Promise Me

“You decided.” She corrects. “About the time you went on a date with Becca.”

I’m clueless. “What are you talking about?”

She pulls her phone out of her purse, taps a button, and points the screen at my face. I have to ease her hand back six inches before I can focus on a photo of Becca and me leaning across a table at The Peninsula.

Shit. We’re right there in color-coordinated glory on Becca’s Instagram feed, along with the caption “Missing my boo.”

“That picture was snapped over a week ago, and it wasn’t a date.” There’s nothing to do here but be honest, even if it puts my dysfunctional relationship with my father front and center. I want to level with her. “My dad set it up ambush-style on the last day of filming Laney’s music video to feed the gossip sites something juicy. I didn’t know she was going to be there. We shared a toast over her landing a movie role, and she tried to talk me into being a publicity couple. I said no. The end.”

She lowe

rs her hand and looks away. A muscle quivers in her throat. “It doesn’t matter…”

I cup her jaw. “It matters to me. I don’t feel casual. I don’t want casual. I want you. I don’t care if this is just for the summer. I don’t care if you’re eventually going to law school to get on with your life. For the duration, I’m yours.” I inhale deeply and add, “And you’re mine.”

Her breath hitches, and I wonder if I’m about to be kicked in the balls for coming off like a domineering asshole.

“This was before last weekend?” Before we had sex, her eyes say.

“Yes.” I wrap my fingers around her wrist. “Yes, but it wasn’t before I started to realize I was—” Caution urges me to take stock of my words, but I don’t want to. I want to let them out. She deserves to have them no matter what she chooses to do with them. “Kendall, it wasn’t before I realized I was into you. And if it counts for anything, I’ve told my father he can’t just—”

“Me, too.”

The two words cut through my sloppy arguments. “What?”

“Me, too,” she repeats, and closes her hand around mine. “I’m into you, too. I feel like this thing between us is…I don’t know…special.”

“It is,” I interject, but she shakes her head to silence me.

“But I’m not adept at reading the signals. Maybe you spend the weekend with all your dates? Maybe snuggling under the covers and sharing showers and cooking breakfast only feels special to me because I’ve never done it before?”

“It feels special to me, too. Believe me, Kendall. I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. I haven’t done this before, either. When it comes to this”—I point to her and then to me—“we’re both virgins.”

She spears her fingers into my hair and pulls my face close. “I believe you,” she says before she presses her lips to mine.

Relief courses through me. I dive into the kiss. I don’t know where we’ve landed, exactly, but it’s somewhere beyond the reach of manipulated photo ops and unspoken emotions. Wherever we are, it feels vital.

Chapter Twenty

Kendall

Laney Albright has the kind of rhythm and New Yawk swagger that makes it impossible to keep still when she sings. My hips are wiggling, my shoulders are swaying, and right behind me, standing so close our bodies keep grazing, is Vaughn. At every point of contact, sparks of awareness flare. Then recede. Flare. Recede. It’s maddening in the best possible way.

It’s a good thing he can’t see my face because it’s no doubt glowing pink with adoration.

Tonight is crazy. The past week has been crazy. My ordinary life has changed in ways I never imagined. The hope I held deep down for things to change may have included a guy, but not one like the tall slice of heaven now putting his hands on my hips.

Instantly, my head, my heart, my tummy are all fluttery. These feelings swoop in regularly, so I should be used to them. But I’m not.

We move to the music, the beat a mix of electronic and hip-hop. I’ve been acutely tuned in to Vaughn since the second he knocked on my door and took my hand to lead me to his car. My air space is entirely filled with him whether we’re driving, sneaking into an album release party or getting our groove on. There may be a couple hundred other people here with us, but I don’t see any of them.

I glance to my right. Except for him. Justin Timberlake is five feet away. He’s new to America Rocks this season, taking over as a judge. He shook my hand, which means I may never wash it again, and couldn’t have been nicer when we were introduced. Being in the roped-off VIP section definitely has its perks. Thankfully, Justin has soaked up 90 percent of the attention. While girls have definitely noticed Vaughn, they haven’t approached. A couple of people wearing press lanyards are on the other side of the venue, a safe distance away.

Muted spotlights circling the stage give the event space on Hollywood Blvd. an intimate feel. The friends and fans here for this special night are singing along with Laney as she belts out her most recent hit. Also across the room is a seemingly endless upscale bar, the glass from liquor bottles and tumblers fracturing the stage lights into twinkles of blue, green, and gold. Outside, massive video screens overlooking the street and sidewalk play a constant loop of Laney’s appearances and songs. In the lobby is a lounge with couches and portable shelves filled with shoeboxes from tonight’s sponsor, Adidas. Laney is known for the custom rainbow-striped sneakers she wears—no matter the outfit—and so tonight everyone in attendance is getting a pair.

The music continues to thump loud enough that I can see people’s lips moving, but I’m not sure if any sound is actually coming out. Not until Laney holds the mic out for the audience to fill in the refrain.

When the song ends, the crowd goes wild. Laney gives a shout-out of thanks then brings her hand to her face like she’s covering her eyes from the sun. “Vaughn Shaughnessy? You out there?” she asks, her vowels drawn out long as the Brooklyn Bridge.