It justcan’tbe.
Itis, though. I’m almost sure of it. And, as I slowly approach the poster on the wall, my legs trembling slightly from the force of the realization that’s just hit me, that certainty grows even stronger.
No no no no no. Thiscannotbe real.Surelyit can’t be real?
It’s real.
It’s very, very real.
It’s as real as the man I left sleeping on the sofa in the foyer of his Hollywood mansion just a few short minutes ago. That man is at least 10 years older and about a hundred times more hairy than the one staring back at me from a sunlit beach, which was probably built on a sound stage somewhere near here. But now that I’m looking at him —reallylooking, I mean — the resemblance is unmistakable. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.
Why didn’t I see it before?
Whatever the reason, now that I’ve seen it, I can’tun-see it. Suddenly, it all makes sense. The way the drunk guy in the bar backed away from 3.5, and how he came back later to take photos — ofhim, obviously, not of me — through the window. The house in the hills that 3.5 had a key for. The way he said he was “used to it” when he thought I was coming on to him.
(Which I definitely wasn’t, by the way. I just want to bereallyclear about that.)
He’s not a broke college student, and he wasn’t lying about being the owner of this house.
He’s Jett Carter — the youngest member of the Carter acting dynasty, and one of the most famous men in the world.
And now I’mdefinitelynot going to be able to do that pee.
Chapter 6
My hands are trembling so much as I come shooting out of the front door of the house that it takes me a good few seconds to get the key into the ignition of my car, and even longer to get through the double gates, which, in a rare moment of good luck for me, open automatically as I approach them in a panic.
At least one thing’s going my way.
My little Honda splutters in protest as I slam my foot down on the accelerator, but it carries me dutifully back down the hill and onto the freeway… where I drive straight into the usual morning traffic jam.
Great.
Just theonething going my way, then. It figures.
By the time I pull into the driveway of the little blue-painted bungalow I share with my roommates, the sun is high in the sky, the air is filled with the distinctive scent of rain-soaked pavements being dried by the morning sun, and I’m almost hysterical with the need to talk to Summer. Or Amy, in a pinch. Or, hell, I’d even settle for Weird Ben right now, because if I don’t tellsomeonewhat just happened to me, I’m going to burst.
If I don’t get to the bathroom quickly, though, I reallyamgoing to burst, so I drop my bag in the entrance to the house, then go thundering along the hall to the bathroom door, which I slam into with a jarring thud, rebounding off it like a tennis ball when, instead of opening, like I expected it to, the door remains shut and locked.
“Fuuuuucckkk,” I wail, rubbing my forehead. “Summer, are you in there? I really need to goooooo.”
Silence.
“Amy?” I shout, hopping from foot to foot in desperation. “Weird Ben?”
The silence deepens.
Weird Ben, then, it seems.
I… maybe shouldn’t have called him that to his face. Or to the door, rather. There’s nothing I can do about it now, though, so I turn on my heel and hop-run to Summer’s room, which is the only one with its own bathroom.
The room is disappointingly empty — although thankfully, so is its bathroom — as is Amy’s, when I try it a few minutes later.
Damn.
Either my roommates got up very early, or they’re out very, very late. Either way, I’m on my own here. Well, other than…
I pause for a split second outside Weird Ben’s room, but the door is closed, as always, and I might be dying to tell someone my news, but I’m not prepared to actuallydiefor it — which I just might if Ben is as weird as our nickname for him would suggest.
