Open Road Summer(50)

He shudders. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.”

I swallow my huge gulp down. “Excuse me?”

“Coke is so . . . thick and syrupy and bubbly. Ick.”

“You’re messing with me, right?” I ask, eyeing him carefully. “Because I’m pretty sure they don’t let you go anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line unless you love Coke.”

“I swear,” he says, laughing at my genuine concern. “I can’t stand it.”

“Ugh.” Turning away from Matt, I reach for the cap I left on the counter. “I like you so much less than I thought I did.”

“Is that so?” He places his hands against the counter, one on either side of me. I spin around between his arms, squaring off against him. But he ducks closer to me, his mouth close to mine. Somehow, I know he’s not doing this to mess with me, not to entertain himself on a tour that’s becoming otherwise monotonous. No, this is all us—two live wires crossing each other, dangerously close to touching, just to make a spark.

“We can’t,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is low. “Because people are in the next room or because you like me so much less than you thought?”

“Both,” I say, ducking underneath his arm before it can go any further. If I don’t put some space between us, it’s only a matter of time before we torch the whole place to the ground.

Against my better judgment, I glance back at him. He’s still leaning his arms against the counter, the space where I was now empty. When he looks over at me, his hair falls across his forehead, and I want to smooth it back for him. At least I want to until he smirks at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Stop that,” I hiss, pointing at him. He shakes his head, grin plastered on his smug face. I walk out of the room, trying to disguise how flustered I am. Before walking back into the lounge, I pause to make sure I’m not interrupting.

“So is Matt Finch your boyfriend?” I hear one of the girls ask.

I can tell Dee is smiling as she diverts the question. “You know, boys don’t matter nearly as much as friends. Your friends stay with you through all the boys you date, no matter what, and that’s more important.”

This is my entrance line, I suppose, and I walk in as if on cue. Smiling, I ask, “Are you telling them how I’m more important than Matt?”

She laughs. “Pretty much.”

“It’s true,” I tell the girls. “I’m significantly better than him.”

Matt gives a dramatic scoff as he enters the room behind me. I plop back down in the love seat, resting my drink next to me. After a few minutes, Dee winds down the conversation. The girls hug her, still clutching their signed VIP passes, and once they’re on the other side of the door, their squeals are uncontained. For the rest of their lives, this will be the night they met Lilah Montgomery. The night Lilah Montgomery gave them advice.

There’s a sharp rap at the door, and Dee yells to come in. It’s Peach, beckoning Matt for his set. As he walks out the door, I blatantly check out his ass. Whatever. I can’t help it. Annoying as he can be, the guy was born for a pair of Levi’s. It’s like he can feel me doing this, and he swivels around before the door shuts, in time to catch me red-handed and grin about it.

Dee grins, too, shooting her foot out to play-kick me in the leg.

“What?” I ask.

“I think my fake boyfriend has a crush on you.”

“He does not.”

She grins even wider, as if my denial only proves her point. “Then what was that all about? Plus, I’ve totally seen him checking you out. I oughta be offended, since I’m faux-dating him and all.”

“That doesn’t mean he likes me. That means this bra was worth its price tag.”

Dee’s eyes are on still on me. I sift through excuses to leave the room, to flee from her line of questioning. She may as well point a lamp in my face, interrogation-style. “Then why did I totally just see you checking him out?”

Shooting her my sliest smile, I say, “Because his jeans are also worth their price tag.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, unconvinced. “You know, it really is okay if you want to date him. In fact, I kind of wish you would. Anything to release some of the sexual tension.”

It’s hard to embarrass me, but Dee’s coming close. I swear, I’m almost blushing. I blame Matt for being so damn obvious at every turn. “God, Dee.”

“Seriously.” She shoots me a look that’s intended to portray seriousness. “Ever since Jackson, you two have been so intense.”

Making a face at her, I say, “No, we haven’t. It’s nothing. He likes to mess with me. And I like to mess with him. It’s just a game. You don’t have to worry.”

“Why would I worry?”

“Because everyone in America thinks you’re dating him. And they’re talking about that instead of . . . you-know-what.”

The photo scandal that started it all. Jimmy. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Dee’s legal team made major websites pull it down because she’s a minor, but the Internet is forever. Dee isn’t bothered by the mention of it. “I know you’d be discreet. Besides, Lissa will probably have Matt and me ‘break up’ as soon as the tour’s over, so I doubt she’d care.”