Wrong About the Guy

“We’ve gotten so close,” he said. “We basically think the same way about everything—”

“Well, not everything.” I cut him off with a forced laugh. “There’s that whole putting-fruit-on-frozen-yogurt thing that I still haven’t accepted about you.”

“Right,” he said. “I put fruit on mine and you put gummy worms on yours, and I’m the crazy one. Anyway—”

“Gummy worms are so much better. Just ask any eight-year-old you see. Well, any eight-year-old girl. Do little boys like sugar as much as little girls do? This is where not having a brother affects my knowledge. I mean, I do have a brother—duh—but he’s way too little. He doesn’t count. Plus he’s really weird about food. And doesn’t really talk.” I was chattering as fast as I could to keep him from saying more. His face kind of fell while I was talking; it was probably pretty obvious that I was trying to avoid having a serious conversation. “I’m really thirsty,” I said abruptly, and rose to my feet. “I told George to get me a Coke and then totally forgot about it. I’d better go back to the living room and make sure he’s not looking for me.”

“Okay,” Aaron said, and got up, too.

We abandoned our plates and moved back through the dining room. I threaded my arm in his, glancing up at him uncertainly. I couldn’t really acknowledge what had just happened because I hadn’t let him get far enough for us to talk about it openly. But I hoped the pressure of my arm told him that I understood what he had been trying to say, and that I did care about him—I just wasn’t ready for that kind of a talk yet.

It was a lot to try to squeeze into, well, a squeeze, but he smiled down at me without any noticeable resentment. Maybe he was relieved, too.

The Nussbaum brothers and Izzy were right where we had left them, but they had been joined by a tall, muscular guy dressed like Khal Drogo from Game of Thrones. He had the body for it, I’d give him that. Huge biceps.

“Hey!” I said to George. “You never brought me my drink!”

“I did bring you your drink,” he said irritably. “But you disappeared.”

“I’m still thirsty. Hint, hint.”

“Yeah, no,” he said.

“I’ll get it.” Aaron disentangled our arms and gave my hand a good-bye squeeze. I saw Jonathan and Izzy exchange a look and knew they were misreading the situation. “Diet Coke, right?”

“You might want to tie her down first,” George said. “She disappears.”

“I always want to tie her down,” Aaron said with a gallant leer, and left.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” George said to no one in particular.

“I’m Ricky,” said the artist formerly known as Khal Drogo, holding his hand out to me.

“Ellie.” I shook it.

“How do you know the Marquands?”

“My stepfather’s friends with them.”

“And who is your stepfather?”

It was a perfectly reasonable question; he had no way of knowing that it made my whole body tighten. “Luke Weston,” I said, and his eyes got suddenly wide, so I quickly said, “How do you know the Marquands?”

“I’m Crystal’s trainer.”

“You must be good. Her abs are incredible.”

“I am good. So . . .” Ultra-casual tone. “Any chance you could introduce me to your stepdad? I have an idea for a show that would combine getting in shape with a singing contest. I wouldn’t bother him—just two minutes is all I need, and I know he’d love it.”

“Actually,” Jonathan intervened smoothly, “I’m the president of Luke’s production company. Why don’t you talk to me about it?” He glanced at George with a little head jerk that seemed to send a message, because George instantly said, “Come on, Ellie. We can’t be here when Aaron comes back with your drink, or you’ll make it too easy for him.”

I was happy to say good-bye and slip away with him.

“That was annoying,” George said as we found an empty spot across the room from them.

“Yeah. I hate stuff like that.”

“You deal with it well.”

“Jonathan dealt with it, not me.”

“I mean in general. The whole fame and Luke thing. It doesn’t seem to affect you too much one way or another.”

“Thanks.” I leaned against the wall, and felt the hanging silk fabric bunch up behind my back. “But it does, in a way. Like . . . I’m tired of people at school trying to be friends with me just so they can meet Luke.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“All the time. There’s this one girl right now who—Oh, there’s my drink!” Aaron had spotted us and was coming over with a cup in his hand. “You see?” I said to George. “He had no problem finding me.”

“Clearly I lack his skill and perseverance,” George said. “Excuse me.” He walked away as Aaron approached.

“Was it something I said?” Aaron asked, nodding in his direction.

“I made him feel bad that you brought me my drink and he didn’t.”

“You’re a harsh mistress.” He handed me my soda. “And speaking of harsh mistresses, my soulless, bloodsucking stepmother just said I have to keep mingling. You know I wouldn’t leave your side if I didn’t have to, right?”

“Fly,” I said. “Be free.”

“I will come back to you,” he said, clutching his heart. “I will find you and come back to you.” He held out his hand and I held out mine and we did a whole melodramatic thing where we pretended to be reaching for each other as he backed away, then he suddenly rushed back. “It hurts to say good-bye,” he said, and grabbed me around the waist, bent me backward, and planted a pseudo-passionate kiss right on my startled lips. “I couldn’t just leave,” he said as he released me.

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