Flirting With Fame (Flirting With Fame) (6 page)

Yet love is the thing we want.

The honeysuckle we need to taste upon our lips . . .

I shifted my gaze from the stage. That was about all I could take of that. I started placing bets in my head about how many poems would contain either love or death.

Despite the fact that I wrote fiction about young lovers, I’d never been in love. I wasn’t even sure the kind of love I conjured in my books existed. My fingers slipped under my carefully placed mane and fingered the scar on my cheek. Not many heroes clamored after the girl who was broken.

Another nudge in my side brought me back to reality. Reggie glowered at me. She clapped her hands and motioned for me to do the same. I glanced at the stage. The girl had finally finished her ballad about love and headed back to her seat. One down, I had no idea how many more to go. How long did these things last, anyway?

Hoodie boy moved back to the stage, but this time the mic blocked his mouth from me. Not that it mattered. He was probably telling us we were in for more shitty poetry. I took another sip of coffee and urged the elixir to get me through this.

At the other end of the couch, Clint stood and straightened his beige vest. I shot a questioning look at Reggie and she grinned. With all the swagger of John Wayne, Clint made his way onto the stage.

“What the—?” I said.

Reggie placed her index finger over her lips.

Clint pulled a crinkled piece of paper out of his back pocket and I immediately recognized his unruly handwriting filling the front and back of the page. He held a hand to his mouth and his body jerked in what I assumed was a cough.

Gripping the paper with both hands, he raised it and began to read:

In the West we were wild

In the West we were free

We drank in saloons

And tied our horses to trees

In the West we downed whiskey

In the West we fought hard

We paced five times at dawn

In the town’s dusty yard

I would like to go back

To that old Wild West

To tip my hat to the maidens

To duel with the best

To ride with the heroes

Or maybe on my own

’Cause I’ve always felt, deep inside,

The Wild West is my home.

I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop a giggle and glanced at Reggie. She seemed transfixed by the performance. She gaped at me and I dropped my hand into my lap.

“He’s so good!” she said.

My body shook as I tried to contain my laughter. I could only manage to nod at her proclamation. Reggie jumped up from the couch and burst into applause. I fixed a smile on my face and clapped as Clint bowed and left the stage, his cheeks flushed and eyes glowing beneath the brim of his hat.

My roommate threw her arms around his neck the moment he reached the couch. His eyes widened and he limply hugged her back before giving me a questioning look over her shoulder.

Unsure of how to react to a poetry success, I gave him a thumbs-up and said, “Great job.”

“You really liked it?” he asked after Reggie had untangled her limbs from his.

“Sure.” I swallowed the last of my coffee, grimacing as a few bitter grounds bit into my tongue. I set the cup on the table in front of us. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

At least that was true.

“Well, that makes my night,” Clint said. “Nothing like the approval of a beautiful woman.”

“Uh, sure,” I said.

He and Reggie sat down at the same time and the couch protested by pushing up into my rear and almost jolting me out of my seat.

It was as good a time as any to make my way to the restrooms. Apparently the coffee had already kicked in. After scouting out the red light in the shape of a dress, I excused myself and maneuvered through the crowd.

When I was two people away from the door and my bladder was about to rejoice, something buzzed against my leg.

Jin had the best timing.

Prying my phone out of my pocket, I squinted at the screen, my eyes focusing and refocusing as the white light attacked my retinas.

Not Jin. My agent. What on earth could she want at this time on a Saturday?

I tapped the screen to open her e-mail, only to have someone poke me in the back. It was finally my turn to use the facilities.

A tall blonde graciously held the door for me and I slipped past her into the dark recess of the bathroom. Flickering fluorescent lights blinked overhead as I locked the door and returned my focus to the screen.

“Fuck.”

The word had become all too familiar with messages from my agent lately. I almost felt bad for Steph. She was probably so sure the news she relayed was cause for excitement. She had no way of knowing her client’s stomach dropped with every word.

Hi Elise! Just wanted to let you know the studio is so excited about the VM show, they bumped up the filming dates because they want to have it out for next season. Production starts in two weeks! I’ll be forwarding you the filming schedule and locations once I get them from the director. I’m so excited for you and VM! Speaking of, how’s the last book coming? I can’t wait to read it!

The words faded in and out of my vision like the crappy bathroom lighting.

Two weeks.

I had two weeks to figure out what to do. And if I couldn’t come up with something, everything I’d worked for would unravel around me.

M
y legs buckled under me, and I sank onto the cool porcelain of the toilet, all thoughts of the reason I’d originally entered the bathroom vanishing from my mind.

I had no idea what to do. I could tell her I was sick. They certainly wouldn’t want a sick person around the stars. But filming lasted more than the week a fake illness would remain believable. I could come clean to my agent and maybe she’d be able to figure something out. But that was probably beyond the scope of her job, and it hardly seemed fair to put my mistakes on her. Besides that, I had no idea what the legal repercussions could be. She’d probably cancel my contract—or worse, sue me for leading her astray about who I really was.

I stood and pocketed my phone before moving to the sink. The cool water soothed my warm cheeks as I splashed it across my face. Cursing at the empty paper towel dispenser, I wiped my face on my sleeve and opened the door to find a fuming redhead in my line of vision.

“What took you so long?” she asked. “Didn’t you hear me pounding on the door?”

“Nope.” I walked away before she could answer.

Skirting the crowd, I found Reggie yapping to a bored-looking Clint. He practically leaped into my arms when he spotted me.

“Elise, darlin’. Everything all right? You’re lookin’ mighty pale.”

“Not really.” I cleared my throat. “I’m heading back. I’m not feeling so hot.”

“Oh no,” Reggie said. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just a headache. I need to lie down.”

“Well, I should walk you home then.” Clint moved closer, concern marking his clear eyes. “It’s getting late and I can’t have you wanderin’ the campus alone.”

I glanced at Reggie, the brightness disappearing from her eyes as she pouted at me. “Really?” she asked. “But it’s still early. I’m not ready to go yet.”

“You know what,” I said to Clint, “I’m okay. It’s really not far and my mother made me take so many self-defense classes, I’d feel sorry for anyone who even attempts to attack me. I’ll be fine.”

Clint pursed his lips and tapped the cleft in his chin. He shook his head, the shadow of his hat twisting on the wall behind him. “Nope. Can’t do it. I can’t let a beautiful woman walk home alone in the dark, darlin’. It’s not the gentlemanly thing to do.” He nodded at Reggie. “You keep our seats warm. I’ll be back when Elise is safe at home.”

Reggie opened her mouth like she might protest, then stilled as a knowing smile crossed her lips. “Sure. You walk her to the dorm, and then it’ll be just the two of us. Sounds cozy.”

She popped up from the couch and gave me a hug, her warm curves mashing against my straight-backed angles. “Feel better soon,” she said when she’d pulled back. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I followed Clint through the crowd, admiring the way he eased between the bodies without hesitation. When we reached the exit, I turned and gave Reggie a small wave. She wiggled three fingers back at me, her eyes firmly secured to the cowboy. Oblivious to it all, Clint pushed open the door, and we walked out into the night.

•   •   •

Exiting the suffocating heat of the café was like being reborn. I sucked in cool air and lifted my hair to let the breeze tickle my neck. Above me, stars dotted the sky with pale white light. Fresh-cut grass and the papery smell of transforming leaves lingered in the air as we started in the direction I hoped led to my dorm. I mulled over the e-mail from my agent again.

Two weeks. That wasn’t a lot of time.

I desperately wanted to reach out to Jin and freak out with him, but when I’d looked at his Facebook earlier, he’d just checked in at a popular NYC club I’d read about online. He’d also tagged some guy named Zachary and a bunch of other people I’d never met and indicated he was in for the night of his life.

So that took him out of the running as the person to help me through this crisis. That left exactly . . . no one.

Clint tapped me on the shoulder. “Everythin’ okay, darlin’? You seem preoccupied.”

“It’s nothing.”

“That’s a lie, and we both know it.” We took a left and he regarded me under the white glow of a lamppost. “I’m a good listener. Why don’t you try me?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I wouldn’t even know where to start, cowboy. It’s not really something I can explain.”

“Hmm, okay. Well, you like books and stuff, right?”

“Yeah.” I wrinkled my nose. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You said you don’t know where to start. So tell it to me like one of those books you love. Start from the beginning.”

I almost choked at just how close he was to my actual issue. An idea formed in my head. Clint might’ve been onto something. I needed to talk to someone, and Jin wasn’t available. Maybe there was a way to do this without giving myself away.

“Actually,” I said, “it is a story. A short story I’m writing for one of my classes. I can’t figure out where to go with it.”

“Okay, why don’t you tell me the story?”

“It doesn’t have any cowboys or duels in it.”

“Oh.” His shoulders drooped with a sigh as we took another right by a tree that looked somewhat familiar. “Well, you’ve still got time to change it. But tell me anyway.”

I took a long breath and formulated my thoughts. “So my character is super shy. Almost debilitatingly so. She panics when she’s in groups of people and meeting someone new makes her want to move to a remote island somewhere.”

“Your story wouldn’t happen to be about you, now, would it?”

My lips twitched. “Well, she’s maybe a little like me, but she’s not me. Anyway, she . . . uh . . . she decides she wants to try dating, so she sets up an online dating profile.”

Clint cocked his head.

“I swear it’s not me,” I said. “So, the dating site asks for a photo and she’s not very confident about her looks, so she steals a picture of a gorgeous woman she finds on Google and uploads it. She figures she’ll never actually get a date, so what’s the harm?”

We reached the path to my dorm and I did a little happy dance inside my head, congratulating myself on remembering where the hell I lived.

“I feel bad for your character,” Clint said. “It’s mighty sad, don’t ya think?”

My heart shifted downward in my chest, as though someone had placed a weight on top of it. “Yeah, I guess it is. Anyway, she meets this guy online, and lo and behold, he falls head over heels for her. Like, he could be the one. He insists they meet in person and she really wants to go. Except for one thing.”

“He’s expectin’ the gorgeous girl from the picture.”

“Exactly,” I said. “So, what would you have her do?”

He stroked his chin and stared behind me. “Well, if this was real life, I’d tell her to suck it up and go meet him. If he really cares about her, he won’t be swayed by the fact she’s not the woman from the photo.”

“Right, but since it’s a story?”

“You’re dead set against adding a duel?”

I laughed. “Yes, cowboy. No duels.”

“Well, then, I’d want to make the story more interestin’. I’d probably make her track down the woman from the photo an’ teach her to be like her and go on the date. You know, like a modern-day Cyrano.”

“You don’t like stories without duels, but you know Cyrano de Bergerac?”

“Sword fights count. Besides, it’s an epic love story. Cyrano believes he’s so ugly, he secretly helps another man court Roxane—the lady they both love—just so he has the chance to speak to her. It’s tragic, an’ if I recall, it didn’t end well for him.”

“I remember.” I swallowed the knot in my throat. “But I still think that’s how this story needs to go. Hopefully it has a happier ending. So how would you have her track the woman down? She grabbed the original picture off Google. It’s like trying to find a needle in the world’s biggest haystack.”

“Well, couldn’t she just use the same search parameters to find the photo again and trace the website it came from? Or maybe a reverse image search? Chances are, the gal’s name is somewhere. Probably Facebook or somethin’ like that.”

I rocked on my heels. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. It’s so freaking simple.”

“Of course—”

“Of course, what?”

“Well, this gal has to go along with the idea of playin’ someone else. She could be hard to convince.”

I thought back to the night at Bookworm and the mysterious woman who signed my books. “I don’t think it’ll be too hard. She’s looking for fame—er, love—as well.”

“Well, then, I think you got it, darlin’.” He nodded to my dorm. “This your place?”

“Yeah.” I started up the stairs only to find him right behind me. When I turned to say good night, my chest brushed against his, he was that close. “Uh, well, thanks for the company on the walk home. I really appreciate it. ’Night, cowboy.”

If I were the kind of girl who’d been kissed a lot, I might have seen it coming. But I’d barely finished speaking when Clint’s lips came at me. His mouth was soft at first, then firming with each second. I gasped in surprise, and his lips parted along with mine, his tongue searching. He tasted like coffee and sugar cookies from the café—sweet, with a hint of something more exotic.

Clint gripped my waist and pulled me closer, pressing deeper with his tongue. I placed my hands on his shoulders, marveling at their girth. He exhaled into my mouth, sending shivers through my body.

My phone buzzed against my thigh, and I took that moment to push him away, my heart and my head racing in tandem.

I pried my phone from my pocket as I tried to figure out how to respond. A text blinked up at me:

REGGIE:
Have you sent the hot cowboy back to me yet? I can’t wait to have him all to myself, lol!

I bit my still swollen lips. Right. Reggie. It was obvious she liked him. Back at the café, she’d seemed ready to pick out wedding china. Or wedding hay bales. Whatever it was cowboys registered for when they got married. She barely knew him, but I was sure that my showing up in our room with him on my arm in the first week would be a bad way to start the year together. Not to mention the fact that everything was falling apart around me, and I had no clue how to handle it. I couldn’t exactly pull someone into all my crap when my future now relied on a simple Google search.

“Clint,” I said. “I’m flattered, really. But . . .”

The hurt in his eyes ran like jagged claws across my heart. “I’m not lovin’ the sound of that ‘but,’ Elise.”

“But I . . . Things are just really complicated right now. I’m still trying to figure things out. I mean, I really like you. You’re an amazing guy, and I can’t believe I’m even saying this because guys don’t just kiss me like that, and I should probably shut up because my friend Jin would be furious at me for not taking a chance and—”

Clint’s finger shot to my lips, cutting me off midsentence. “You’re ramblin’ darlin’.”

I mumbled an apology against his finger and his hand returned to his side.

“If time is what you need, time is what you’ll get,” he said. “But maybe decide sooner than later. Goods like this tend to get snapped up quickly.”

He straightened his shirt and winked at me.

I giggled, the tension easing out of my back at his understanding. “Got it. Thanks, cowboy.” Leaning forward, I planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “And thanks for the talk.”

“It was my pleasure. Good night, sweet Elise. Sleep well, and good luck with your story.”

“’Night, Clint.”

I shook my head as he disappeared down the stairs and into the night, trying to rid myself of the sensation of his formidable lips and hands. I didn’t have time to think about what had just happened and what it all meant. What I really needed was my laptop. My fingers tapped against my leg, itching for the keys.

It was time to find myself.

•   •   •

When my editor first started badgering me for a photo three years ago, I’d run to my computer and tried to find someone the exact opposite of me. A search for “gorgeous brunettes” took me first to a whole bunch of sites and photos I’d rather have forgotten, but I’d finally stumbled upon the one I chose. She was the first girl I could find who had a look about her that said, “I’m super pretty, but I’m also smart enough to write a book.”

“Gorgeous brunettes” once again brought me to photos of girls looking for dates and more, so I filtered my search with words like “emerald eyes,” “high cheekbones,” and “too perfect to be real.” I clicked through hundreds of images before finally coming to the conclusion that I was never going to find the original again. Even Clint’s suggestion of a reverse image search came up empty—and Google usually had an answer for
everything
.

Resisting the urge to hurl my laptop across the room, I decided to start with where I’d first learned she’d been impersonating me all this time. I typed in my pen name and “Bookworm,” which littered my screen with results. I scrolled through pictures of the woman at the bookstore, signing my books. Of course, since everyone thought she was me, no one was helpful enough to actually provide me with her real name.

The bulk of the photos belonged to a guy who owned a bunch of Aubrey Lynch fan sites. I followed one link to a Facebook fan page.

Since I’d spent much of my career hiding from my fans, I’d also resisted stalking them. I’d been curious, of course, but also afraid. People could be cruel when they were allowed to hide behind a keyboard. I had enough cruelty hurled directly at my face. I didn’t need it online, too.