Love Songs & Other Lies(46)
“Vee?” My train of thought is interrupted by a soft tap on the bathroom door, and Cam’s voice. “You okay?”
I lurch back into the bathroom as if the mossy green carpeting in front of me has caught fire. I turn on the faucet, feeling like I’ve been caught. I probably have. Maybe his parents travel a lot? “I’m fine,” I say, over the rush of the water. “Do you know where my pants are?”
The bathroom door creaks open far enough for Cam to shove his hand in, with my jeans—completely dry—hanging by a belt loop off his finger. Right next to my white cotton bra. I own one sexy bra. It’s black lace over purple satin, and it’s tucked away in my top drawer. I didn’t expect anyone to see my bra last night. Or to be holding it this morning. Kill me now. I grab the clothes, shove his arm, and close the door in one swift move.
“You’re welcome!” I hear the creak of his mattress as his body slams against it and my whole face flushes at the thought of him on his bed again. Of me in his bed. All the potential that bed might hold for us now. Even though nothing has changed—not really—everything feels different. Life feels full of possibilities. I slip on my bra and jeans, leaving Cam’s red-and-white Coachella T-shirt on. It doesn’t look like anything else I’ve seen him wear, but it’s threadbare and worn-in, with tiny holes around the hems. Before I open the door, I take a second to smell it, letting the memories of the last twenty-four hours wash over me.
Just like during our nights on the beach, I’m filled with this overwhelming need to know Cam. Not just his favorite movie (an apocalyptic thriller) or song (anything classic rock), or how old he was when he had his first kiss (twelve—which seems old, because I was eight on a swing set). I want to know his secrets. All of the things he’s not telling me. I want to know the stories that fill the gaps of silence, when he shuts down and gets quiet. The stories he doesn’t tell anyone else. I want him to tell me about that room, and those boxes. Why he drives a car like that, and lives in an apartment like this—small, with its mismatched furniture and zero decorations and that empty room. I don’t just want to know everything about Cam, I think I need to know. But when I open the door and see him lying on the bed, smiling and shirtless and mine, all the questions seem to drift away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NOW
VIRGINIA
As an official member of the publicity team, one of my new duties is to make sure the bands arrive early to every show and sign autographs for the fans that line up outside the venues. Afterward, they do a meet-and-greet with fans who won that week’s contests. I ask fans to post pictures of themselves in their purple shirts, or to tell a story about their worst breakup, or share the lyrics to their favorite Future X song. Each week, the ten or fifteen winners join us backstage to watch the guys rehearse and get autographs. Usually, I’m glued to my phone, responding to online comments, but today all I can do is stare at the screen. My chest burns at the thought of Cam’s hands on me, the cold bricks against my back, the feel of us against each other. Don’t ever drink again, Virginia. I had just enough to give in to the feel of him. Just enough to forget why I should have pushed him away sooner. Before the cameras were pointed at us. Before we had to make stuttered excuses no one believed.
The guys are onstage, finishing up their rehearsal. The contest winners are huddled around the backstage area with me, when I hear the whispers begin.
“I can’t believe he let her stay.”
“Stupid slut.”
I look around the small backstage area, wondering who they could be talking about. It’s practically empty back here. There are a few groupies sitting with one of the bands, and Bri is standing by the exit with Pax. Are they talking about her? Why do they care if she stays?
“I heard the band might break up.”
Another one of them whispers behind me. “Do it.”
I feel a tap on my shoulder.
The tiny, pigtailed blonde behind me barely comes up to my shoulder. “He’s too good for you. And he’s going to figure it out pretty soon. So … enjoy it while it lasts.” It sounds like a threat. A confusing, nonsensical threat. “Bitch.”
“Excuse me?” What is happening right now?
Another girl chimes in. “You heard her.” And another. “Yeah, bitch. You’ll be out on the street soon.”
“Woah. Hold up.” The music has stopped and all I can manage to do is glare at the two girls as a third steps up alongside them. “What the hell is your problem?”
“You’re our problem,” one says.
The other girl takes a step forward. “You, bitch.”
“Stupid skank,” the third girl mutters.
What the hell is going on here? I can feel my face burning red as a hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch.
“Everything okay?” Logan steps next to me and the guys gather around. I look at him, unsure of what to say. Is everything okay? No. “What’s going on, Vee?”
The blonde steps forward. “Logan”—she’s using a sugary sweet voice nothing like the way she spoke to me—“we were just setting your future ex here”—she nods to me—“straight.”
“Bitch,” the other girl mutters.
I take a step toward the nasty little pixie waving her manicured finger at me as Cam pulls me back by my waist. “Hey, now.”