Chapter 8
I’m going to kill him. I’m going to choke him with a balloon animal. I’ll do it with a majestic, sparkly swan so next time he wants to watch, he can do it from the afterlife.
The second I get to the truck, I want to explode.
Instead, I’m faced with the Everest-level climb required to actually get into Scotty Hendricks’ stupid giant truck.
The door opens, and Scotty’s hand appears. He wiggles his fingers, offering me help. Of course I ignore it. Instead, I toss my bag onto the passenger seat, plant both hands on the door frame, and start to haul myself up.
No surprise, I slip in my princess shoes.
“Need a hand?”
Scotty’s leaning over to the passenger seat, his grin wide.
“I’ll use small words so you’ll be sure to understand, stop trying to help me.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, only making me want to choke him out even more.
“I should be furious with you,” I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder so I can gather up the ends of my puffy dress.
“I know, but let me help you in.”
I try one more time and nearly slip again.
Scotty’s fingers wiggle in the air, teasing me until I finally give in and take his hand.
He lifts me into the truck with one arm, like I weigh nothing.
I act like it is nothing, even though my brain is screaming that it might be the hottest thing I have ever witnessed.
He does not get the satisfaction of knowing that.
When I’m safely in my seat, I adjust my tiara and fix my dress and then glare at the ever-so-smug hockey player. “I’m going to kill you; I just haven’t decided how yet.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Laura. You specifically asked me not to go in, and I did anyway.”
“Why’d you do it then?”
He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Because I'm an idiot with boundary issues and a complete inability to follow simple instructions?”
I take in his words for a second, surprised that he’s being so honest. My lips twitch, but I quickly mask it with a frown.
“I'm serious, Laura. You told me to stay in the truck. I said I would, but then I couldn't stop thinking about what you were doing in there, and before I knew it, I was telling some guy I was your boyfriend—”
“You what?”
“—and he let me in, and then I saw you, and…” He looks out the windshield before blowing out a breath. “You were amazing. Those kids adore you. I adored you.”
Heat spreads across my cheeks, and I'm grateful for the heavy stage makeup hiding it. “ Okay, no. We are not using the word adore. That is… unnecessary. Kids are easy to please. Just add a little glitter and mention a cute animal sidekick, and then you've got them in the palm of your hands.”
“No.” He shakes his head, starting the engine. “It was more than that. That little girl, Emma, she adores you.”
I turn to look out the window so he can't see the small smile I can't quite suppress. “She's sweet.”
“So are you,” he says, surprising me. “I saw a completely different side of you. And when you sang—” He stops, and I can feel him looking at me. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
My chest tightens. I don't know what to do with compliments like that, especially from him.
“It was just nice seeing you happy,” he says quietly. “And you were. You are. When you're doing this. You were completely in the zone, and more people need to hear you sing. It’s just… life-changing.”
His voice is soft, almost reverent, and it rattles me more than I want to admit. No one talks about me like that. No one sees me like that. My pulse won’t settle, and the longer he looks at me, the hotter my cheeks feel. I need to get out from under whatever this is before it swallows me whole.
So I blurt the first thing my panicked brain grabs onto.
“You told someone you were my boyfriend.”
“I did.” He doesn’t even sound bothered by it.
“That's… bold, considering I threaten your life on a regular basis.”
“Yeah, but statistically speaking, you haven’t followed through yet, so I like my odds.”
I can’t help myself; I laugh before pulling my face back into a frown. “And completely unprofessional. If my boss finds out—”
“They won't. The dad was cool about it.”
“The dad.” I turn to look at him fully now, eyes narrowed. “You charmed the dad.”
“I didn't charm anyone. I just… told him I wanted to watch you.”
I push down the butterflies in my chest, hating that he’s making me feel seen for the first time in my life. “Well, I hope it was worth it,” I retort.
“Oh, it was,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Now, can I please have your address?”
“Excuse me?”
“How else am I going to take you home, Princess?”
“You can drop me off at campus.”
“Nope.”
“So knowing my princess secret isn’t enough for you? You want to know where I live now too?”
He shrugs. “If I can’t get your number, at least I can serenade you from your window.”
I raise a hand. “If I give it to you, will you please stop with the Romeo and Juliet references?”
“As you wish.”
He hands me his phone, and I type in my address.
When he starts the truck, my thoughts start spiraling, and I do not trust a single one of them. Better to look away before he reads something on my face that I am not ready to admit.
I lean my head against the window, staring out at the street as we drive. Every now and again, I can feel Scotty stealing glances at me, and I hate that I’m hyperaware of every single one.
He wanted to see me. He pretended to be my boyfriend just so he could…what the hell am I supposed to do with this information?
Does it matter?
The minute we get back to campus he’ll be with his hockey buddies, and I have no doubt everyone will know that I do this for a living. Then I can kiss any chance of being taken seriously for any production at Covey U out the window.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this?” I ask quietly, almost hoping he can’t hear me.
“About what?”
I turn to face him, my stomach knotting. “About this.” I gesture to my glittered dress with a frown. “I don't want anyone at Covey U knowing I do this for a living.”
“I already told you I wouldn’t, and I don’t break promises.”
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“You’re welcome, but can I ask why you don’t want anyone to know?” He sounds genuinely confused. “You were incredible in there. Not just the acting or the singing, but the way you connected with those kids. You made them feel so special.”
“Theater isn't a team sport like hockey. Everyone wants to be the star, and if the other actors find out I do this—that I dress up as Princess Blanca and sing to five-year-olds—they'll typecast me. Or worse, they won't take me seriously at all.”
“Oh, please. The minute you start singing, people can’t help but watch you.” He breathes out slowly. “I know I can’t, anyway.”
My jaw clenches. “Stop.”
“What?”
I take in a sharp breath and close my eyes. “You don't… you can't just say things like that.”
“Like what? That you’re incredible at what you do?”
“Exactly that!”
“Why not?”
“Because—” I stop, frustration building before I pull the tiara from my hair, the pins catching, but I ignore the pain. “Because you don't know what it's like, okay? To work this hard and still be invisible. To be good at something and have people dismiss it because it's not ‘serious’ enough.”
“That's ridiculous. You're incredibly talented—”
“And I barely get cast as it is!” The words burst out of me.
“I've been background ensemble in every production I’ve ever done. Never a lead, never even a supporting role, and this is my chance to finally prove I'm more than just the loser in the back fighting for a dream that’s not mine.” My hands twist in the tulle.
“If anyone finds out about Princess Blanca, I'll never get that part.
They'll see me as a children's entertainer, not a real actress, and I can't…
I've worked too hard to let that happen.”
He's quiet, and I risk a glance at him. His jaw is tight, but his eyes are soft.
“Like I said, I promise your secret's safe with me,” he says finally.
My shoulders relax at the statement.
“But Laura?” I meet his eyes.
“I like you. Exactly as you are. And if someone can’t see how incredible you are? That’s their problem, not yours. You don’t owe them anything.”
He softens a little.
“Look for the people who notice you without being told to.”
The words hit somewhere deep, somewhere I'm not ready to examine.
“I wish I could find people interested in my singing.” I let out a breath and face the window again.
“Princess, you could be singing the alphabet, and I'd still be waiting for the next letter like it was a cliffhanger.”
I turn and pin him with the driest look I can manage. “Has anyone ever told you that you come on a little too strong?”
He grins. “Has anyone ever told you you're harder to crack than a Brazilian nut?”
I laugh it off, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but you’re smiling, so I must be doing something right.”
He starts the truck, giving me an excuse not to respond, and we fall into another silence, but it's not uncomfortable. It never seems to be around him.
I catch him watching me again when we hit a red light. His eyes are deep, and intense, and sometimes it feels like he knows what I’m thinking.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I demand as I shift in my seat, sending a cascade of glitter onto his upholstery. “Oh God, I'm sorry,” I say, trying to brush it off and only succeeding in spreading it around. “This dress sheds worse than my patience during group projects.”
“Leave it,” he laughs. “I like it. Now whenever I drive someone else around, they'll ask me why my truck looks like a fairy exploded in it.”
“And what will you tell them?” I ask.
He pushes his lips out, considering it. “I’ll tell them it’s from a girl I can’t stop looking at.”
“Very funny.”
“Who said I was joking?”
“You know,” I say slowly, “for someone who's been on TV and has girls throwing themselves at him all day long, you're surprisingly…”
“Charming? Handsome? Irresistible?” he supplies hopefully.