“Whatever.” He smiles and kisses me softly, slowly on the lips, before rolling away from me and hopping to his feet.
I’ve never seen him this chipper in the morning. When he picks me up for school he’s basically a zombie, until he’s gone through his coffee and mine.
“I’m going to wake up Anders and Cort.” Cam closes the door behind him and I stand up, feeling like a baby deer as I make my way to the bathroom. It’s a Jack and Jill bathroom, shared by the two bedrooms, and the door is always closed, so I’ve assumed Cam doesn’t use it, but the door is cracked open. I don’t feel like wandering out to the hallway bathroom in the blue boxer shorts I’m wearing. My T-shirt is slung across the shower rod, still damp, but my pants—and more importantly, my bra—are nowhere to be found. I had to have left the party with those two very important pieces.Right?I remember leaving the party. I don’t specifically remember having my pants on, but I have a feelingnothaving them would be memorable.
I turn on the tap, filling my hands with cool water and splashing it onto my face, before wiping down my neck, chest, shoulders, and arms. I just can’t bring myself to get naked in Cam’s shower. After drying myself off with the only towel I can find—a tiny white hand towel—I head back into Cam’s room. The light is off, and I fumble next to the door, trying to find the switch. When the light clicks on, the room is empty, except for a stack of boxes along one wall. The room is baby blue—an identical twin to Cam’s—but it isn’t his. This isn’t what I had in mind when he said his parents weren’t here, and we could stay over.Are they moving? Why would—
“Vee?” My train of thought is interrupted by a soft tap on the bathroom door, and Cam’s voice. “You okay?”
I lurch back into the bathroom as if the mossy green carpeting in front of me has caught fire. I turn on the faucet, feeling like I’ve been caught. I probably have.Maybe his parents travel a lot?“I’m fine,” I say, over the rush of the water. “Do you know where my pants are?”
The bathroom door creaks open far enough for Cam to shove his hand in, with my jeans—completely dry—hanging by a belt loop off his finger. Right next to my white cotton bra. I ownonesexy bra. It’s black lace over purple satin, and it’s tucked away in my top drawer. I didn’t expect anyone to see my bra last night. Or to be holding it this morning.Kill me now.I grab the clothes, shove his arm, and close the door in one swift move.
“You’re welcome!” I hear the creak of his mattress as his body slams against it and my whole face flushes at the thought of him on his bed again. Of me in his bed. All the potential that bed might hold for us now. Even though nothing has changed—not really—everything feels different. Life feels full of possibilities. I slip on my bra and jeans, leaving Cam’s red-and-white Coachella T-shirt on. It doesn’t look like anything else I’ve seen him wear, but it’s threadbare and worn-in, with tiny holes around the hems. Before I open the door, I take a second to smell it, letting the memories of the last twenty-four hours wash over me.
Just like during our nights on the beach, I’m filled with this overwhelming need to know Cam. Not just his favorite movie (an apocalyptic thriller) or song (anything classic rock), or how old he was when he had his first kiss (twelve—which seems old, because I was eight on a swing set). I want to know his secrets. All of the things he’s not telling me. I want to know the stories that fill the gaps of silence, when he shuts down and gets quiet. The stories he doesn’t tell anyone else. I want him to tell me about that room, and those boxes. Why he drives a car likethat,and lives in an apartment likethis—small, with its mismatched furniture and zero decorations and that empty room. I don’t justwantto know everything about Cam, I think Ineedto know. But when I open the door and see him lying on the bed, smiling and shirtless andmine,all the questions seem to drift away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NOW
VIRGINIA
As an official member of the publicity team, one of my new duties is to make sure the bands arrive early to every show and sign autographs for the fans that line up outside the venues. Afterward, they do a meet-and-greet with fans who won that week’s contests. I ask fans to post pictures of themselves in their purple shirts, or to tell a story about their worst breakup, or share the lyrics to their favorite Future X song. Each week, the ten or fifteen winners join us backstage to watch the guys rehearse and get autographs. Usually, I’m glued to my phone, responding to online comments, but today all I can do is stare at the screen. My chest burns at the thought of Cam’s hands on me, the cold bricks against my back, the feel of us against each other.Don’t ever drink again, Virginia.I had just enough to give in to the feel of him. Just enough to forget why I should have pushed him away sooner. Before the cameras were pointed at us. Before we had to make stuttered excuses no one believed.
The guys are onstage, finishing up their rehearsal. The contest winners are huddled around the backstage area with me, when I hear the whispers begin.
“I can’t believe he let her stay.”
“Stupid slut.”
I look around the small backstage area, wondering who they could be talking about. It’s practically empty back here. There are a few groupies sitting with one of the bands, and Bri is standing by the exit with Pax. Are they talking about her?Why do they care if she stays?
“Iheard the band might break up.”
Another one of them whispers behind me. “Do it.”
I feel a tap on my shoulder.
The tiny, pigtailed blonde behind me barely comes up to my shoulder. “He’s too good for you. And he’s going to figure it out pretty soon. So… enjoy it while it lasts.” It sounds like a threat. A confusing, nonsensical threat. “Bitch.”
“Excuse me?”What is happening right now?
Another girl chimes in. “You heard her.” And another. “Yeah, bitch. You’ll be out on the street soon.”
“Woah. Hold up.” The music has stopped and all I can manage to do is glare at the two girls as a third steps up alongside them. “What the hell is your problem?”
“You’re our problem,” one says.
The other girl takes a step forward. “You, bitch.”
“Stupid skank,” the third girl mutters.
What the hell is going on here?I can feel my face burning red as a hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch.
“Everything okay?” Logan steps next to me and the guys gather around. I look at him, unsure of what to say.Is everything okay?No. “What’s going on, Vee?”
The blonde steps forward. “Logan”—she’s using a sugary sweet voice nothing like the way she spoke to me—“we were just setting yourfuture exhere”—she nods to me—“straight.”
