Flower(63)

I close my eyes, raking my fingernails up the back of his neck. He moans against my throat, dipping lower as his tongue makes easy circles on my skin. I press my head into the pillow as my body tingles in anticipation.

This is it, I think. This is the moment. No more secrets between us. No more reason to wait.

Tate moves his torso higher, his hips resting against mine. A new coiling ache unwinds in the lowest part of my abdomen, a need like I’ve never felt before.

“Charlotte,” he murmurs, his lips just beneath my chin now. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” My voice is breathy and quick, without hesitation.

He touches my face, kissing me on the mouth, and I tilt my head back, my hips shifting up to press against his. Urging him closer.

And then something shatters the stillness. A ringing. My cell phone.

I ignore it, kissing Tate again, and eventually the ringing stops. His fingers are at the hem of my underwear. There is almost nothing separating us and my heart trills, wanting to feel all of him against me. But then...the ringing starts again.

I tilt my head toward the sound.

It’s probably just Carlos, checking up on me. The ringing stops, then begins almost immediately again. Tate shifts his weight, staring down at me.

“I just need to check it,” I say, wriggling out from under him. I pull on a robe from the closet and pad out into the open living room. The phone is vibrating on the side table where I left it last night. I pick it up and my stomach sinks. I hit the answer button, clearing my throat and preparing to sound my most casual and composed. “Hey, Grandma,” I say, flashing a look back at Tate, now lying on his back on the bed, watching me.

“I know you’re not at a UN summit.” The voice on the other end is as angry as I’ve ever heard it. “You’re with him.”

I’m silent. A knife of fear rises inside me.

“Charlotte, I can’t—” She chokes on her words. “Lying to me? I can’t believe you, Charlotte...after everything...”

“Grandma, I...” But I’m not sure what to say. How can I explain myself? I want to tell her it’s not like she thinks, but I don’t want to lie again. “I’m coming home” is all I can muster. My voice so small I think maybe I should repeat it.

She hangs up before I can say anything else.

How did she find out? I open up my text messages and see one from Carlos, two hours old. It’s a photo of Tate and me, leaving the pizza place last night. And there’s a caption: TATE COLLINS OUT WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND, CHARLOTTE REED, IN NEW YORK LATE ON FRIDAY. And there’s another text from Carlos a few minutes after the first. Photo is everywhere. Ur grandma called me, she saw image on Mia’s phone. Not good.

Once again, the world knows we are together. There is no denying it now.

*

Tate rides with me to the airport, holding my hand in the backseat while Hank maneuvers the black SUV through the crowded streets of Manhattan.

I’ve been in New York less than twenty-four hours and now I’m going back to LA.

“We never should have left the room last night,” Tate says. “I’m sorry. I’ve had pretty good luck walking around freely since I’ve been here, but I should have done more to protect you.”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him. “And I already told you—I don’t need your protection. I shouldn’t have lied to my grandma. But I shouldn’t have needed to.” I stare out the window at the passing city, cloaked in gray as clouds descend over the highest buildings. “I’m eighteen. She needs to learn to let go a little.”

Outside the airport, Tate runs his fingers through my hair, kissing me. We both know he can’t get out of the car—can’t risk being seen and photographed again. If my grandma saw us kissing in another tabloid photo, it would only make things worse.

“When will I see you again?” I ask.

“I should be back in LA in a couple weeks.” His face has been unreadable since we left the hotel, a hint of tension in his features. I tell myself it’s only because we were forced to stop so close to finally being together.

He gives up a tiny smile now, kissing me once more before I step from the car.

This weekend was almost perfect, almost everything I wanted it to be. And now I will pay the price when I get back home.

*

I arrive back at LAX in a daze. Maybe I should be, but I’m not prepared for the paparazzi waiting for me. As soon as I descend the staircase toward baggage claim, they are there, hovering like vultures. Had they tailed our movements since last night?

“Charlotte! Charlotte!” they call out. “Where is Tate? How did you meet? Charlotte!”

I ignore them, holding my arm in front of my face. I press forward, trying to find a way out.

“Are you still together? Is it true he’s recording a new album? Why did you come back so soon?”

Cameras flash, bursting and popping. My vision swims. I try to glance up while keeping my head down. My eyes scan the periphery for a place to escape. Ahead, I see a ladies’ room and run.

Inside, I press my hands against the sink. I breathe in and out. Tate warned me that fame could be hard, that the paparazzi are intense, but I didn’t realize how vulnerable I would feel when I was by myself. I realize I’m shaking.

When I look up, I see a familiar face and my breath catches. I’m having déjà vu—I’ve seen her light eyes and freckles before, someplace just like this. For a second, I can’t place it, but then I realize...it’s Goth girl from the Lone Bean. The one who told me to stay away from Tate. I’ve barely given her another thought since then. What’s she doing here? Why do I keep meeting her in bathrooms?