America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(94)

“I’m already here.”

“Oh, shit… Just text me his name and number. And Beck’s number. And promise you’ll stay off the internet. Promise me. Like pinky swear on the Fireballs’ winning streak.”

“I can’t hear you. We’re going through a tunnel. Shh-wusshhh-sshhusshh.”

“You just told me you’re at work.”

“I mean we just had a power surge. Ssshh-wussshhh-sshhussshhh.”

Yes, I feel bad for hanging up on Mackenzie, but I’m tired of being treated with kid gloves.

I need to face this.

And know that it doesn’t matter what random internet trolls are saying. That my worth isn’t tied up in what gossips say.

It’s tied up in how I feel about myself and in having people who love me unconditionally despite my quirks and fears and poor choices.

I pull up my site on my phone.

Or try to.

It won’t actually load.

“Uh-oh,” I mutter.

“Are you checking the internet? No! Stay off the internet!”

Someone lunges for my phone, but I twist and keep hold of my phone only because my normal tae kwon do classes have kept my reflexes relatively quick.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Gary scratches his bald head. “Did you want to maybe take some time off? You have lots of sick days you never use.”

“Gary…”

“I don’t understand it. They loved you yesterday. America’s Geekheart. Really cute name. But then Beck…” He trails off, and the ice threatens to grab my heart again, but I know Hollywood.

I know the game.

“I knew he was playing her,” someone mutters, and I ignore her, because I have to.

“Shut up,” someone else hisses.

I sigh and pull up Twitter.

And—yep.

Here we go.

And my parents are probably seeing this.

Dammit.

I swallow hard to keep the panic at bay, because panic is exactly what’s rising like bile in my throat.

America’s Geekheart back when she was just a geek, reads one post, complete with a picture of me with ketchup smeared across my cheek when I was probably not quite in high school.

Geekheart? More like FREAKheart, reads another with a picture of me, this one from late high school, contorted sideways and looking at the gum on my own ass, my hair tilted at an odd angle that makes me look like an octopus is growing out of my head, and a list of cities in the Binary Babes rock band’s tour on the back of my T-shirt.

Finally, the truth: Underwear model’s new girlfriend FAKE. Sunny Darling blackmail scheme EXPOSED.

Beck Ryder PR rep confirms: Model and daughter of Hollywood power couple part as “good friends;” ask for privacy.

It’s the last one that sends a quake through my bones.

Because that one was issued by Beck’s official Twitter feed.

The same feed that not ten days ago drew me back into the public spotlight.

That’s the line. It’s what we’re supposed to say.

But not until Friday.

“Yeah,” I say to Gary. “Sick time. Aaacchoooo. I might need a—a week. Thank you.”

“We’re not answering any calls from the press,” he tells me while he walks me out to the parking lot, my knees threatening to give way while more camera crews are pulling in and Beck’s bodyguard is waiting by the front door in a standard black Audi. “And that’s a really gutsy thing you’re doing, going public when so many people are being fu—ah, I mean, inhumane.”

I won’t cry. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “I’ll email you what I’m having to put on hold.”

“Thanks, Sarah. Sarah, right? You don’t want to be—”

“Sarah,” I confirm, and I climb into the car.

“All okay, Ms. Dempsey?” the bodyguard asks.

“Yeah.” No.

“Home or to Mr. Ryder’s place?”

“Home, please.” I want to see my cat. And check on my bees for myself and see if I need to harvest any honey. It’s still early, but my hives have been pretty active this summer.

I slink low in the seat and pull up Twitter again, even though I know better.

It’s rolling.

It’s rolling up a freaking storm.

That picture of @must_love_bees makes her look like a monkey squished in a suit that’s about to burst.

Only whores get off on watching animals give birth. Get a life, @must_love_bees.

I know @must_love_bees in person, and I can promise you this thing with @Beckett_Ryder is all a hoax. She’s gross.

I breathe slowly to calm my racing heart, because this doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t.

I can’t believe @must_love_bees hacked Beck Ryder’s account to get her fifteen minutes of fame. #sweetheartforever Can’t wait to hear @Beckett_Ryder’s announcement Friday! I hope he’s auctioning off a date. Come to mama! I got the $$!

I don’t care if his heart isn’t really broken, I’ll comfort @Beckett_Ryder any day.

I shake my head, because I know this is just the public version of events. It doesn’t mean anything.

One call to Beck will clear this all up.

So why am I not calling him?