Confessions of a Bad Boy(55)

I dig my fingers into my hair.

“What else can I do, Lorelei? I’m not going to give up on a guy I’ve liked since I was seven years old just because I happen to have an overbearing brother. It’s not right.”

“I know, honey,” Lorelei says, drawing me into a half-hug. “I don’t envy you – well, I did last night at two AM, but in general, I mean.”

I laugh the kind of short, sad laugh that usually happens when you’re talking about something utterly depressing.

“You’re sure it’s for real, what you guys have?”

“Yeah.”

“All I would say, Jessie, is that it’s been – what, a month or two? You and Nate still have a long way to go to see if it’ll even work out long-term. Plus, how can you tell Kyle that you’re together, when Nate doesn’t even really know how you feel?”

“He knows.” I look up at her. “He has to know. I’m not feeling this alone.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Lorelei says softly. “But you always told me Nate played the field, slept around, never committed, remember? You told me that he’d never even had a girlfriend before. I’m not saying that that’s what he’s doing with you, and I’m not doubting that right now he’s genuinely happy with you, but this still might mean a lot more to you than it does to him. He might not be thinking as far into the future as you are, that’s all.”

My stomach lurches as her words sink in, echoing my deepest fears. I let Lorelei embrace me again and smile anxiously when she pulls away.

“Thanks, Lorelei. You really do know how to kill my vibe,” I say, punching her shoulder softly to show I’m not serious.

“I just don’t want to see you walk into a wall of hurt.”

“I know,” I say, grabbing one more long sip of coffee before putting my mug into the sink. “But I’m not sure I can stop.”



When I’m not being mistreated at my main job as costumer on the set of Dominique’s procedural cop show, I take on odd jobs for photographers and artists. It’s a nice change of pace, and picking out outfits for photoshoots is way more challenging and interesting than making sure none of the actors have labels showing on their suits (you’d be surprised).

The photography studio’s already set up when I get there, a simple backdrop, and after saying hello to Bjorn the photographer and his multiple assistants, I make my way back to the dressing room. There’s already a positive buzz in the air, the kind that happens when the person being photographed is someone the assistants are genuine fans of. Today’s it’s a young, hot musical starlet that just won a Grammy. She’s a pretty big deal.

Which is why I’m surprised to find her alone in the dressing room when I get there.

“Hey,” she says, as I step inside.

“Hey,” I reply, her smile so sweet I feel compelled to smile back.

“I’m Haley,” she says, moving toward me with her hand outstretched. I take it and we shake, and instantly I know we’re going to have a great time today.

“Jessie.”

She stands in front of me looking a little awkward, despite the fact that she’s already dressed to kill in a worn leather jacket and skinny jeans.

“Are you the make-up artist, or the hairdresser?” she asks nervously, tugging at the end of one of her crazy curls.

“Nope. I’m the costumer. Though you look pretty fantastic already.”

She laughs nervously. “I think I’m wearing this in about ninety per cent of my pictures, so you’re pretty welcome to do as you please.”

“Well,” I say, sliding my backpack off my shoulder and onto a seat as I move toward the racks, “let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

“So long as it’s not a latex dress and spike heels,” Haley says, and I flash her another smile to show my appreciation that she’s not as stuck-up as most rock stars I’ve dressed.

I flick through the clothes on the rack for a while and she comes up behind me slowly.

“Um…”

I turn to face her, and notice that she’s hovering nearby, flashing me an embarrassed smile.

“What’s up? Do you not like any of these?”

“It’s not that.” She clenches her hands together and twists them as if she’s wrestling with herself. “I hate asking, but I was in such a rush this morning, and there aren’t any other girls here except some of the assistants and they’re all running around for Bjorn right now and it’s kind of an emergency at this point so...do you maybe have a tampon I could borrow?”

After growing more and more nervous at her discomfort I finally break into a laugh at the last word, and put a hand on her arm to show I’m cool with it.

“Sure! Of course. God, I thought you were going to tell me you’d forgotten to wear underwear or you wanted me to run out and buy you alcohol,” I say, as I go back towards my backpack. “Or…worse.”

“Does that actually happen?”

I stare at her without any humor. “All the time. But I draw the line at illegal substances.”

She laughs and follows me back to where my bag is. “I’m sorry. I told my boyfriend to get me some last night while I was holed up working on a new song, but I guess he forgot.”