One More Time(41)

“Better than the first, almost as good as the second. It’s a pastry covered in different toppings.”

“Wait, there’s a restaurant in this heaven?” she says as I walk her toward the entrance. “Thank God. I’m starving.” Her eyes catch mine and glint wickedly. “I burned a lot of calories last night.”

My grin is too genuine, and I have to lower my head to hide it.

When I look up again, Jenna has selected a beavertail covered in maple— “When in Canada, eh?” and is utterly thrilled to discover, when the cashier hands her the fried pastry, that it’s the size of her face.

The sun is gleaming through the windows that surround the entire place, and the halo filter from before can’t touch the angelic look she now wears of pure light and joy. She runs over to a bar stool that’s positioned directly in a ray then flips back to me with a giant smile.

“Take my picture!” she says, holding the giant beavertail up to her head as comparison.

“Happy to,” I hear a voice reply.

It’s not mine.

Jenna and I both freeze for a second. A few stools down at the bar is a guy with a long lens camera—another paparazzo. Although we knew they were around, it’s the first time we’ve had to directly address anyone of them.

“So, is Janner back together?” he asks as he snaps a shot of Jenna, and then motions for me to join her.

I know I need to manage this moment. This was my idea, so I should take charge.

I walk over to where Jenna is sitting at the bar and smile for the camera.

“Yes!” I say heartily and over-loud. I wrap my arm around Jenna. She props an elbow on my shoulder, and I almost crack up at how over-the-top her pose is. “Now, can’t you see we want privacy?” I’m stiff in my delivery, and the only thing it seems we need is a to-go box because there’s no way that Jenna is eating that entire beavertail in one sitting.

The photographer snaps a few pics then shakes his head with a frown. He disappears a minute later into a dark corner to check the shots on his screen.

“Oh my God, that was amazing,” Jenna laughs when he’s out of earshot. “You’re a pretty good actor, I suppose,” she teases. “As far as co-stars go.”

I am acting, but it’s not the paparazzi I’m putting on a show for. My pretending is for Jenna. I’m trying to convince her I don’t feel anything for her and that’s a lie.

And, as she smiles happily and rips off another bite to hand me, I realize I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to play the role of boyfriend. I don’t want to spin this story a minute longer.

I want to be with Jenna for real.

But before I can have any sort of future with Jenna, I have to find out what happened to our past.





15





Jenna





Well, it’s true what they say. There is nothing like a fake date to make you wish you were on a real one.

Actually, no one says that, but they should, because I’ve learned how true it is all afternoon. For the past six hours Tanner has whisked me around town from one perfect spot to the next on our pretend date.

I have seen more gorgeous vistas on this PR excursion than I have in my entire real life. Of course the views are real. It’s the relationship that’s not.

How many times can I remind myself that I wanted this? That I asked for—no, insisted on—it?

At least as many times as I’ve wished things were different today, I suppose.

And it’s funny, but I would have sworn Tanner has been feeling the same. I was positive he was going to pull me into his arms on the cable car, but then he held himself back.

Because I said sex only, I remind myself. I never added a “hold me when I’m scared” clause.

Then, again, on top of the mountain, there was something in his eyes. Something that didn’t look a thing like acting. Something that looked an awful lot like—but it couldn’t be. Probably just a trick of the light.

After all, if he was feeling things for me, he would have been kinder to the intern last night.

Perhaps New Jenna should just be brave and ask him exactly what he envisions for the future, what happens when the photogs go home. What happens when we go home.

But there’s every chance the answer will be that we continue on our separate ways. Because that’s the right answer.

So why do I keep hoping that he’d give me the wrong one?

When I compare the Tanner I’ve gotten to know over the past weeks with the one I fell for back then, it’s almost amazing how little he’s changed. He’s more muscular, for sure, his hair’s less shaggy and more coiffed. His confidence is now born of pride and hard work versus the swagger of youth, and the tiny crinkles around his eyes when he smiles weren’t there when he was a teenager.

But besides all that, he still knows just how to make me smile, make me happy. Make me come.

So I guess the other question is, if he’s still fundamentally the same person, as I believe I also am, then why did I believe things would ever end anywhere but here?

Because of course I want more from him than sex. I want all of him.

And it will always end this way, with me painting a target on my heart and handing him an arrow.

For now I’m just going to focus on enjoying the champagne and oysters that we’re currently enjoying in a window-side table. Naturally, the little cluster of guys taking our picture attracted a group of curiosity-seekers, so basically we’re eating in front of a full audience.