Killer says a quick good-bye and leaves, and I sigh as I feel the rattle of the front door closing. Jace strides away from the desk area and collapses on the couch. With Killer gone, I guess we’re back to normal: Jace awkwardly avoiding conversation with me, and me pretending I don’t notice.
I glance back at the desktop screen one more time, trying to find meaning in the words. Googling the phrase would get me an easy answer, but I don’t want to give Jace the satisfaction of knowing I care enough to bother researching it.
Jace waves at me to get my attention, and then scowls at the computer as he signs, “I’m going to need to use that for a bit.”
“Are you going to write?” I ask. After reading most of his lyrics, I’m curious about his process for creating them.
He shakes his head. “I only write lyrics freehand. I never type them until they’re finished.” He grimaces at the computer. “I’m just going to be working on marketing. My manager set me up with a bunch of social media accounts, so now I’m supposed to spend a few hours every week charming fans with my delightful personality.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re sure you shouldn’t hire a new manager? Because you are neither charming or delightful.”
He shrugs, but doesn’t bother protesting. “I just respond to the messages about my music, and try to ignore all the other ones.”
“Ignoring people is also not charming or delightful,” I sign, giving him a pointed look. I’m not exactly sure why he’s been avoiding me the last couple days, but if he gets the hint that I’m annoyed, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his eyes suddenly widen, like he’s been struck with an idea.
He points to me. “But you are.”
“I’m what?”
“Charming. Delightful.” He raises his eyebrows. “And hopefully merciful enough to take over my social media duties.”
I shoot him a skeptical look. “You want me to post on your accounts?”
“Yes,” he signs. “It’ll be easy for you, I promise. Just reply to messages from fans and pretend to love everyone and be super excited.”
As I consider this, my stomach lets out a growl. I haven’t eaten in a while, but I don’t even want to go into the kitchen and grab food. All Jace has to eat are things like sesame seed crackers and seaweed sticks and carob chips. In other words, disgusting stuff I’d never touch in a million years.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I say out loud. “I’ll do your social media stuff if you get me a bowl of mac and cheese. And not some gross healthy version. I mean the good stuff with ten thousand carbs and chemical cheese.”
He cringes at the thought. “I’m not going to let you poison yourself as part of our deal.”
“Too bad. Either get me mac and cheese, or do your social media on your own.”
Jace lets out a relenting sigh and signs, “Jon always keeps like ten boxes of that stuff around.”
“So do we have a deal?” I ask.
He smiles a little, and it makes me remember why I decided to trust him in the first place. His smile makes him seem real and genuine, not to mention extremely handsome. I realize I’m staring at him, and glance away, my cheeks flushing with heat.
He chuckles and signs, “I’ll get you your mac and cheese. It’s a deal.”
17
JACE
ALI TURNS OUT to be a natural at social media. Her responses to fans sound personalized and thoughtful, and to keep things interesting, she throws in quite a bit of self-deprecating humor. Or, at least, it would be self-deprecating if I was the one actually writing the messages. Coming from Ali, I think it’s subtle payback for flipping her off when I first met her, but it’s not like I have any right to complain.
She spends the whole evening answering messages and shooting me victorious looks as she munches on her mac and cheese. I hang out on the couch and practice one of our newer songs, although my attention keeps drifting away from my guitar and back to Ali. Sitting there at the desk, her slim legs crossed and her head tilted in concentration, she looks more attractive than ever. Not just cute, not just beautiful, but confident and intelligent.
I keep wandering over to peer at what she’s doing, and she doesn’t move away from me as I look over her shoulder at the messages on the screen. She’s obviously at ease working with computers, and it gives her a sort of calmness I haven’t ever seen before. It’s getting late, and I pack away my guitar, but I don’t suggest she stop for the night. Ali seems to be enjoying herself for once, and I don’t want to ruin that.
I grab the TV remote resting haphazardly on the couch’s arm. From the bedroom, Cuddles lets out a bored whine, and I know I should probably take her out on a run. But I turn on the TV instead, deciding that bringing out Cuddles is just going to make Ali nervous.
I flick to the news channel and let myself zone out. News stories flash by on the screen, one by one, some of them happy, but most of them depressing as hell. Then a red banner appears at the bottom of the screen, along with the words “AMBER ALERT.”