America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(79)

“This one?” Alicia points to one of the samples high on the wall that Mom’s gesturing to with her paintbrush. “It’s the fountain in Reynolds Park, Ms. Darling.”

“Mom, where are your reading glasses?” I ask.

“They’re for reading, dear, not painting.”

They’re not actually reading glasses, but we call them that because she refuses to acknowledge that she’s been blind as a bat for years. She also refuses laser eye surgery and must’ve forgotten her contacts tonight. Probably thought a few extra beta carotene supplements would cover it.

No wonder I like Beck so much.

I actually come from a family of goofballs.

Huh.

While everyone stares at the fountain and probably also silently contemplates if my mother’s on drugs, I sneak another glance at my phone.

Did you know your dad loves Scooby Doo? For the record, I don’t have any desire to try a Scooby Snack. A guy’s gotta have some boundaries. But I did eat fufu in West Africa. Pretty decent.

Mom’s waving her Perrier bottle and telling a story about the time she had an argument over artistic vision with a director who refused to see the symbolism in the shade of curtains in a certain scene, so I text Beck back.

Dad loves Road Runner even more. And if you scratch Cupcake behind the ears, she’ll be your best friend for life.

“I see you,” Mackenzie whispers, so I tuck my phone away.

But I keep finding opportunities to slip it back out and check the running commentary of Beck’s guys night at his place.

And the invitations to come over and join him for anything from weeding the potted plants on his patio to helping scrub behind his ears after an apparently well-aimed cupcake bomb thrown by James.

And by the time paint night is over, there’s nowhere I’d rather go than back to Beck’s place.

Which might be a sign that I have a serious problem.

I don’t think he’s just acting the part. But I also know there’s been at least one photographer lounging at the outdoor café seating across the street all night, and the longer we’re together, either because of a contract—or more, if all of this is real—the more I’ll be back in the public spotlight.

Mom links her hand in mine and tugs me toward the back door, since we have a driver waiting for us out of sight of the street. “Come come,” she says brightly. “Tomorrow’s the big night. And someone needs her beauty rest.”

The mention of the big night sends a chill down my back, because formal events and I don’t get along well when cameras are involved. Beauty rest won’t solve my paranoia or my legitimate fears.

But I still want to see Beck.

The very reason that I’m in the spotlight and have to get dressed up fancy and make a grand entrance and pretend to be someone I’m not.

Out in the alley behind the building, Ellie and Mrs. Ryder slip into one waiting car and Mackenzie hugs me before getting into a second. We’re being chauffeured around like celebrities, with bodyguards in each car.

It’s making me itchy, which I’m actively ignoring, because I can do this.

I can do this for Beck.

Mom shuffles me into the last car. “Anticipation makes the heart grow fonder, sweetheart,” she whispers. “If he’s honestly interested, let him stew for a while.”

I don’t want to let him stew.

I want to go see him. Despite all of the complications with photographers and gossip rags and having to have freaking bodyguards to go about my business in the city, I want to see him.

“Plenty of time after your contract is over,” she adds, and a momentary chill washes over me.

She’s right, of course.

When it comes to fame and tabloids, she usually is.

“Dad likes him,” I say slowly while our car pulls out of the alley.

“Your father’s a pushover, and we both know it,” she replies.

And she’s not wrong about that either.

“I like him too, Serendipity. But take your time. And make sure he’s worth it. He has to earn your affections for his career right now. Let’s see if he tries so hard when you’re the only thing at stake.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Don’t use that tone with me, young lady. You know full well you’re a gem worth seventeen of his careers. But I want to know that he knows it.”

I sigh and drop my head onto her shoulder, and then I feel like a total heel because it’s been years since I’ve leaned on my mom, and she’s leaving town sometime next week, while Beck will be here long after.

“Thank you for being here,” I whisper.

She squeezes my knee and presses a kiss to my forehead. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”





Thirty-Two





Beck



I can’t sit still.

It’s two hours before the gala starts.

Two hours until I see Sarah again.

Even more hours until I’m alone with her again.

I thought I’d talked her into coming over last night, but she texted a picture of her bedroom around midnight and said that she and Meda were crawling into bed after her mother’s night-before-an-event routine, but don’t worry, she was pretty sure her skin survived.

It’s not weird to have memorized everything about her bedroom, is it? Pale yellow walls, a lavender comforter on what’s probably a king-size bed, flowery throw pillows, with the cat curled up on the right side.