Chapter Thirty-Four - Lucky
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The front of the Anaheim Convention Center is made up of hundreds of windows that gleam and sparkle in the bright California sunlight. Never in my life have I been so happy to see a damn building, and I shove open the car door as soon as the wheels stop rolling.
My knees pop as I untangle myself from the cramped front seat and stretch my arms over my head.
It feels so good getting out of the car, and not just because of the extra leg room.
The drive from Las Vegas was by far the most awkward, uncomfortable thing I’ve ever experienced.
Becca and I didn’t say a single word to each other the entire time.
With every passing mile, the weirdness seemed to grow until it was so firmly wedged between us, there was no way to talk around it.
I opened my mouth so many times, to try to talk to her, but the words wouldn’t come.
Maybe I’m just a stubborn ass, but every time I looked over at her, it was like I was back in her hotel room.
Her accusation sits on my shoulders like a tiny red devil with a pitchfork, and every time I try to soften towards her, it stabs at me.
Still, I hate the silence.
I’m just not sure I can be the one to break it.
Becca gets out of the car, the keys hanging limply in her hand.
She turns to me, but I don’t meet her gaze, choosing instead to reach back into the car for my hat.
I don’t know what I’ll see if I look in her eyes, and as upset as I am about what happened, I’m scared.
Scared because even though I don’t know how to move forward, I still want to.
My brain wants to stay angry, to write her off, and just focus on the competition.
But the ragged heart in my chest yearns to slide my fingers down the smooth skin of her shoulders and pull her towards me, to wrap my arms around her, to close my eyes and kiss her with everything that’s built up in my chest.
But I don’t know if she wants me like that anymore. It doesn’t matter how much I still want her, if she’s made up her mind about me, there’s nothing I can do.
So I avoid eye contact like a coward, too afraid to find out.
“This way, please!” A Starlight exec waves us over to where the camera crews and the other finalists are gathered. Dozer is nowhere to be seen, which is a relief. I’m not sure I could handle a surprise challenge right now.
“We’ll be taking you in through one of these side doors,” the exec continues, pointing behind her to a pair of thick, non-descript metal doors. “You’ll go directly to one of the studios, where you’ll be doing a promotional photo shoot.”
I steal a glance at Becca, who’s standing close to me, but not close enough. Her face is impossible to read.
The Starlight exec continues, “After that, you’ll have a small break, so please feel free to visit the green room and freshen up a bit. The live show is in a couple of hours, so we’ll be camping out here until then. You’ll check into the hotel after the show. Any questions?”
None of us pipe up with anything, so we’re then led through the double doors, down a brightly lit hall into a studio where several photographers and their crews are waiting for us.
“This way, Lucky.” A short girl with dark hair directs me into a chair. My mind zones out as she applies a bit of makeup and powder to my face. “You don’t need much, just a little bit so you’re not shiny and pale under the lights.”
Her voice is kind, and her touch is gentle, but the memory of Becca doing my makeup for the costume contest in Roswell floods my thoughts and every time the makeup artist grazes my skin, I have to fight a shudder. The only hands I want on my face don’t belong to this makeup artist.
Soon enough, she pats me on the shoulder and tells me I’m good to go. I jump from the chair like it’s on fire, and beeline for Ziven who’s standing off to the side.
“Dude, you okay?” He sizes me up, clapping a hand on my back. “You look like shit.”
I bark a laugh. “That good huh?” I attempt a smile, but it falls flat.
Ziven eyes me, the humor fading from his face. We’ve been friends for years, and I’ve only ever seen him look so serious a handful of other times. He glances at the camera pointing in our direction and angles his body so his face isn’t visible.
“You good?” He asks again.
I start to answer yes, to brush it off, but what comes out of my mouth surprises even me. “You ever get tired of all this?”
Ziven’s eyebrows lift, but he doesn’t roll his eyes or make some kind of joke. He just pauses and then nods slowly, understanding in his eyes. “Yeah,” he replies, “I do.”
I exhale slowly, the breath one of relief. I want to say more, to tell Ziven everything, but there are too many cameras around us, and from the look on his face, he already knows.
Behind us, one of the photographers calls Ziven’s name. He claps me on the back one more time and then jogs to where Evie is waiting for him next to one of the sets.
I inhale a deep breath and let it out.
“Lucky DeLucca?”
Another photographer, a balding man with a thick mustache, waves me over. “Mr. DeLucca? It’s you and Ms. Evans’ turn.”
Becca is standing with her arms wrapped around herself next to one of the big lights they have set up. The urge to go to her is like a magnet, pulling me toward her.
“Okay,” the photographer claps his hands together. Let’s do some standing shots first.” He points to a gray backdrop. “If you two will go and stand together.”
Becca and I stand stoically next to one another, doing our best to smile and follow directions, but I can tell that we’re not convincing from the way the photographer grimaces after each shot.
“Hmmm,” he murmurs. “Why don’t we try loosening up a bit? Lucky, put your arm around Becca’s shoulders.”
“Um . . . I’m not sure—” I start to say, but Becca cuts me off.
“It’s fine, Lucky. Let’s just get this done.”
I wince at the words, but I do what the photographer asks, snaking an arm around Becca, and pulling her gently toward me.
I try to keep some space between us, to keep the pose casual, but my body reacts when I touch her.
Electricity crackles in my veins as I tuck her into my side.
Her warmth seeps through the fabric of my t-shirt and spreads through my chest, calming the raging sea of emotions that have threatened to drown me since the moment we left Las Vegas.
“Yes!” The photographer calls out his approval. “Now, we’re getting there. Look here please.”
I try to focus, but my heart is threatening to evict itself as my thumb makes soft, lazy circles against the silky skin of Becca’s shoulder.
She feels so good this close to me, even with all the frustration still pulsing through me. I’m trying to hold it together, but then I feel her take a step toward me, pressing herself into my side, her hand gripping my side, and I take the cue.
I slide my hand down to hook around the waist and pull her even tighter against me.
Becca lets out a tiny gasp, as the photographer shouts approval. Then she looks up, her eyes meeting mine for the first time since our fight in the hotel.
The photographer is talking, directing us, but I can’t make sense of his words.
I’m lost in the dark brown of her eyes. There’s so much I want to say, so much my heart wants me to shout from the rooftops but I can’t.
I’m frozen in this moment with so much flowing between us that I’m not sure if my heart can take it.
My hand lifts, aching to touch the soft skin of her cheek, her neck, her lips, but then I remember that we’re not together anymore, that whatever existed between us is over now.
I lower my hand.
“Um, I think I need some air,” I say, stepping away from Becca.
“That’s fine,” the photographer gives me a reassuring smile. “I think we have what we need.”
I nod, already heading towards the exit.
I can’t push the door open fast enough.