Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LAKE

118 bobas left until we both die …

There’s a guy sitting at my table—drinking my boba.

I shuffle over and point at the condensation ring on my half of the table, where my drink was sitting when I left. I draw a dotted line with my finger, outlining the space where a delicious watermelon fruit tea with popping boba was calling my name.

“What the hell, Thomas?” I ask, because I could recognize him from across a crowded room. Not in any romantic sort of way, but because I’ve been to … what are we at now? … dozens of his concerts. Watched hundreds of hours (only when Joules wasn’t looking) of his videos. Studied him on flashcards. Hated him and wished I had anyone else on planet Earth as a Match.

I realize after a few seconds of processing my boba-related anger that the once bustling shop is now empty. Employees stand behind the counter, clustered together and giggling. Ah. I see. Right. Because Tam Eyre isn’t just a man; he’s a king; he’s a god. He has millions of worshippers and billions of streams on his latest music video.

I sigh and pull out my chair.

“Are you drinking my boba?” I ask him before I sit down, completely aghast at his lack of manners. “I only have one-hundred-and-eighteen bobas left until I die.”

I should say ‘we’. We only have one-hundred-and-eighteen bobas left until we both die.

Tam peers up at me, a black beanie stuffed over his strawberry hair. It fluffs out from beneath, sticking in every which way it wants. I wonder if he woke up like that or if he spent twenty-minutes in the mirror trying to make it look like he woke up that way. Hmm.

“Sorry, I’ll get you another drink. Same kind?” He points at the watermelon flavored drink, and I frown. Tam Eyre isn’t supposed to like watermelon … but what if Thomas does? I make a note of it. I knew it. I was right!

I nod at him, and he rises from his chair like a … yeah, a dancer. Shit. That’s exactly what he is, isn’t he?

I cross my arms to wait, but the exchange at the counter certainly gets my attention.

Tam pulls a Sharpie from his pocket and starts signing empty cups. The girls clutch the cups to their chests, talking hurriedly over one another. He grins at them and leans in, elbow on the counter, chin on his hand. That cocky ass. His posture says you want me, and it’s okay, I want you, too. I almost choke on the absurdity of it.

He laughs—far too loudly—and then swaggers his way back to the table.

My lip is curled in blatant disgust, and Tam pauses with one hand on the back of his chair. He’s frowning at me. I should be happy that he’s even looking at me at all, but … I just don’t like him. And not in a sexy I-hate-you-so-much-that-I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off way. Just simple dislike.

“You remind me of my brother,” I whisper, and Tam slumps down into his chair. He pushes the drink aside, rests his elbows on the surface of the table, and leans in toward me the way he leaned in at the girls. Only, this time, he isn’t smiling. His plush lower lip is slightly puffed out, and the corners of his award-winning smile have flipped upside-down.

“In what ways?” he asks, and I blink in surprise. This is not the conversation that I expected to be having. Like the last few times, I assumed I would need to essentially plead for a sliver of his time. I was even willing to get on my knees and beg.

This is better. This way, I have some dignity left. I glare at him as he picks up the drink again and sucks on it. I can see the exact moment that he ends up with popping boba in his mouth because he starts to smile again.

I could tell him that it’s sunshine in a cup, but then he’d get up and run away for sure.

I switch tactics abruptly. I do not want to tell him how he reminds me of Joules. Nothing good would come out of my mouth.

“What are you doing here?” I ask instead, and he gapes at me around the lavender straw. It’s still mostly stuck in his mouth, but his lips are fully parted now. Long lashes bat in surprise, and I see that they’re black. His brows, too. I’ve been wondering for a while if his brows are dyed or if his hair is dyed. I was getting conflicting stories online.

“Um. What am I doing here?” He looks baffled, gaze shifting to the front of the room where two men stand on either side of the doorway. Daniel and … Jacob, I believe? Something like that. Bodyguard and manager, if I remember correctly. I nod in greeting. “Well.” Tam reaches up and yanks his beanie off, and his pink-tinted hair wafts angelically around his handsome face. “I just came here on a whim, and you happened to be here.”

I nod at that, crossing my arms over my chest.

A meet-cute.

Finally, a good one.

“You said that if you had five minutes alone with me, that you’d tell me why it was so important for us to meet that you threw a note at my head.” He smiles at me, but it isn’t a very nice smile. No, it’s that same I don’t like you either smile.

Fine. We’re not love-at-first-sight types. That’s okay. In 1988, one of my relatives broke the curse with her Match within five minutes of being introduced. But in 2008, her daughter didn’t break the curse until the last minute—literally. The exact final minute. When we find our Matches, we use a formula to tell us the literal second that we’ll die: 365.2422 days after activating the curse. One rotation of Earth around the sun.

I’m going to need every minute of mine.

Every.

Minute.

Tam looks … I don’t know. Bored? Fidgety? Creeped out? He stares at me, and then he shivers, like I’m a wolf spider with a thousand babies stuck to my back. I put my palms down on the table and lean in toward him the way he leaned in toward me.

“Did you ever once in your life pick up a note that a girl—or anyone else for that matter—threw at you?”

Tam stares back at me like he’s honestly considering the question. After a minute, he shakes his head once and takes another sip of his stolen boba.

“Never.”

“So why did you pick up mine?” I sit back up and sigh, crossing my arms again. “I’ll tell you why: the curse. It forces us into meet-cutes. That’s why I was sitting here when you showed up. It’s why you picked up my note. It’s probably also why you gave me a ride the other night.”

“I was worried that you’d be assaulted,” Tam corrects, and I laugh at that.

I look longingly in the direction of the counter and the three remaining boba shop employees. If I don’t get some boba in me, I’m going to be cranky for the entirety of this conversation. I turn back to him, trying to figure out the easiest way to explain this. I’ve done it before, to all of my friends, to random people when I’ve had too many beers on Dickson Street.

“If you don’t love me, we both die—please help me,” Tam quotes from memory, and my brows go up. Okay, now that isn’t the curse. That’s all him. Did I peg him correctly? Our first few meetings made me think that maybe he was the type to let curiosity kill the cat.

Thinking maybe I was right about that.

“Here you go, Tam,” the employee chirps, bouncing over to us with her ponytail swinging. She can’t be more than eighteen, and she gives me the nastiest look before placing the drink on the table in front of him.

“Aww, thank you,” he tells her, turning and beaming at her. “I really appreciate your hard work.”

I try not to roll my eyes. It’s an effort.

“Can I get a photo?” she asks, and he hesitates briefly before nodding. The girl basically throws herself into his lap, and his bodyguard takes several steps forward. Tam waves him off, and then makes a heart shape against either of his cheeks by curling his fingers inward at the top. The girl snaps about three-dozen photos and a thirty-second video before she leaves.

Tam tries his best to hide it, but he sighs and relaxes a bit when she’s gone.

Good sign, right? He might not like me, but he doesn’t see me as an energy vampire either.

I reach my hand out for the boba, but Tam slams his hand over the top of mine.

Our eyes lock.

I narrow mine.

“You have five minutes. Again. I gave you five minutes before, and I wasn’t convinced. Try me now.”

I try to yank on the boba, but he won’t let me have it.

“Ugh, you’re a dick,” I grumble, and Tam’s eyes widen like he’s never heard such a thing directed his way before. I release the drink and lean my back against the chair, fingers digging into my thighs. “You cursed me. There. Are you happy?”

“I … cursed you?” he asks, and now he looks substantially less interested in what I have to say. This is so stupid. I give up on trying to balance myself around him. Maybe he’s the one who needs to shore up?

“Well, not technically. Technically, it was some random person or event about three-hundred years ago. Nobody knows, and I’m not wasting my life in pursuit of the origin. Doesn’t matter. All I care about is not dying. So there you have: my entire family is cursed.”

Tam slides my boba over to me, but he keeps the straw for the time being, toying around with it.

“I have to say, it seems like you don’t like me,” Tam hedges, interrupting the flow of the conversation. His hands go still, and he lifts his attention from the straw to my face. “If I’m being honest, it seems like you actively dislike me. Why are you following my tour around?”

Crap. I do dislike him, but he isn’t supposed to know that. I have to make this guy fall in love with me or else I’m drinking exactly one-hundred-and-eighteen bobas before I keel over.

“It’s not that I dislike you,” I lie, taking my phone out and searching for facts about Tam online. I turn the screen in his direction, and he glances down at it warily. Man. What has this guy been through? He looks like someone who’s prepared to fight off a would-be attacker at any given moment. Maybe he’s doing exactly that? “None of these things is true, is it?”

Tam leans back and then takes his hoodie off, setting it aside. There’s a hunter green T-shirt underneath, and I sigh.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asks me, and I purse my lips.

“You say you hate green, and yet you’re wearing it right now.”

“It’s my day off,” he replies, clutching at the fabric and giving me a look. The way his hair curls around his face is honestly annoying.

“You said you don’t like watermelon, but you stole my boba. All of these things are lies; you aren’t even real.” I snort at that. It’s all bullshit, isn’t it? “What is there to dislike? You’re basically a book boyfriend, a figment of someone’s imagination.” I gesture at his hair. “Is this mussy just woke up look even real?”

He tucks his lower lip between his perfect teeth, reaching up a hand to tug at his hair. He makes a face and then snatches his beanie, pulling it back over his head.

“Yep.”

Silence.

We each wait for the other person to talk. Tam slings an arm over the back of the chair, shoulders thrown back, one leg kicked out to the side of the table, a pair of pale pink sneakers on his feet. Even now, that pose, it’s intentional.

Everything Tam does is calculated to deal maximum damage. He’s an idea, a bit of whimsy.

That makes me feel sad—for both of us. Is he lonely? I wonder, peering at him, trying to see something in him that might explain why the curse paired us up together. Which half of my family is right? The half that believes our curse Matches are soulmates? Or the other half, that thinks it’s entirely random and intended to be difficult?

“Look, I believe in honesty here, so I’m just going to lay it all out for you.” I spread my hands over the tabletop as he stays leaned back in his chair, straw in his mouth, beanie pulled low. Studying me. Analyzing me. Calculating things in his head.

For all that I thought Tam Eyre was ditzy and shallow, he’s shrewd and cunning. Didn’t see that one coming.

“Listening,” he murmurs, lids heavy and half-lidded. He looks like he’s about this close to asking me back to his place to Netflix and chill. But that’s all his Tam persona. Who the hell is Thomas, and is he someone I might like?

I refuse to let this curse kill me so … I guess we’re going to find out together.

“I’m not following the tour because of you per se.” I take in a deep breath and then hold out my hand for my straw, a challenge in my eyes. Tam hesitates, but then flicks the straw across the table at me like he’s afraid to touch me. Your butterflies are broken! I want to yell at him. The curse is supposed to make the Match feel more attracted to their partner, not less. My Match perceives me as a creep.

“I’m not here because I want to be: I’m here because of the curse,” I remind him, in case he somehow forgot in the last ten seconds. “In order to break the curse, I have to”—I can’t say woo, can’t say seduce, definitely can’t say romance—“get you to like me.”

More of that penetrating stare, more sucking on that boba straw. His lashes flutter prettily. The green in his irises is enhanced by the faux foliage in this fairy-tale themed shop. There are storybook pictures printed and framed on the wall, nursery rhymes on the floor. Personally, I hate it. Looks like a baby nursery to me.

My eyes drift to the red drink in his hand. Watermelon. My flashcards were useless.

I’m now realizing that Joules was right: nothing that I researched about Tam Eyre is true.

“Is your blood type even really O-negative?” I blurt, narrowing my eyes, and his smile hitches dangerously up on one side.

“I thought you didn’t like me?” he teases, and I grit my teeth.

“I don’t. But the curse …” I trail off and exhale, reaching up both hands to run them over my hair. I pull up my hoodie sleeve to show off the mark on my wrist, and I point at it. “Everyone in my family is born with this birthmark. When we’re matched by the curse—and that can happen just from hearing our Match’s voice the way it did with you—then it turns red. Every single person in the Frost family line has this mark or had this mark before they broke the curse by falling in love.”

Tam leans over to peer at it, but he doesn’t touch me, and he doesn’t look convinced.

“You know, every time I look at you, I get the chills,” he says, and I sigh.

“It’s the curse. One of the perks is supposed to be the butterflies, but I guess you perceive it as the creeps.” God, how is nothing about this moment going right? “Another one of those perks is meet-cutes.”

“Cursed meet-cutes?” he asks, and then he laughs. “Aren’t all meet-cutes cursed?” I have no idea what he means by that, and I frown.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” I repeat. “It’s because of the curse.”

“Is it? I was under the impression that I was here because I wanted to be.”

“You are not as nice as you look online.”

He shrugs.

“Is anybody, really?” Tam peers around the shop, and I panic, like I think he might leave, and I’ll never see him again. His expression is pure cocksureness. Joules is not going to like you, Tam Eyre. I dread the two of them spending any time together.

“Listen to me, Thomas.” The use of his real name seems to snap him to attention, and he shifts his eyes back to me. “You stole my watermelon bubble tea.” I point at the cup with an accusatory finger. “You’re not supposed to like watermelon which, you know, is a weird thing for you to say if it isn’t true.”

“My public relations guy thought it would be quirky and just controversial enough to spark conversation.” Tam continues to sip my drink, and I tell myself I’m not mesmerized by his lips wrapped around the straw. Book boyfriend. Pop star. He isn’t real, remember? He. Is. Not. Real.

Tam stands up suddenly, and I panic, rising to my feet with the scrape of wood chair legs over painted tile.

“Don’t leave,” I plead, a plaintive note in my voice that I can’t seem to control. I know I sound desperate. Not my goal. If I come across too strong, he’ll bolt and I’ll never see him again, and I’ll die. I won’t be around to help Joules when he gets his Match and … “Shit,” I whisper, rubbing at my face.

“I’m not going anywhere. Relax.” Tam’s voice softens slightly, surprising me, and I drop my hand by my side. I glare at him. “You know, you’re not the first person to pretend to dislike me in order to get close.” He winks, and I gape at him. “I’ll be right back.” Another pause. “And please don’t tell anyone about the watermelon thing.” He seems confused, like he’s unsure why he ever told me the truth in the first place.

Tam frowns to himself, rubbing his chin for a minute before he shakes his head and turns away from me. I study his back as he returns to the counter. His personality shifts almost instantly, from reserved and guarded to outgoing and fun loving.

“Fucker,” I curse under my breath, and then I notice that someone is standing on my left, just on the other side of the tree-pole thing. It’s hung with little fairy ornaments from the branches up top. I lean back to see Tam’s manager, Jacob, standing there like he’s waiting for me.

He holds out his iPad, his smile as patronizing as I’ve ever seen it. Uh-oh. You and me are going to have problems, buddy.

“NDA,” he says, and then, “nondisclosure agreement.” As if I don’t know what that is. I stare at him blankly, sip my boba. The sound it makes as it passes through the straw causes Jacob to shudder as if in pain. “Please sign this.”

“Nuh-uh. My mom is a paralegal, and she’s advised me to keep my signature to myself unless I’m prepared to do a lot of reading comprehension first.” I turn back toward Tam, leaned over the counter and laughing. He drags his teeth over his lip as he glances back at me, and I resist the urge to flip him off. It’ll feel good, for sure. But it won’t help me not die. And not dying is the absolute most important thing I need to do right now.

“Your mom is a paralegal?” Jacob repeats dryly, like he’s never heard such a ludicrous statement in his entire life.

“She was in the army, but then Joules came along and ruined everything.” I suck on my straw again, and my mouth is inundated with a half-dozen little bobas. The popping ones are fun because they explode in your mouth and leave tiny skins behind. There’s no other food like this in the whole world. Thank you, Taiwan, for such a wonderful invention. “My brother, Joules,” I add, in case Jacob didn’t get it. “My mom stayed home with us while my dad worked, and when we both hit high school, she became a paralegal.”

Jacob keeps staring at me. I imagine that if my head turned into lettuce, he wouldn’t stare any harder.

“Are you bothering my friend, Jake?” Tam asks, and I look over to see him clutching the back of his chair, his whole body leaned against it. Ankles crossed, expression playful. The way he stares at this Jacob guy, I can tell that they’re more than just manager-client. They’re … friends.

“Your friend?” Jacob repeats, just like he did with the paralegal thing. His expression when I turn back to him is less than pleasant. “You don’t even know this person.”

“Not yet.” Tam pulls his chair back out and folds himself gracefully into it, elbows on the table, hands clasped together. He shifts a look in Jacob’s direction. “You never let me make friends. Go away, Jake.”

“Call me Jake one more time—” Jacob begins, and then he snaps his mouth shut, like he very nearly let a state secret slip out. I roll my eyes and peel the film off the top of my boba cup. We’re at the point in the boba drinking process when the liquid is all gone, and the bobas are stuck to the ice at the bottom of said cup. “As soon as she signs this NDA, I’ll back off.”

“I’m not signing it unless I read it first—three times over. You can email it to me, and I’ll look into it.” I’m not even paying attention to Jacob anymore; I’m fixated on catching bobas with the end of my straw.

“That’s ridiculous. By then, this meeting will be over, and the chances of you two ever seeing one another again are next to nothing.”

“Jacob, please email her the NDA,” Tam says gently, and then he leans in a little closer, forcing me to look up and into his eyes. They’re pretty, a rare green color that he inherited from his dad (supposedly). I learned online that the man was from Scotland, a big redheaded Viking dude with a beard and these same eyes. I hope that part of Tam Eyre’s story is real. “If he does that, will you actually look it over and sign it?”

I nod.

“I’ll forward it to my mom, and she can read it for me. Should I send any corrections back to the email that it comes from?”

Jacob sucks in air between his teeth, and then gestures at me with the iPad. As I take it and type in my email, I question every moment of this interaction. Am I doing what Tam wants me to do? Does he like me enough to see me again? But since I can’t know any of those things, I make the final decision then and there.

I am going to be myself.

Nothing is going to be fabricated.

Nothing will be a lie.

Then I don’t have to worry if I’m making mistakes. If being myself is a mistake, then … I hate you, I tell the curse, but it’s heard it all before. The entire year that Joe spent struggling with a grief-stricken Marla, I tried everything to vent my anger. Kickboxing classes. A punching bag in our garage. Remote hikes where I could practice primal scream therapy (aka just yelling as loudly as you physically can into the ether).

Didn’t work.

I still hate the curse. Still miss Joe. If he were here, he’d have charmed Tam already. They’d be best friends. If Marla’s longtime boyfriend and high school sweetheart hadn’t passed away in a horrific accident just ten days before meeting Joe, he’d still be alive. She liked him. They had good chemistry together. God, I loved seeing them together.

But … My hands are shaking. I shove my boba cup onto the table and run both palms down my face. When I start thinking about Joe, I start thinking about my Aunt Clara who passed away in our living room when I was eight. I didn’t see it happen, but I was upstairs. I heard my mom screaming. I knew.

All Frost family children know how real this stupid curse is.

Don’t think about Joe. Don’t think about Clara. Don’t think about Great-Grandma Louise. Don’t think about how you’ve attended more funerals than you have weddings. Don’t think about any of that.

“Sorry, I …” Words fail me as I stare back at Tam, and he cocks his head slightly to one side.

“You look like you’re going through something,” he tells me, like he, too, knows what it’s like to experience the worst possible pain in the world. Grief is a knife that stabs deep and then slowly twists. How can I still be bleeding from that wound?

“I’m …” I almost say fine, but I just promised myself that I wouldn’t lie. Okay, then. “I don’t want to talk about it but thank you for noticing.”

Tam sits back in his chair, frowning at me again. He seems to do a lot of frowning around me. He picks up his boba, tries to take a sip, and then realizes that he’s out of liquid. He glances at my discarded lid, and then peels his own off.

I smile.

“Joules says that if you don’t get the boba while drinking, that you should just let the stragglers go. I disagree. Joe and—” I stop talking and Tam notices, lifting his head up to look at me. He uses the heel of his hand to push his beanie back from his face a little, as if to see me better.

I glance to the right and frown when I notice that the fire extinguisher on the wall nearby has a placard indicating that it was supposed to be replaced two months ago. My mouth twitches. When I turn back to Tam, he’s observing me with slightly narrowed eyes.

“That fire extinguisher is expired,” I say, and he just keeps staring, straw in his hand, a single boba stuck to the end of it, his thumb over the other. “My dad is a volunteer firefighter.”

That should explain why I don’t light candles unless they’re sitting on a surface right next to me, and I check the batteries in my bedroom smoke detector every month. Oh, and also why I sleep with my bedroom door closed. Did you know that just closing your bedroom door at night could save your life? Close before you doze, my friends. The temperature difference between the rest of the house and the bedroom with the closed door can be nearly nine hundred degrees.

“My dad was a firefighter, too,” Tam tells me. He drops his straw into his boba cup and then pushes it aside. His gaze catches mine with the first flash of sincerity I’ve seen from the man.

I almost call him a liar, but the expression on his face promises that if I do, he will never speak to me again. He’s serious about what he just said.

“I’ve never seen you mention that in any of your interviews,” I say instead, testing the waters.

Tam’s smile is mean-spirited, his fingers drumming on the tabletop.

“Because it’s none of their fucking business,” he tells me in a cold deadpan. My eyes widen, and then his do, too. There he is. That’s Thomas. This is the real person behind the fa?ade. “Oops, sorry,” Tam adds with a laugh that’s as fake as the tree-pole on my left. “Just kidding.”

He wasn’t though: he was serious.

“I get it,” I tell him, before he can backpedal too much. I stare down at my own hand resting on the tabletop, and then I slowly turn it over to reveal the bright red curse mark on my wrist. “Some things are too precious to be shared with just anyone.” I’m thinking about Joe; Tam is thinking about his dad. It’s a good start at finding some common ground between us.

He adjusts himself and clears his throat.

“You act like having me as a … what was it called? A Match? You act like it’s the worst thing in the world.” Tam leans back in his chair, and I’m offered a Joules-esque man-whore smile in response. It does nothing for me. I’ve seen this look on my brother’s face too many times to count, directed at some girl or another that I don’t even remember. “I would beg to differ.”

“Oh? Because you’re such a peach?” I glance at the counter and see that the employees are putting together a big order of boba, at least two full drink carriers worth. Is that for Tam to take back to his hotel? Could I go up there and order another boba or is the shop technically closed?

“I’m fit; I dance; I sing; I’m rich; I’m famous; I’m handsome.” I look back just in time to see him shrug his shoulders. “Take your pick.”

Pretty sure I’m actually repulsed by his statement. I think he can see it in my face because his expression shifts and he blinks at me like my head is not only made of lettuce but like I have lemon cucumbers for eyes.

“I’ve spent four months trying to speak to you. Four months. Nothing I read about you online is true, and you’re both cocky and mean-spirited underneath the famous fa?ade.” Crap. I was too harsh, wasn’t I? I’m taking my anger at the curse out on Tam, and he doesn’t deserve that. He looks a little chagrined as he reaches up a hand and rubs absently at the back of his neck, eyes on the tabletop, another frown on his face. “Sorry, that was messed up. You don’t deserve to be verbally abused by someone who doesn’t have a degree or a job or a talent or even a life goal. I dream on my feet, but I don’t have anything specific that I’m dreaming about. I don’t even know what I like. Also, I’m rude and have a big mouth. I’m not perfect either.”

Tam looks up at me, and then freezes when my phone rings. I pull it out to see that Asshole Big Brother is calling. I hit the button that says I’ll call you back later, and then set the phone screen down on the table. Joules calls me back repeatedly, but I mute my phone in response.

“Can I see your Spotify Wrapped?” Tam asks me suddenly, inquiring about the end-of-the-year statistics on the Spotify music app. It tells you which songs you listened to most, which artists are in your top five, that sort of thing.

I narrow my eyes.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I challenge, and he shrugs, sliding his phone over.

This is not the same phone from the other night. He got a new one because I touched it, I’ll bet. Whatever.

We swap phones and navigate to one another’s Spotify.

His top five artists are: In This Moment, Falling in Reverse, Motionless in White, Atreyu, and Our Last Night.

I’m not familiar with those groups. What genre are they? Rock? Metal? Tam Eyre listens to metal?

“RADWIMPS, imase, YOAKE, Vaundy, and … Imagine Dragons?” Tam says mine aloud, his expression one of pure puzzlement. He looks up at me. “These are all Japanese, except for one.” Another pause. “And you don’t like my music? You like imase, but you don’t like me?”

I shrug.

If Tam thought he was going to catch me in a lie—as in, he expected to see himself on that list—then I’ve just proven him wrong. Again.

He makes a face at me, lips pursed. I watch absently as he does something to my phone, passing it over. When he does, I see that there’s a new playlist, one that only has three songs on it. It’s titled I <3 TAM. Now it’s my turn to frown.

“These are my B-side tracks; they’re not on the set list for this tour.” He reaches out and taps his finger against the top of my phone. “I wrote and produced all three of these. Try them and let me know what you think.” He smirks, rubs his thumb against the corner of his mouth. Licks it. “I’m sure you won’t hold back in your critiques.”

Tam stands up suddenly, taking his phone with him. He stuffs it into his back pocket before retrieving the two full drink carriers from the counter. He brings them back and sets them on his chair. One by one, he pulls the drinks out and puts them on the table.

Coosh, coosh, coosh, coosh, coosh, coosh, coosh, coosh.

“See,” he tells me, gesturing at the spread. “You didn’t know how many bobas you had left.” Tam puts a palm down on the table, and then he really leans in toward me, so close that even I’m almost lost in his spell. One hand on his hip, cocky smile on his face. “It’s more than you thought, isn’t it?”

I’m not quite sure how to respond to that, especially now that he’s standing so close to me.

“I … I know I have one-hundred-and—”

Tam stops me by pulling a straw from his pocket and tapping me on the mouth with it. I’m so shocked that I have no idea how to respond to that.

“Are you so sure about that? These are all for you.” He gestures at the table magnanimously. “You never know how many bobas you have left. Nobody knows that.”

I’m sure that he’s saying something profound in all of that mess, but my eyes are fixated on a chocolate milk tea with crystal boba. I reach my hand out for it, and Tam puts his palm over the cup to keep me from grabbing it.

“Have a nice day, Lake; I’ll be in touch,” he tells me, and then he heads down the hallway toward the bathroom—and the emergency exit—with his manager and bodyguard following behind him.

Shit. I can’t let him leave! I think, but then I narrow my eyes and pick up my phone.

It’s not just a playlist that he added … there’s a new number in my contacts.

Mean Spirit is what it says. My lips twitch, and then Joules is calling again, and I’m rolling my eyes.

This time, I answer and put it on speaker; I’m the only person in the shop now anyway.

“Where the fuck are you?” my brother demands, and I sigh.

“I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. Can you meet me at Fairy-Tale Boba? It’s down the street from the hotel.”

Joules hangs up on me as I look down at the spread of riches on the tabletop, each one a different flavor with a different topping. I wrap my arms around as many of the cups as I can, and sigh happily.

My mouth quirks up into a real, true smile.

One-hundred-and-eighteen One-hundred-and-twenty-six bobas until we both die.

117 bobas left until we both die … (the next day)

“I’ll try my best to be nice to this prick, but as soon as the curse is broken, I’m going to break his neck,” Joules says as he stomps around the hotel room, picking up clothes and folding them into our suitcases.

We have to leave early tomorrow to get to the next venue in time for my first day on the job. This time, Tam is playing two nights in a row in the same city, so I’m working two days at the same job. No hot dog costume this time … I don’t think. Maybe.

“Maria is meeting us there,” I tell my brother. Sometimes it’s best to not indulge him. He scratches absently at his left wrist. “That’ll be fun, having her around for a while.”

“If by fun, you mean a lot of extra work for Joules then yes. Just don’t let her meet Tam. She’ll ruin it.” Joules pauses as I open my laptop and try to surreptitiously pull up the livestream of Tam’s concert tonight. “Was I not right about all of that shit being useless? Hmm? He likes green, and he loves watermelon, and his dead dad was a firefighter.”

“Don’t talk about his dad like that. Would you like it if he were talking about Joe like that?” Their dead cousin was cursed, too. No. I’m not comfortable with that.

Joules ignores me, but at least he doesn’t stop me when I pay the twenty bucks to access the concert.

I’ve missed the openers, but oh well. I guess I just want to see if Tam acts differently somehow on stage, like meeting me had an impact on him.

The concert begins like it always does, a high-energy dance routine followed by Tam in his tuxedo sitting down at the piano.

But … then something different happens.

The song he starts to play isn’t his duet with Kaycee; it’s one of the songs on the playlist that he gave me. The audience goes bananas, drowning out the music for a moment.

“All your life, you fought the flames, but in the end, we are all ash,” Tam sings gently, closing his eyes as his fingers dance over the ivory keys, and my heart kicks me in the ribs. My breath catches, and Joules laughs.

“The Fourth Meeting Attraction,” he says, and I throw a half-eaten package of saltine crackers at him. They hit him in the ass and then fall to the carpet. But Joules isn’t wrong. According to our ancestors’ books, the fourth meeting is the most important, the one where physical attraction will begin if it hasn’t already.

“What?” I demand, getting indignant when we both know that I’m just embarrassed. Joules brushes crumbs off his ass as he turns around to look at me. He crosses his arms and quirks a brow, and I wish he were standing closer so I could punch him in the pectoral. “Tam is undeniably handsome. Who would say otherwise? He’s designed, styled, and packaged to sell sex. That’s his job. Who cares if I’m—” I can’t even make myself say it.

“Virgin,” Joules murmurs, and this time, I throw a whole package of saltines at him. He catches them, tears the plastic open, and pops one into his mouth. Saltines with butter were our favorite snack as a child, me and Joules and Joe. If we could have a side of sliced tomatoes with lemon pepper, even better. “Get used to the idea: you are going to have to sleep with him. As soon as possible, preferably.”

“Would you please shut up?” I snap, putting my headphones in, so I don’t have to listen to my brother say disturbing things. I know he’s trying to help me, but gross. Just … no. I refocus on Tam’s face, and this time, I see a flicker of what I saw at the boba tea shop.

Sincerity.

Out of dozens of concerts, this is the first time I’ve seen that expression on his face.

The song is titled “I Want to See You (Dad)”. I exhale.

When the song ends, Kaycee appears onstage in a glittering black dress with a slit that goes all the way up to her thigh. I start to shut the lid of the laptop when Joules appears, reaching out to stop me. I glance back to see that he’s wearing a mask of concentration.

“I’m making progress with Tam; I don’t need or want your help with Kaycee,” I repeat, and he scoffs at me, slamming the laptop lid and nearly catching my fingers in it.

“I can make any girl fall in love with me,” he says, but he doesn’t sound as confident as he did before. I wonder why that is?

I head into the bathroom to shower, and then fall asleep in the hotel’s robe. We’re staying in a nice place tonight, but only because all the cheap rooms were sold out because of the concert.

When I wake up, I have a text message waiting on my phone.

My music does have heart.

That’s all it says.

I react with a thumbs-up, tuck my phone back in my pocket, and get ready to head for Albuquerque.

Two hours later, I send Tam a picture of the sunrise.

And that’s how my friendship with Tam Eyre begins.