Chapter 8 #2
Releasing her neck, she nods. “I learned that as soon as all the negative press started hitting me. Suddenly, it didn’t matter how hard I’d worked to get where I was, how many fans I had.
You make one wrong move—even if it was ten years ago when I did that PR stunt with Skyler, and it was his team that asked for it—and the entire thing can come crashing down.
Once people turn on you, do they ever really turn back around? ”
“The ones you think turned on you probably weren’t true fans in the first place.”
She nods again, though it seems less sure this time.
“I wish people would believe in my character enough to know I wasn’t maliciously trying to keep Skyler in the closet, and that I wasn’t purposefully lying to them.
” She pauses, glancing down at her still untouched food before continuing to speak.
“But I was lying, wasn’t I? I misled them, letting them think we were in a relationship when we weren’t.
And I was told that doing that sort of thing was merely a part of the game.
That all celebrities did it. I didn’t even know at first that Skyler was gay, that his management was forcing him into these things.
I thought we were just helping each other out by gaining media attention. ”
“It is a thing that happens all the time,” I assure her. Although she would know this better than me. “You didn’t know you were harming anyone.”
“But either way, I don’t want to ever have to pretend to be something I’m not. And if I...”
She leaves that sentence hanging and finally starts eating. I want to push her to say whatever she’s holding back, but I let her eat.
“This is really good,” I tell her, raising a forkful of salmon, rice, and veggies. “Thank you.”
Her blush is adorable. “It’s really intimidating cooking for a professional chef.”
Before I can stop myself, I’m reaching out and giving the ends of her long hair a twirl around my finger.
I think she holds her breath until I drop the lock.
“Other than going out to eat, you’re the first person who has cooked for me in about as long as I can remember.
It is good, but I promise you, even if this tasted awful, I’d still appreciate it just as much. ”
The blush spreads down to her neck, and I want to lean in and kiss my way over the red spots. Which is something I won’t do, of course. That would be a terrible idea.
We resume eating quietly for a bit, but when she sets her fork down in her mostly empty bowl with a sigh, I sense she’s ready to talk again.
“What were you going to say before?” I prompt her. “About pretending to be something you’re not.”
She pushes the bowl away a few inches and angles herself toward me, crossing her legs.
I try hard not to get distracted by those legs in the tiny jean shorts she’s been wearing all day.
She looks as good dressed down as she does when she’s wearing her sundresses.
Maybe better, because now she looks less like the celebrity you see in photos and videos. I prefer the realness.
“I always assumed one thing about myself,” she starts slowly, “but what if I was wrong? What if I’m not who I thought I was? What if I’m different than the way I’ve presented myself my whole life?”
“What if you’re more than what you thought?” I ask, reading between the lines and trying to reframe what she’s getting at in a more positive way.
The smile she gives me is tentative, but achingly sweet. “I’m pretty sure I am. And that’s not... It doesn’t scare me to know that about myself. What scares me is wondering if I’ll have to hide it. The way Skyler did.”
I hate that for her. “You’re a grown adult,” I remind her as kindly as possible. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I don’t think that’s entirely true,” she says with a sad laugh. “But what I mean to say is that I’m wondering if I’ll still be able to do country music. If the fans will still want my music when I tell the truth.”
It doesn’t slip my notice how she said when, not if she tells.
But I’m not sure if she meant to say it that way, so I want to let her know that it’s never a requirement to out yourself.
“You can keep that part of yourself private if you’re worried about the public’s reaction.
You’re allowed to live your private life however you choose and still present a public persona.
You’re allowed to keep some things separate. ”
“That’s an option, true. But for how long until something leaks?
Until another stolen photograph exposes me?
I don’t want that threat constantly hanging over my head.
” She shifts again, her knee knocking lightly into mine.
She doesn’t move it away. “I’m not ashamed of being who I am.
I know there’s nothing to be ashamed of.
I want to make that clear. There’s just a lot of stuff that comes with being.
.. who I am that I’ve had to think about lately. ”
I shouldn’t push her to say anything she’s not ready to say out loud. She doesn’t owe me that. But she’s talking around it, and we both know what’s she’s getting at. And I have the suspicion that she wants to say it, that it might help her if she did. So.
“And who are you exactly?” I prod as gently as possible. “You don’t have to tell me, but—”
“I’m Riley,” she says, matter-of-factly. Then she laughs at herself, because she knows what I’m asking. I wait a few moments, giving her time to decide if she wants to answer for real. And then she looks at me and says, “I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.”
“Is that the first time you’ve said that?”
Leaning back in her chair, she lets out what sounds like a sigh of relief.
“Out loud, yeah. But it’s only because I’ve been in the process of figuring it out.
I’ll tell my brother. And my parents.” She tucks her hair behind her ear.
“Andrew is gay, in case you didn’t know that.
So I’m obviously not concerned my family will react badly.
It’s just that Andrew figured himself out so young, and when he came out, the town made it into this whole big celebration almost. It was really strange, but that’s Mayweather. ”
I huff a laugh. “Yeah, strange is an understatement.”
She smiles at that. “I think he was relieved when I became famous for real, because it finally overshadowed his weird town fame. But anyway, I feel so behind compared to him, coming out now when I’m almost thirty.
So I’m not afraid to tell him, I’m only a little embarrassed that it’s taken me this long. ”
“That isn’t something you need to be embarrassed about,” I assure her. “Tons of people don’t realize until they’re older. And sexuality is a spectrum, anyway. You can still prefer one thing over another. It can change. I think most people are more fluid than they might think.”
“That’s true.”
I reach out to set my hand on her thigh, more firmly than before. And this time when she glances down, I don’t pull away. I want her to know I’m here for her. “Thank you for sharing yourself with me. For trusting me with this.”
I don’t give two shits about fame, but I understand how hard it must be, not knowing if someone is going to run to the tabloids with gossip about you.
“You’re easy to trust,” she says. Then, whether accidentally or on purpose, her hand drifts down, settling halfway on top of mine. “Thanks for listening to my ramblings. I think I needed to say all of this out loud to someone so I could process it myself.”
As we gaze at each other, my hand on her leg, her hand on mine, it feels like something is shifting between us. Some unseen force pulling us closer. That must be it, because I have no logical reason to be so drawn to her when I still barely know her.
One of us needs to say something. Do something. Before this becomes weird.
I know what I want to do. I want to lean in closer and bring my other hand up to run it through her hair. But I don’t. Because while I think it’s entirely possible that she might want that too, I don’t think it’s what she needs right now. It’s not the smart move for either of us.
“I—”
She starts to say something, but I don’t find out what it is, because Freddie the food fiend chooses that moment to appear out of nowhere, launching himself up onto Riley’s lap, making us both jump.
His claws dig into my hand, and I yank it away.
At the same time, Riley yelps, so I know he got her too in his attempt to climb onto the table.
I stand up and snatch him off her right as he’s about to stick his face into the bowl of food she pushed aside.
“You asshole,” I scold him. Although as annoyed as I am at his bad behavior, I can’t bring myself to sound too harsh.
This fucker is my best friend. I set him down on the floor, and say, “Here,” tossing him a chunk of salmon out of my own bowl.
He immediately gobbles it down. Then he gives me an assessing look and seems to determine that’s all he’s going to get, so he promptly turns around, providing us a with rude view of his asshole before he strolls away.
Turning my attention back to Riley, I see her rubbing at a couple red scratches on her thigh. “I’m so sorry about that. Are you okay?”
As I’m instinctually reaching for her, she stands abruptly, forcing me to take a step back. “I’m fine,” she insists.
“Do you want me to look at those?” I point at her leg. “I’ve got some first-aid stuff in the bathroom.”
She shakes her head. “They’re just scratches. I think I’ll live.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“Really, it’s not a big deal. He didn’t mean to do it, and he’s too cute to be mad at.” Grabbing her bowl off the table, she says, “I’m gonna wash this.”
“Oh, no. You cooked, I’m doing the dishes,” I tell her, grabbing my own bowl and following her back to the kitchen.
Whatever moment we were having between us—whatever she was about to say, whatever was going to happen—it’s over. And that’s probably for the best. Even if I feel strangely disappointed about it.