Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

TAM

80 bobas left until they both die … (the same day)

Lake was clearly upset when she found out that I’d blocked her.

That’s what I think about as I do a thousand push-ups—not one more, not one less—on the floor in my bedroom. It’s either that or take a cold shower which I’ve already tried and that did nothing for me. It’s either that or … or … Push-ups. I’m going to keep doing push-ups, so that I can think.

I knew when I hit that block button that I was doing something wrong. I knew with each hour that I looked at my phone and felt myself missing Lake that I wanted to make a different choice. Lake made it for us both by showing up here, and it makes me like her even more than I already did.

Which, I guess, is a lot. Too much, maybe. I wasn’t drunk tonight, and I kept staring at her mouth. When she laughed. When she took a sip from a can. When she ate tacos.

You should probably break up with Kaycee,I think. I should just do that. I should have the courage to take a risk like this for myself. Lake is a risk. Kaycee is a surety. But Thomas and Tam both prefer Lakelynn Frost. Not just prefer her, but genuinely like her. I’ve never wanted to just hang out with one person for hours on end, alone. I want to go to dinner with Lake, and talk with her, and walk across gravel barefoot with her standing next to me.

I don’t even know what that means, but it feels good. It feels so good that I owe it to Kaycee to end things now before it gets serious with either her or Lake.

I can see now why Kaycee wanted me to block Lake. She knew. Just like I kind of get that Kaycee prefers Joules over me. I’m not blind.

With a groan, I roll onto my back and close my eyes, breathing hard from more than just the push-ups. My hand slaps around on the ground beside me until I locate my phone. I crack one eye to check the time.

It’s two o’clock in the morning.

Just eight hours until I meet Lake in the gym—there’s a good-sized one downstairs—so that we can work out together. She said she wanted to get started. I’ll make it fun for her. I try to imagine what it would be like to work out with someone other than Daniel who barely talks to me. Or my personal trainer who’s paid for his time.

Lake could take one treadmill; I’d take the other. We could run and watch a show at the same time, and then we could talk about it. I could introduce her to some light strength training, and then if she finds she’s into fitness even a little, we could run a marathon together. I’ve always wanted to do that.

You can’t run a marathon, Tam. You’d be outed, and your fans would swarm it, and ruin everything.I roll onto my side, but I’m not defeated just yet.

I push up to a sitting position and shove sweaty hair off my forehead. Nobody online believes that I actually have strawberry blond hair. But I do. We just add pink to it so that it looks a little extra. It’s my eyebrows that are dyed. My lashes that are tinted.

With a groan, I shove the heel of my hand into my eyes.

Normally, on a night like this, I’d get up and pace. I might try to work on a song. I might keep working out. I might read a book. But Lake told me to go to sleep, and I want to be as rested as I can tomorrow. We’re going to spend the entire day together.

The whole fucking day.

What happened to Kaycee? I wonder, thinking that maybe it would’ve been good for her to show up so we could work this out. I hop up and take my phone with me, flicking off the overhead light, and I take a quick shower. Another cold one. Helps a little bit this time.

Then I climb into bed and for the first time in months, I let myself have eight full hours of sleep.

If I dream, it’s not about Kaycee Quinn.

79 bobas left until they both die …

My alarm goes off just a few minutes before ten, and I scramble up into a sitting position. I’m not disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. I’m used to this. What would be weird is recognizing where I am first thing after waking up. I haven’t had that in a long time, not since my dad died.

I hop out of bed and head straight for Lake’s room to see if she’s awake. When I open my door, I see that hers is still closed, so I wait until ten on the dot before I raise my fist to knock.

My mind drifts back to yesterday, to Lake calling my name, her adorable face twisted in confusion and betrayal. I can barely stand it. What was I even thinking? Why did I leave her outside for so long?

“Who hurt you, Sir Tom?” she asked me the other day. I’m so used to seeing the worst in people that I’m always on the offensive. I’m always attacking or avoiding or defending because opening myself up to people ends with me wearing a dog collar and barking, or it ends with a woman spraying me in the face with pepper spray when I turn down her sudden proposal. It ends with the guy from the production crew selling videos of our private interactions to the press, of us playing cards and talking aimlessly about life. It ends with an executive at Hype kissing me while I’m asleep, and me waking up startled to find this person standing over me, and—

I shove my hands over my hair and wait until my breathing has slowed before I finally rap my knuckles on the door.

“Lake?” I ask, and then I knock again. Another time. A third. When she doesn’t answer, I go back to my room and shower again, change my clothes. Now it’s ten-thirty, and I’m worried about her. I try to knock again, louder this time, a cop knock. “Lakelynn?” I wait and put my ear to the door. If she were showering, she’d be out by now, wouldn’t she? “Canoe?” That’s what Joules calls her, right? “River raft? Yacht? Paddle boat? Kayak?”

I’m teasing now, but I’m also a little bit serious.

My fingers itch to use the master key that came with the rental. I could unlock this door, just to check on her. But is that an invasion of her privacy?

Fuck this, she could be hurt.

I unlock the door and stumble in to find Lake passed out on the bed. She’s wearing panties and a T-shirt with no bra, a pillow tucked between her pale legs. I exhale sharply. I saw the freckles on her upper thigh last night in the pool, but this is … I’m entranced.

I feel both heavy and restless. So soft. She was so soft at the escape room.

I blink my way through it to stare at her face, smiling when I see that her mouth is wide open, that she’s oh so softly snoring, that one of her earbuds has fallen out and is lying on the white duvet. The other is still in her ear. When I step a little closer, I see that her phone is open and nearly dead, that my music video for “Break Up With Me” is playing on repeat.

I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.

What … what is this?

Lake smacks her lips, gives a soft, sweet little inhale, and cuddles more deeply into the pillows.

I move around the end of the bed—oh, there are her pants—and then I crawl onto the opposite side. With a single finger, I reach out and poke her in the shoulder. She slaps at me and grumbles under her breath.

I do it again.

“Joules, fuck off,” she whispers, nuzzling more deeply. I poke her a third time, and she makes a pained sound. “Joe, Maria, Lynn, I don’t care who it is. Go away.”

Joe.

I feel for her in that moment. I know what it’s like to wake up and forget for a brief moment that the person you love is dead. I give her shoulder a gentle shake this time, and she rolls over to crack her eyes.

When she sees that it’s me lying there, she laughs and slaps a hand over her face.

There are so many clues as to what she might’ve been doing in here last night. I try not to notice them, but the way she’s lying across from me, body curved like that, it’s inviting. I scoot a little closer, but not too close. My pulse is so quick that I feel dizzy, just like I do before a big show. Only … this is more intense than that.

“Were you touching yourself in here?” That’s what I’d ask if I didn’t have a girlfriend. For the first time in my life, I want to flirt with someone because I want to flirt with someone. Not because it’s my job. Not because the CEO asked me to. Just because.

Just because.

I roll onto my back and put an arm behind my head, staring up at the forest green canopy above us. It’s plaid, I think, with brown and white threaded into the pattern.

“Hi,” Lake says after a few minutes of rustling blankets and a bit of silence. “We were supposed to work out, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” I turn my head, so that I can see her. She’s burrowed even further into the bedding, blankets covering half of her face. I reach out and casually tug the fabric down so that I can see her mouth. “I tried calling out to you, knocking. I was starting to get worried, so I let myself in. I hope … that’s okay.”

My voice is getting low and husky, and I know immediately that I have to get out of that room.

Why did I even come in here in the first place? I should’ve gently shook her awake and then politely left. But here I am, lying on the same bed. Lake might’ve pulled up the blankets, but my body is hyperaware of the fact that she’s not wearing any pants.

That she … there’s … she was masturbating to my music video. I know she’s not the only person who does that. There could be … hell, I guess there could be thousands of people or more who do that. The difference is that I don’t think Lake was one of those people until she started getting to know me.

“About … what you walked into …” She sits up and clears her throat, reaching both hands up to gather her hair together, as if she’s going to put it into a ponytail and then realizes she has no hair tie. I smile as she lets it go again, sea green strands swinging down on either side of a worried, freckled face. I stress her out. She looks at me like I’m about to bolt at any given moment, and I suppose she isn’t wrong about that. I’m always on edge with new people—for good reason. “I can explain.”

“What’s there to explain? You fell asleep listening to music.” And had no pants on. There are other cues that I’m picking up on, cues that make me want to shift a little closer to her. I turn onto my side again, and we’re too close. I should probably leave. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t usually …” Lake clears her throat, and I struggle to hold back a smile. I’m reminded of the condoms in the SUV, the ones that spilled all over the floor while she was wearing nothing but expensive lingerie. Does she have that lingerie with her? I wonder. In her duffel bag? In this room? “Anyway, let me get dressed, and I’ll … do whatever it is that you tell me to do?”

It’s a question, and a joke. It’s about working out. My mind and my body take the words in an entirely different way.

“Sure thing.” I roll away from her and off the bed, landing on my feet. I’ve got a massive boner now, and I’d prefer if she didn’t see it. I face away from her, like I’m interested in parting the curtains to look out the window at the trees.

She doesn’t usually what? I want to know. I want to ask. But I can’t ask those sorts of things until I talk to Kaycee first. I have to talk to Kaycee. Maybe tomorrow when I go into town for the special meet and greet? I think the people coming to this one were chosen from a nationwide contest, but it’s Jacob’s job to keep track of those things, so I’m not sure. I just show up where I’m supposed to show up, when I’m supposed to show up.

I push my tongue against my cheek and try to figure out the best way to escape this room.

“Hey, Thomas.”

I turn over my shoulder to look at Lake, and then I’m reminded that she isn’t wearing a bra under her T-shirt, and my breath gets caught in my chest.

“Yeah?”

She looks down at the blankets, toying with the edge of the sheet. But the courage flees her face as I study her. I wet my lips. I blocked her number. I left her outside. She can’t keep being the brave one between us. I have to do something, or I’m worthless.

“Can you please leave?” Lake asks as gently as she can, smiling as she looks up at me. “I can’t get out of bed until you go.”

“Right.” I laugh and ruffle up my hair, booking it out of there and hoping that it’s too dim for her to see that I’m about to come in my pants. I close the door behind me and then retreat into my own room.

Strip. Cold shower. I want to touch myself, but I don’t dare do it right now. Maybe later.

We meet back up in the hallway, and I see that she’s got no proper workout clothes, just the same pants from last night, a new shirt with a red warthog on it, and sneakers. I want to buy her some nice things to exercise in, but I don’t … I don’t know how to say that.

“I’ll show you where the gym is.” I turn and head down the stairs and in the same direction as the pool, bypassing that door for the next. I open it and step into a cool space with mats, weights, and as many machines as the nice hotels I stay in. “What would you say is your fitness level?” I turn to study Lake as she peeks into the room like she’s never seen a gym before.

“Zero?” she suggests, but I watched her run yesterday with that heavy duffel bag in hand. I smile. My feet are a little sore from the gravel, and I think that was the point. She made me work to keep her here. I respect that.

I … shit.

“Why don’t we start with a gentle jog on the treadmill?” I gesture her over to the machine, let her climb up on it, and type in some settings that I think she’ll do well with. She starts with a walk as I move over to my own machine, but then the first jogging session starts, and she gasps in pain.

I’m right there for her in a way I’ve never wanted to be right there for anyone else in my life.

I have a crush on a fangirl. One who believes she’s cursed. Jacob was right: I am an idiot.

“My boobs,” Lake groans, walking as the treadmill slows. She must’ve hit the stop bottom. My eyes drop to her hands as she grabs her ample chest, squeezes, rubs. I can’t breathe. I’m also sporting another boner, and I want to leave this room. I cross my arms on the edge of the treadmill and lean in, chin resting on my forearms.

“I’m sorry?” I ask, trying to figure out what she means. Lake pauses and then slants a look over at me, hands still rubbing at her chest. I wonder if she’s thinking about the escape room, about my palms skimming over her softness. Lately, I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to tuck her up against me and put my nose against the side of her neck, breathe her in.

“I need a sports bra, Tam.”

I need a sports bra, Tam.

She may as well have asked me to fuck her. What is happening to me? I’m around beautiful women all the time. I have two dance teams: an all-male dance team, and an all-female dance team. I work with the female dancers twice as often, hold them in my arms, dip them, roll my body against their tight, lean forms. I have women profess their love to me in signs, in screams, in letters too long to read.

But … nothing as powerful as that.

I stand up straight, dropping my arms from the edge of the machine, and I close my eyes for a minute.

“Sorry. I can do other things though. Lift weights. Or … is that a Stairmaster? I could probably handle that.”

I breathe through it and open my eyes again.

“Yeah, let’s do the Stairmaster.”

Lake keeps looking sideways at me as I get her set up, leaving her there so that I can stick my earbuds in and run as fast as I can on that treadmill to clear my head. I run and run and run. I only take breaks to move Lake from one activity to the next, to watch her drink water from my water bottle. I gave it to her to use while we’re in here, and I like the look of the sea green and silver bottle with her hair.

“Okay, I’m spent,” she pants an hour later, and I take a break from running to smile. I even clap my hands for her. I’m genuinely thrilled that she came down here to do this with me. “So, um, you do this every day?”

“Want to do it again with me tomorrow?” I ask, and her answering smile is enough motivation to get me through the fan-call event that I have tonight. It’s the only thing on my schedule for today, but I’m feeling resentful that I can’t have the whole day with Lake.

“I’d love that,” she says, and then she’s throwing a wet hand towel over her neck and leaving me alone in the gym.

“I’ll make breakfast,” I call out to her before she can get too far. “Go shower and meet me in the kitchen.”

“Yes, sir!” she shouts back, and I get the weirdest thrill. I rub my hand down my sweaty face and laugh to myself. Yeah, I’m in trouble. I’m in big trouble.

I have a girlfriend. That girlfriend is Kaycee fucking Quinn. I have a contract that says we’re dating. I have to take her on a date the day after tomorrow—a livestreamed date. What can I even do here? I can break up with Kaycee in private, let her know that I’ll keep going with public appearances, but that I can’t be her boyfriend for real.

With another sigh, I head back upstairs, hit another cold shower, and then dress myself to see Lake. She seemed to like the gray sweatpants. Women, in general, seem to like gray sweatpants, so … that works. I put on a T-shirt from last year’s concert, and find Lake waiting for me on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Whatever you’re going to cook,” she says without looking up from her phone. I wonder if she’s talking to Joules. If she is, I wonder if he has spoken to Kaycee. As far as I can tell, I’m still blocked. I should’ve told her no right then and there in the restaurant, and then life would be a little less murky right now. “Are you going to eat it?”

“No,” I admit, moving over to the fridge and pulling out the lettuce. I’ll snack on this while I cook for Lake, and then I’ll eat a grapefruit and a protein bar and call it a day. “But I’d really like to watch you eat it.”

“I like watching you eat, too,” she admits, looking up from the screen. I don’t know how to respond to that or what it even means, but it sticks there in my brain alongside I need a sports bra, Tam. Don’t think about it. Don’t do it. Don’t, don’t, don’t. “You should eat more.”

“I have a nutritionist,” I admit, almost sheepishly. “And a personal trainer. I’m okay.”

She sighs, but she lets me cook for her.

I make a big, fluffy stack of pancakes from scratch with the ingredients I asked my assistant to pick up last night. Maggie has the weirdest job, driving all the way into town to grocery shop for me in the middle of the night. I present them to Lake with a flourish, offering up a bottle of maple syrup and butter to go with it.

“I’m shocked,” she admits, and I laugh. “You have time to learn new languages, new dance routines, new songs, work out, and also you cook?”

“No.” I put up a single finger. “I cook only one thing, and this is it. My dad taught me to make pancakes.”

“Your dad sounds awesome,” Lake tells me as she cuts into the pancakes and puts her fork to her mouth. I watch that fork with envy. I look at the shape of her mouth. I edge closer and lean in without meaning to.

Everything that I usually do on purpose, I’m doing on accident.

For her.

“What does a person even do with a whole day of nothing?” I ask her, and she looks up suddenly, wide-eyed. When she reaches out and plucks my phone from my hands, I gape at her.

“This is what they do.” She shuts my phone off and sets it aside, standing up and moving over to the fireplace. She pauses at the shelf next to it, and grabs two video game remotes. “We play Just Dance together, play pool together, play in the pool together, eat. Go on a walk in the woods. We make memories, Tam. Core memories.”

I have no idea what Just Dance is, but I’m sure I’ll be good at it. Dancing is what I do best. I might even be a better dancer than I am a singer.

I’m definitely better at both of those things than I am at being a boyfriend.