Between the Lines
“I’ve never planned to go.”
He smiled down at a toddler in a stroller as we passed, and she smiled back. “Why not?”
I shrugged. “I’ve never considered it a requirement. Or an option.” I felt myself getting defensive. “I’m not that bright. I do okay in my coursework, but nothing spectacular.”
“You’re underestimating yourself, Emma. And most people in college are not geniuses.”
“So you’ve taken some sort of poll? Or perhaps did some research?”
He laughed, falling in behind me as we passed a group jogging the opposite direction. “If research can be defined as being aware that you could run brainy little circles around most of the people I’ve gone to class with,” he said, “then yes.”
The warm sensation that flowed through me was both similar to yet nothing like some guy telling me I’m hot. Some guy like Reid, for instance.
“MiShaun says you completed a degree in New York?”
“Not quite. My final semester is this spring, after School Pride wraps.”
“How’d you get so far ahead?”
He bit his lip. “With academic parents and older sisters, I was precocious. I skipped kindergarten, moved from second grade to third mid-year. I liked being younger than anyone else in class, even though I got beat up occasionally for being pretentious.”
“Were you pretentious?”
“Yeah.” He laughed. “I was completely full of myself, pretty much all the time.”
“So you finished high school when?”
“Sixteen.” He smirked at me. “Clever diversion, getting me to talk about myself so I’ll quit asking you about your future plans, which you haven’t made.”
“I wasn’t trying to divert. I was curious.”
“Uh-huh.” I guessed he was wearing the same expression that got him creamed on the playground.
“Besides, if you’re trying to convince me that people who go to college aren’t brilliant, you totally suck at the persuasive part of your argument.”
He sighed. “I’m not brilliant. I’ve just always been a bit more… driven… than my peers. Another thing—certain classes and instructors make you think and generate approaches to issues you didn’t know existed. As an actor, it gives you more depth to pull from.”
Almost exactly what Jenna said on the plane.
“Hu—” I caught myself and clamped my lips shut.
“Nice catch,” he said before taking the lead so we could pass another slowpoke walker.
***
I’m ready to go at 6:45. By 7:00, I’ve retouched my hair four times, checked my teeth twice, sat down on the bed and stood up again countless times. At the knock, my stomach drops. Without checking the peephole, I pull the door open, and there stands Brooke, dressed to go out, but her hair is straight on one side, wavy on the other.
“Brooke? Hi?”
She walks into my room. “Hey, cute tank. Please tell me you have a Chi flatiron. Mine shorted out or something. Goddamned thing made a zzzzt noise when I was halfway done, as you can undoubtedly see with your own eyes, and now I have a date in like twenty minutes with the super hot manager of that band we saw the other night? And my hair looks like complete crap.”
Band manager? She has a date with a band manager? “Uh, sure. I’ll get it.”
“Oh, thank God. I seriously wanted to kill someone but couldn’t think who’d be culpable except for whoever put that thing together, and they’re probably making three cents an hour and working out of a windowless factory in southeast Asia.”
As we exit the bathroom, a confident knock sounds at the door. Brooke’s eyes slide to me. “Date tonight, Emma? Who is it? Reid?” She peers through the peephole. “Yep, there he stands, Mr. Everything.” I’m wondering what she means by that as she pulls the door open and stands in the doorway. “Hey there.”
He’s wearing jeans and a white jersey Lacoste shirt, and he looks like he got up from a nap, ran a hand through his hair and pronounced it fine. And that’s the thing—it is fine. This is the most unfair and strangely subtle characteristic that he possesses: the more blasé he is about his appearance, the more beautiful he gets.
Over Brooke’s shoulder, I watch a number of emotions flicker over Reid’s face. Glancing at the number on the door and back to her, he blinks, his head tilting sideways just slightly. His eyes narrow, spotting me behind her. “Brooke. Nice hair.”
“Well. I’m off to repair my split personality. You children have fun.” She turns to me. “Thanks for the Chi. I owe you big time.” She and Reid are like five-year-olds in a stare-off as she walks around him, until she breaks it off and walks towards her room, humming.
“Odd girl,” he says, turning back to me. His gaze appreciative, he looks me up and down. Taking my hand, he twirls me around slowly. “You look so hot. Are you ready to go?”
“Yep. I’ll get my bag.” I take a calming breath as I cross the room, trying to remind myself that he’s just a guy. On this date, he’s just a guy.
Right.
Chapter 27
REID
Bob and Jeff are standing at the hotel exit, which tells me everything is about to get a lot more interesting. When we step outside and the flashes start, Emma’s hand tightens in mine. With our bodyguards running defense, I slide an arm around Emma and lead her to the waiting car. She’s clearly a little freaked out and unused to this level of media attention.