Page 16 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
I can sense a lecture coming my way about how this is a bad idea. Very stupid. Foolish. Not good. I avert it. “Anyway, we’ve been keeping it on the quiet side while it was new, which is why I hadn’t told you yet–”
“You’ve been seeing this boy in secret. Are you sure you’re not pregnant?”
“No. Mami. There’s no baby!” I screech, just as Kim strides back into the room. She raises her eyebrows at me. “Look the reason I’m telling you now is that the media have found out and … well, my photo is already in the paper–”
“Your picture’s in the paper? Which one?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just, you might get asked questions.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know. We’ll talk about it more when I get home.”
“Yes. Wait. I’m going to Google him now while you’re on the phone.”
“No, Mami, I’ve got to–” But I can tell she’s removed the phone from her ear. She taps away on the device.
“¡Oh! Es muy guapo, ¡mira1!” she says to my grandma.
“Un chico muy guapo2,” my grandma says.
I groan. “¡Tengo que irme3!” I call out. “Las amo. Nos vemos después4.”
By midday, I have to turn my phone off. Everyone I know has been lighting up my phone from all my cousins to my hairdresser and some girl I used to go to school with. They all want to know if it’s true. If I’m really dating Hunter. I feel like such a douchebag lying to them all. Because let’s face it. A guy like Hunter – a rock god, billionaire, talented and handsome – would never want to date a nobody like me in real life.
My mom also sends me a string of non-stop text messages. She’s obviously been Googling Hunter and the band because most of the messages begin:Did you know …
As if I wouldn’t know that my supposed boyfriend was Swedish, has a degree in music (okay I didn’t know that one) and is over 6 and a half feet tall.
By lunch time, I’m starving hungry and exhausted. I peer out the office window at the sunbaked streets below. Usually I take my sandwich outside and eat in the sunshine, but today I’m scared I’ll be recognized by someone and pounced on by strangers. I shiver at the thought. No wonder the band seems permanently harassed. There's always someone harassing them.
So instead, I take my lunch downstairs and sit with Frankie at his desk while he picks at a tuna salad. Since Maria’s been gone, Frankie has become my go-to person for advice and gossip. It turns out we both have a love of romance books and movies. Although he likes weird shit with vampires and goblins, I’m into the much more straightforward kind of thing.
“That looks disgusting,” I tell Frankie, staring at his limp lettuce leaves and feeling thankful my grandma insists on making my lunch. I know I’m a woman in my twenties and should be taking care of myself, but hey I’m only mortal and I’m not turning that down!
“It is,” he says, pushing it to one side and looking at my rapidly disappearing sandwich. “You think your grandma would make me one of those?”
“I can ask her.”
He watches me.
“What?” I say.
“Are you going to just sit there and pretend like nothing ground-shaking and incredible is taking place in your life, or are you going to spit it out?”
I lower my lunch. “So you saw the articles, huh?”
“Duh.” He leans a little closer. “How long has this been going on? I never saw you guys together before.”
“Oh you know …” I say vaguely, delivering the same answer I’ve handed out at least one hundred times this morning. For one crazy moment, I consider deviating from the script and telling Frankie the truth. I’d really like to tell someone the truth. But Maria is the only person I could have trusted with this information.
“No, I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Is he mind-blowing in bed? I bet he is. The man is built like a fridge on steroids.”
“We’re taking things slow.” I shove a piece of the bread in my mouth to prevent me from saying anything more.
“Oh God, why?”
I shrug.
