She better not be.
Not that there is Team Spencer versus Team Lyra. There are no teams—yet. There’s just a confused Lyra. And an unsure Lyra. And a really-want-to-know-what’s-going-on-in-Spencer’s-head Lyra.
All of which are not fun Lyras.
I push all of that down deep as I drive over to the hotel to pick up my date for the day.
I told Grayson even before Spencer arrived to give the next one-on-one date rose to Basher. The drummer impressed me with his easy-going ways and cute smile. Plus, I’m the daughter of a former rock star, so why wouldn’t I want to spend the day with amusician?
Who to send home was the easiest pick. I gave Grayson Mac’s and Max’s names because even after almost a week into this, I still can’t tell them apart. Devon got the yellow rose because he can’t seem to look me in the eye. I can be intimidating, but if he’s already scared of me, there’s really no chance for us.
Not that there was much of one, anyway.
Lucas had been on my list to go home since day one because I remember six-year-old Lucas with his finger up his nose at the end-of-year concert, and if I remember that, I’m sure the rest of the town would as well.
And I want Battle Harbour to be proud of me.
I’m making my own decisions, based on what I want and don’t want. And what I think is good for me. Lately though, thoughts about my image have been clogging up my mental feed. I’ve always tried to keep adon’t careattitude about what people think of me, but I think it’s time to tone down society’s idea of me as the Party Princess. The demanding, high maintenance royal rebel needs to go.
Because everyone, eventually, has to grow up.
I’m not sure if my decision to be the Suitorette helps or hinders, but at least I’m taking control of my life.
I’m proud of you, I imagine Mom saying.
“Maybe, but what do you think of this guy?” I murmur as I pull up in front of the hotel. Basher is waiting for me, arms waving as quickly as his hands fly around his drum kit.
Basher isn’t the most attractive man here—unfortunately, that is Ashton, with fireman Dylan a close second—but there’s a coolness that I’m drawn to, like a younger Keanu Reeves mixed with a pre-Pirates of the Caribbean Johnny Depp. He’s got swagger, butwith a cute smile and lots of energy. He seems like he enjoys life, and that is tops on my list.
“Hey, hey, Princess,” Basher greets me, jumping in the car before it comes to a complete stop. “Let’s get out of here before the masses find us.”
“Where is everyone?”
“They told me to wait for you inside and I… didn’t.” His smile veers into mischievous territory, and I start the car with a laugh.
“Wave to the camera then,” I tell him as Grayson and Johnny burst out of the door.
Today’s date is parasailing and there’s not much time to talk as I drive away.
Rue and a cameraman are waiting for us there at the marina where we catch the boat, and they hop aboard with us. I’ve been parasailing before, but never over the Atlantic. Even in July, there’s a hint of chill in the air and the Atlantic is much darker than the bright blue of the warm Caribbean and just a little foreboding. All I can think of is that I don’t want to end up in the water.
Hasan hooks a Go-Pro to the harness before we’re lifted into the air to catch the gasps and giggles and even the quick kiss Basher gives me when we’re flying high in the air.
I don’t mind the kiss too much. In fact, the whole day does the trick in getting my mind off Spencer.
Parasailing, a quick walk along the beach where I ask so many questions about Basher’s life in the band that Rue tells me to stop so Basher can ask me something.
He counters with questions about my dad’s life with the band.
Basher doesn’t mention Spencer or any of the other men, and I appreciate it. It’s too easy to get caught up in my thoughts and thatwouldn’t be fair to him. After I change into a clinging, one-shouldered green dress, we meet at the public school for the second part of our date.
“Couldn’t get enough of me?” Basher teases as he takes my hand to walk through the doors. Holding hands with him would take some getting used to, with his rings and calluses from holding drumsticks. His hands are always in motion, like he’s playing air drums. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a school,” he adds, looking around at the posters and pictures and tiny lockers as I lead him to the gymnasium.
“This date is nothing school related,” I promise as I let him open the door for me.
“I wondered if you knew what’s going on.”
“I might. Just know this involves music.”
