—not even sure what. All I know is that bumping into Casey has my heart thundering painfully inside my chest.
But Casey’s a direct guy, I learned that the hard way, so he doesn’t waste time and goes right for my jugular. “You ever going to let him make it up to you, Rebecca?” He steps closer, dropping a bag of avocados into his cart. “Mike needs you right now. You know that.”
I shake my head slowly. “Needing me and loving me are two different things, Casey. We both know that. You called it right in the first place. He belongs with a guy, not me.”
“You’re wrong.” He takes hold of my arm with gentle force. “Rebecca, I was wrong. He’s crazy gone for you. I saw it in his eyes from almost the beginning. He’s in love with you, and it’s real, and if you don’t fight to make it work, you’re not nearly as strong and smart as I thought you were.”
My mouth gapes open. Literally. This man was my major opponent, the one who would seemingly never buy into the possibility that a relationship could work between Michael and me.
“Damn, I hope I’m not that much of a shock.”
“You were the one who said he couldn’t be with a woman. You were the one who said he was gay, that we were a mistake.” I poke him in the arm pointedly. “You said those things. You put them in my mind.”
“No, I didn’t. They were already there. Hell, they’ve been living there ever since you met Mike, of course they have.”
“Don’t tell me what I think or what I feel.”
“All right, then try this on, Rebecca O’Neill. Is love enough?”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to cover a multitude of sins…enough to work when you find the right person to spend your life with. No matter who they are? No matter what’s in their past?”
I open my mouth, ready to give a snappy, self-protective comeback, but Casey lifts a hand. “Don’t answer that question.”
“But you asked—”
Suddenly he smiles at me, a huge, radiant grin that reaches his eyes. “Answer it for you, Rebecca. Answer it for yourself, not for me.” Then his expression grows more somber. “But I can tell you that Mike doesn’t have it in him to keep calling forever. Not if you keep making it clear you don’t want him. His heart’s been too broken for that. So you better decide what you want pretty soon.”
I tilt my chin upward. “I want him to find a man who will make him happy.”
Casey’s eyes narrow on me. “You sure about that, surfer girl?” He stares at me a long moment and then turns and pushes his cart away.
***
When the night of the fan gathering rolls around, I find myself towing Trevor there, my best friend fitting neatly into the date proviso slot. While I’m not thrilled with Jake seeing me dateless, it’s still better than attending the party alone. Outside the hotel where the event is happening, we sit in the car. I’m shaking. My whole body quivers, especially my hands which I can’t seem to rein back in, and I’ll never be able to mix confidently with the fans if I can’t compose myself now.
Then again, maybe it’s just being here in Studio City, only a few blocks from Michael’s home that has me so unsettled.
“I can’t do this, Trevor.” Fighting to breathe, I pat my chest; as if perhaps I might discover some unexpected air somewhere inside my lungs.
“You can.”
“Take me home,” I wheeze, praying I won’t need my inhaler tonight. Thinking about my nerve pills, back on my dresser in my everyday purse.
“If that’s what you want, Rebecca, I’ll do it.” He eyes the back door through which we’re supposed to enter. There’s a bouncer-type guy—brawny and intimidating—watching us from the doorway. Perhaps he already recognizes me.
“I’ll make a fool out of myself here,” I rasp.
“No, darling, you won’t. You’re adored here. You’re fawned over.” He laughs, glancing around the parking lot jammed with cars and people filing into the hotel. “If you ever have a bad day, you need only log onto any fan site and vicariously worship yourself.”
“You make me sound like such an egomaniac.”