“No, seriously!” I continued my rant. “I’ve put things in place to avoid pregnancy…and even STDs. It never hurt anyone to use condoms. What’s the big deal? There’s no difference in the feeling. Just use protection.”
Then he belted out a full on laugh, breaking the wind from my sails. I then decided to bring it in, possibly having put my foot in my mouth. Just stay away from that topic. It was our first time out without being on the stealthy agenda of Angela and Alton and I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself.
I had no idea what I was doing alone with Stenton Rogers. Angela would kill me if she knew. She’s been in love with this guy since he was drafted. She’d still not made it clear that Alton wasn’t the father of her baby, and I’m sure she’d question my loyalty even more if she knew I was here with him.
What was even more traitorous on my part was that Stenton and I connected on social networking sites, and more recently via text messages. I thought my budding friendship with him ended that afternoon at the country club when Alton came through like a tornado, but Stenton surprised me when he asked to see me again. What he didn’t know was since I last saw him, I’d stalked all of his profiles.
“You take lots of selfies,” I mentioned casually.
“And you don’t?” Stenton replied just as coolly as he dipped his middle finger in his cup of water, swishing it around.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen your timeline and photo albums.”
“Are you stalking me?” My heart stammered in my chest. Why that made me paranoid was beyond me.
“No more than you are me,” his voice remained even as his eyes slowly aligned with mine. “You noted my massive amounts of selfies.”
“I was simply pointing out your vanity. You know they associate excessive amounts of selfies with narcissism, right?”
Stenton picked up his drink as he chuckled. “Well, in my case it’s called business; more specifically, marketing. My publicists pushed for more candid shots on social networks to give the illusion of intimacy. It makes fans feel closer to me...like they actually know me. But if you, my perceptive Elizabeth, look closer—at each picture, you’ll notice they don’t give away shit about me personally. I’m just a sideshow act. I’m not expressing myself; I give the people what they want to see.”
Hmmmmm…
Expressing narcissism to give the illusion of intimacy? Is that what celebrities do? Is it necessary to protect who they really are? This was a hard theory to swallow considering all of the selfies and candid shots I’d seen of him. He seemed to be in his home, the gym and public places, but he was right; they never gave a clue as to who this man was other than his alleged vanity, something that I don’t pick up at all when with him. Who is the real Stenton Rogers? Was he the guy in all the pictures, smiling and appearing well socialized? Or was he the man who secretly invited me to a diner close to midnight in Kingston, a place I’d never heard of until then?
As we were seated in a small booth in the back of an empty section, I’d noticed he’d been quieter than usual tonight. I assumed he was preoccupied with something. I didn’t ask, though tempted to. I wondered if he felt the twinge of guilt that I had, knowing how Angela would feel about us being there together without her knowledge. No. That wouldn’t make any sense, considering he couldn’t give two craps about Angela. He’d only brought her up to express his confusion about our friendship now that he knows we’re actually family.