Page 66 of Ambiguous
Clicking out of that page, I follow the hashtags and am staggered by the number of stories. “You seem so chill about all of this. Has it ever been an issue for someone you were dating?”
“No, because I don’t date.”
I set my phone down and stare at him. “You don’t?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
He reddens. It might be the first time I’ve ever seen him blush. “A few reasons. There’s always the issue of why someone wants to be with me: is it because they really care about me, or do they want the money or the publicity or whatever. On the flip side of that, it’s hard to date me, because whoever it is will be in the public eye and picked apart by fans and the media. Even if I thought my partner was the best thing that ever happened to me, someone out there would express the opinion that they weren’t, which can be hurtful. Add in the fact that I want to keep matters of the heart just for me—to keep some things private—and…” He shrugs. “Plus, I’m busy. Touring and appearances take a lot out of me. Either I’m gone or I’m tired, and there’s nothing of me left for someone else.” Then his voice lowers, and it makesmeblush. “Most importantly, I’d never found anyone I wanted badly enough to make it worth the trouble. Someone I wanted to spend the whole day with and then all night and then repeat it the next day. Someone like you.”
“Oh,” I say, breathless. “I’m amazed that you feel that way about me.”
He reaches out and traces my jaw. “I do. We could consider what we’re doing dating, if you wanted. Just with no, you know, shagging until the album’s done.”
“Pretty sure dating’s against the rules.”
“Pretty sure we’re pushing the rules.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “We are.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Look, if what we’re saying or doing is getting too close to that limit for you, we can take a step back.”
“I know. I appreciate that.” I stare down at my feet, then look back at him. “I don’t want to stay away from you.”
“Me neither.”
We pause, gazing at each other. My knee rubs against his. He takes my hand, and we sit quietly for a moment.
Finally, I speak up. “Part of me thinks this ethical rule sucks and we’re being tortured for no reason. First, I’m a professional and would never hurt my client. If I thought being with you wasn’t in their best interest, I wouldn’t be here. In fact, I think our… friendship, relationship, whatever you want to call it helps them—or, at least, thinking that helps me soothe the ethics beast. But second, perspective: we’re very lucky to have found each other. And this gives us a trial dating period without the pressure of going out.”
“You’re aware we’ve been out in public multiple times.”
“You know what I mean.”
He gives me one of his private smiles. It’s smaller than the one he flashes for the cameras, but no less sincere, and it makes a rare dimple appear.
“I’d love to get to know you better,” I say. “But I feel foolish. Everything I want to ask I could probably find out in a deep Google search.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not true. I hold things back.”
“I also don’t want to be all, ‘Jules, what’s your favorite color?’”
“Turquoise.” Again, that secret smile.
“I could have figured that out by googling, though, right?”
“No. I usually say black. Because I like it, too.” He gestures down at his black T-shirt and black jeans. “It’s easier to have a pat answer that’s true, even if it’s only part of the story, than to give a long explanation of what I feel deep down.”
“That’s interesting.”
“My current favorite color is actually—and forgive me—the color of your eyes.”
I blush again. “Um.”
“Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to embarrass you. What’syourfavorite color?”
“Orange,” I say, flopping back in my seat. “I know a lot of people don’t like it. But I like a burnt orange. Like sunsets and goldfish and California poppies.”
