Maggie lets out a whoop. Brooke is smiling too, but I can’t help thinking there’s still something hesitant about it. Is she thinking that the itch-scratching was a bad idea after all?
“And I’m totally fine in this area too,” I add, making a sweeping motion over my chest as if to indicate nothing has stuck in my heart. Ha. “It’s just for now. Just for fun. I’m just making the most of it, no strings attached.”
“What would you do if he wanted strings attached?” Brooke asks.
I pause. That isn’t a question I was expecting. “I, ah, I guess—I wouldn’t say no. He won’t, though. He said he only does casual. He hasn’t said anything to suggest he wants anything more than that with me.”
“Don’t get her thinking down those lines,” Maggie chides Brooke. “She’s got to protect her feelings first.” She turns to me. “Take what he’s offering, don’t get wrapped up in possibilities. That’s my advice.”
“Right, of course,” Brooke says, but I can’t help suspecting my bestie sees right through my facade, to the way my heart leapt at her question. If only. But I can’t dwell on that.
“Enough about me,” I say briskly. “Let’s get this wedding stuff done so you have absolutely nothing to think about during the bachelorette tonight except having the time of your life.”
“Here’s to that!” Maggie says, raising a card holder as if to toast the thought.
My pulse starts skipping when I arrive at the lunch buffet a couple hours later, but Will is nowhere to be found. I eat slowly, making small talk with some of Brooke’s extended family. Finally, I give in and send him a quick text under the table.
All work and no lunch?
He responds a moment later. Had to order room service. Back-to-back meetings. Another one in a minute. Would much rather be servicing you.
I swallow a snort. Is that something I can order on the menu?
A private one, only available to you via this number. Just tell me where you want me.
I’ll take everywhere you were last night.
I’m sure I can do better than that. What happened to my interplanetary adventuress?
I smirk so wide I think it’s better if I outright leave the table. Ducking into a corner, I reply, Reliving fond memories of my ride on your rocket. But if you figure you can take me even higher, I’ll happily board another flight.
That shouldn’t turn me on as much as it just did. And, fuck, my 2 o’clock is here. I’ll notify you when Mission: Rock Ruby’s World is prepared for take off.
Wet and ready when you are, I text back.
All he sends in response is a devil emoji.
Now I’m all worked up with nothing to do about it. Maybe I should get some actual work done too. I didn’t check any of my online channels yesterday.
I grab my laptop and stake out my favorite spot on the pool deck. No one says you can’t soak up some rays while also taking care of business, after all.
I log into my YouTube account and immediately see an alert for a video mentioning “Kenneth the Krunk” from just ten minutes ago. And another from just a few minutes before that. Hmmm. He didn’t have a new song or performance scheduled to go up. But he has been known to veer off script.
Yet another alert pops up as I’m clicking through to the full list. The title: Who would have thought The Krunk was a weepy country boy?
Oh shit. Before I can even start to figure out how my improvised fix a few days ago went wrong, my phone trills with the emergency ringtone.
Chapter Twenty
“The lawyer says there’s nothing we can do about it,” Kenneth’s mom mutters to me over the phone. “ ‘As soon as something is on the internet, it’s forever.’ Very helpful.”
“Unfortunately, he’s basically right.” I plop down onto the end of my bed and re-open my laptop. The current catastrophe needs too much of my attention to handle it poolside. On my screen, an image of a boy who can’t be more than fifteen, with spiked up hair and Sharpie-drawn tattoos, jabs his finger at the viewer from the paused video.
“I thought we’d confirmed that Kenneth’s friend had deleted the video,” I said. “How did it get out anyway?”
“Oh, apparently another guy in the group who’s always been a little jealous of how well Ken is doing grabbed it off Darryl’s phone without him realizing. That group of them . . .” She sighs. Kenneth’s mom totally wishes her son were just a sweet country-loving boy. “Is this going to hurt his music career—wherever he could have taken it, I mean? He’s moping around here as if the world just ended.”
“I think we can smooth this over,” I say. The wheels in my head are already spinning. “We just have to work it right—and fast. Can you put Kenneth on?”
It takes a minute, and then Kenneth’s voice carries through the line, sounding at least twice as hangdog as last time. “Hi, Ruby.”
“Hello, Mr. Krunk.” Calling him that usually gets me a chuckle at bare minimum. Not so much today. I smile crookedly and barrel onward. “Don’t get so down about this. We’re going to spin it our way.”
“How?” he demands. “That video’s already gotten over a million views! And there’s already, like, fifty other videos up talking about how pathetic I am. I totally had cred, I am never coming back from this.”
The certainty of youth. “Oh, you are,” I say. “You’re coming back from it today. If you’re up for it.”
“Okay . . .” he says in that teenager-y way, but he sounds like he’s ready to listen now.
“You do actually like that song, right?”
“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I wanted the whole scene to know it.”
I lean back on the bed. “Sure, but they do now. So you know what a real pro does when some truth comes out that could be seen as embarrassing? He owns it. He makes it sound like it’s ridiculous that anyone would think he should be embarrassed. He pulls it right back into his brand and shows it shouldn’t change how anyone thought about him, except maybe for the better.”
“So you want me to talk about how awesome I think Harlan Everett is?” Kenneth says doubtfully.
“Nah. Talking isn’t enough. You need to give them something with a punch—something that’ll stick in people’s memories instead of that karaoke video and the stupid things people are saying about it. I’m thinking maybe . . . You’ve done medleys and mash-ups using songs that aren’t hip hop before, right? Could you make that work with this song? Incorporate it into your own style? Make it cool to your fans.”
Kenneth pauses. “I guess . . . Yeah. Yeah, I could totally do that. I actually had an idea the other day—I changed my mind because I was worried—but like you said, it’s already out there.”
“Exactly!” I say. “Pull that together as quickly as you can, do a little intro talking about how every kind of music has stuff worth loving in it and what you love about Everett’s, and we’ll get that up to ten times as many views. I promise. Just be real and believe in what you’re saying, and your fans will believe it too.”