Ten
TEN
THE PAST TENSE OF RENDEZVOUS IS RENDEZVOUS
I’m putting my guitar back in my case when Emily pulls me aside, her red lips pulled into a devilish smile.
“You two know each other, don’t you?”
“Who?”
I know who. I don’t want her to know who.
“You and Kick.” She crosses her arms and taps her fingers like a plotting villain. “Your songs were about each other.”
I’m working to come up with the right thing to say when Kick walks by and she yanks him into our small circle.
“You two,” she motions between us, “you hooked up at a party.”
“No,” I say right as Kick says, “not exactly.”
Emily shakes her head, her eyes bright. “This is utterly fantastic. You wrote songs about each other without knowing the other would be here? I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to.”
“We’re still eligible, right?” I ask, because if Kick Raines and his alcove song boot me out of the competition, I will singe his dreamy eyelashes off one by one.
“More than ever, I’d say. But just so I have it straight, you met at a party, clearly got intimate or whatever,” she winks, “and had no idea you’d both be at the audition? ”
Neither one of us admits it, which pretty much confirms her suspicions.
“And you didn’t know about each other’s songs?” she asks.
I shake my head as Kick says, “Your song was really good. Like, really good.”
“Yours was amazing,” I say. No point in denying it now.
Emily steeples her hands, her pointy nails poking into her chin. “I don’t suppose you’d give me a quote about your party hook-up for a press release?”
Kick raises his eyebrows at me like, you wanna ?
“Absolutely not,” I half-yell. “This isn’t about…that. I’m here for the music. Nothing else.”
Kick chuckles. “You sure about that?”
In this moment, I’m sure of little else. If I wanted to be a gimmick I’d let my mother spin me into LOVEJOY the Sequel. Polly’s the one who would use a situation like this as leverage, not me. I left L.A. to do something authentic, something real. I want people to know me because of my music, not because I kissed Kick Raines in an alcove.
Emily points at us as she walks away, taking steps backwards so she’s still watching us. “Just fantastic.”
Kick doesn’t move, stays right next to me like he’s waiting for me to say something.
“I can’t believe you wrote that song.” I say, not looking at him. “You made me sound like some no-name girl you made out with at a party.”
He barks out a laugh and shoves his hands down the front pockets of his jeans. “You do realize that’s what you were, right?
He’s got a smirk on his face I either want to kiss or smack with my guitar.
“But I wasn’t too far off, was I?” he says. “Looks like we’re both harboring a lot of…emotions from that night.” He motions with his head up at the stage. “You just sang your heart out about how my kisses were sweet as honey.”
Everything in me is screaming flee but I can’t move, can’t look away. I think it’s leftover shock from seeing him here in the first place.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that song,” I mumble.
He dramatically cups his hand around his ear. “What was that?”
“I never thought you’d ever hear that song, okay?”
“But look at us now, together again, hopped up on alcove memories.” He eyeballs the dark rehearsal space. “This studio has some dark corners we could make good use of, if you’re interested.”
I am interested. My middle name is interested. I might quit music and go back to college to major in interested. But I came here to get on the tour, not do the tongue tango with an overgrown puppy.
Kick and I are locked in a heated staring contest when Emily trots back over pulling Cheddar by his arm.
“Tell him,” she says, eyes dancing. “Tell Cheddar about your little rendezvous.”
“It wasn’t a rendezvous,” I say right as Kick says, “We met at a party a few weeks ago.”
I throw him a look and add, “We didn’t know, I mean, I didn’t know he’d be here. And he didn’t know I’d be here.”
Cheddar’s eyes cut over to Emily, a sly grin on his face. “This just got so much more interesting. Fans are going to go wild over this.”
“But the competition is over tomorrow,” I say. “There’s nothing to go wild over.”
He shakes his head. “Check your socials. I bet you’re already getting traction about this. Way to go, seriously. I wish I’d thought of it.”
I kick my foot up to pull my phone out of my boot, which causes Kick to raise an eyebrow. I have dozens of notifications, maybe more. I’m still scrolling when Cheddar says, “See?”
“That’s not…we didn’t…this wasn’t a strategy.”
“Unlike the alcove,” Kick jokes. “And the lair. ”
“There was a lair?” Cheddar asks.
I should kick them both. Hard. In the shins. With my Docs.
“I can’t wait to see how this plays out,” Emily says, urgently tapping something into her phone.
In less than twenty-four hours, the competition will be over. I’m more concerned about getting votes than letting whatever this is play out . All I want is to be taken seriously as an artist. It’s unfair I’ve somehow landed in a situation worse than being a Lovejoy.
Cheddar and Emily exchange a knowing look before turning to smile at me and Kick like serial killers trying to convince us they’re not serial killers. My phone buzzes with a new text.
Cass: Socials are exploding. You’re already a hashtag. (This is still Zoe by the way, in case you wanted to say anything too personal.)
Me: I’m a hashtag?
Cass: Well, you and Kick together. #Marick
“We’re a hashtag,” I say to Kick. He beams like we just won the sixth-grade science fair.
“Like I said.” Emily waves a hand through the air. “This whole thing between you two is perfection.”
I go to argue but she and Cheddar move on, heads together, plotting.
“Kick Raines, I swear to God. If this somehow disqualifies us from the competition?—”
“Emily said it wouldn’t.”
“But if it does…you will pay.”
I glance up at him and he’s watching me, lips parted, a mischievous look in his eyes. “How, exactly, would you make me pay, Goldie?”
“Stop flirting with me. We’re competitors now.”
“Don’t tell me. You don’t date competitors either?”
“No, I just don’t date you.”
A dangerous smile spreads across his face. “But you do kiss me. ”
“Did. I did kiss you.”
“You could kiss me again. We could leave here right now and you could kiss me…anywhere you want.”
I lean in, raise up on my tiptoes, get close enough to brush his lips with mine.
“Tempting,” I say. But instead of giving in, I pull back, pick up my guitar, and walk away.
“So that’s it?” Kick calls after me. “After everything that’s happened between us you won’t even ask for my number?”
I spin around to face him. “Why would I need your number?”
His hands go to his hips. “To rub it in when you beat me, of course.”
I know he doesn’t mean it, know he’s just trying to be flirty or obnoxious or both, but the idea of it lights me up inside. Because I am going to win and will definitely want to rub it in when I do.
“Can’t get over me, can you?” I say.
“Wrong again.” His eyes burn into me. “Over you is exactly where I want to be.”
We’re ten feet apart but it’s not enough. His voice, thick with want, touches me everywhere. It’s all I can do not to throw my guitar on the ground and jump into his arms.
But I need this tour more than I need to answer the desire pounding in my core.
By some miracle, I shove down my inner-voice telling me to give in and force myself to turn around and walk away.
Kick’s eyes follow me all the way to the door.