Page 23 of Spark

RUBY

T itus and I are lying in a flower garden together. Oh, it’s the garden at our grandma’s house. But we’re not kids, which is weird, since she passed away when I was twelve. We’re grown adults. The present versions of ourselves.

Even weirder, Titus is spooning me in the garden. Softly kissing my neck. His arm around me feels kind of nice, actually. Comforting and sweet. Not sure about the kissing thing, though. That feels a little incest-y.

Without notice, I feel the unmistakable sensation of a hard-on poking my ass cheek, and I’m pretty sure about that one: it’s most definitely incest-y.

Screaming, I scramble away from Titus’ erection and out of his embrace, and wind up falling off the edge of a cliff.

Thud.

“Gah.” When I open my eyes, I’m on the floor in my hotel room, crumpled in a heap right next to the side of the bed. The heavy blinds are drawn, keeping the room in sleep-inducing darkness, but there are narrow slivers of sunlight peeking through the edges of the window covering .

“Ruby?” Kendrick croaks out. “Are you okay?” He sits up and our eyes meet. His golden hair is a rat’s nest. His face is etched with concern, the whites of his eyes a telltale shade of “partied too hard last night” red.

“I, uh, had a nightmare. I’m okay.”

“You screamed like you got stabbed.”

“I dreamed a snake chased me off a cliff.” It’s not a complete lie. The hard snake poking my ass cheek most definitely made me scamper.

I stand up with a soft groan, prompting Kendrick to stretch and yawn—at which point, I notice an unmistakable tent pole poking up from underneath the flimsy top sheet covering his lap.

Apparently, I’m not subtle about staring at Kendrick’s crotch, because he quickly looks down and covers his eye-popping bulge with his hands.

“It’s not . . . ,” he begins. “I wake up every morning like this, pretty much. It’s not specific to?—”

“No, yeah. I’ve got a brother, remember?

I know all about boys and morning wood.” It occurs to me that dream with Titus must have felt so real because Kendrick was spooning me in real life and kissing my neck.

And Kendrick was . . . . Oh my god. Did my brain incorporate all those physical sensation from real life into my dream?

I check my phone on the nightstand. “Holy shit. My phone’s blowing up.”

Kendrick’s got his phone in hand now, too. “So is mine.” We both start swiping and discover the same thing: Our kiss from last night has gone viral. In fact, it’s breaking a certain corner of the internet.

My heart racing, I crawl onto the bed next to Kendrick, and we watch different versions of the same video on his phone, all of them featuring last night’s kiss.

In some of the clips, the original audio of the moment is used, and Cooper’s godawful song is blaring in the background.

In others, people have posted the video with new audio overlaid: the precise moment in the song where Cooper sings, “ Why do you want to fuck your brother ?”

“Looks like they’ve decided I’m the guy in the song,” Kendrick says with a nervous laugh.

I rub my forehead, feeling out of sorts.

I remember kissing Kendrick last night, of course, but I was so drunk, I don’t remember the details of it—the physical sensations of the kiss.

Mostly, I remember seeing Rex’s phone trained on me and wanting to take control of the narrative.

Frankly, that’s the overriding memory I’ve got from that shocking moment.

But somewhere in there, if only briefly, I’m pretty sure I also remember thinking, “This is one hell of a kiss.”

“I’m sorry, Kendrick,” I murmur.

“For what?”

“For kissing you without your consent. For dragging you into this without consulting you first.”

Kendrick chuckles. “I was more than happy to be of service. And how could you have asked me? You had to make a game-time decision, and that’s what you did.”

He swipes, and we watch another version of the same video, this one featuring a talking head influencer who walks the viewer through the “tea” about the supposed “love triangle” between Cooper, Kendrick, and me.

“I’m sure Cooper’s seen it by now,” Kendrick says. “Your plan worked like a charm.”

I snicker. “The kiss is Cooper’s worst nightmare. I guarantee you, he’s now convinced I was secretly screwing you behind his back the whole time.”

Kendrick smirks. “Good. Let him think that.” His phone buzzes, and he looks down. “Eli wants you to call him. He says you’re not replying to any of his texts or calls, and he needs to talk to you urgently. ”

“Shit. Do you think he’s upset about the viral video for some reason?”

“I highly doubt it.”

“He’s never needed to talk to me urgently before. I hope it’s not bad news.”

“Only one way to find out, babe.”

“Will you call him and explain the video for me, just in case? I have to pee. Tell him I’ll be right out.”

Before he responds, I hurtle into the bathroom to do my thing. And by the time I come out, Kendrick has Eli on speakerphone, and it seems pretty clear Eli’s not in any kind of distress.

“She’s here,” Kendrick announces.

“Hey, Eli.”

“Hey, Ruby Duby. I’ve got some great news for you that comes with some not-so-great news. On balance, though, I think you’ll feel it’s a great opportunity.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Ruby, Sing Your Heart Out wants you to be Laila’s guest mentor this season.”

My heart stops. “What? Oh my gosh, Eli!”

“Congratulations, sweetheart. You deserve this.”

I squeal and hug Kendrick sitting next to me . . . until I remember there’s some not-so-great news that’s coming next. “So, what’s the catch?”

Eli exhales loudly. “Cooper. They’ve already confirmed him as a guest mentor this season.”

“No.”

“Yeah, sorry. They bumped whoever they had lined up for Jon Stapleton to offer him the gig. Also, brace yourself; they’re giving APM a performance slot in the finale.”

“Fuck. To perform ‘Don’t Call Me?’”

“What else?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. So, if I do this, I’d have to interact with him on Mentor Day? ”

“Yep, and at the press conference, too. And at the finale. You might even have to sit there, watching APM perform, while they grab close-up reaction shots of you and Kendrick.”

“Of me and Kendrick? What does that mean?”

“They’re hoping for a love triangle storyline. Especially now that you’ve gifted them with a viral kiss.”

“Fuck!” I shout. “Can you please ask them to let me on a different season?”

“Nope. It’s now or never, baby. They’re salivating over the idea of having the trifecta, all at once, at this specific moment in time, while ‘Don’t Call Me’ is riding high on the charts and that viral kiss is making the rounds.”

“Shit.”

“I could tell them you’re not willing to overtly help their storyline along.

I think they’d agree to you simply not actively thwarting it, since the storyline kind of writes itself at this point.

Fair warning, though, I’m sure they’ll do their damnedest in the edit to make you three look like the second coming of Twilight . ”

I look at Kendrick. “What do you think?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck if Cooper’s there. I can ignore him. I wouldn’t want him to ruin this chance for you, Ruby. But if it wouldn’t be fun for you with him there, then don’t do it. It’s totally up to you, babe.”

“If you’re willing to play up your new romantic relationship, I’m sure I could negotiate bonuses for both of you,” Eli offers.

“We don’t have a romantic relationship to play up,” I insist. “That kiss was fake, Eli. Someone played the song while recording me to get my reaction, so we seized the opportunity to send a giant fuck-you to Cooper.”

“Oh. Huh. I thought . . . Okay, well, the producers don’t care if it was real or fake. All they care about is ratings and what storylines they can sell to their audience. ”

“They did the same thing to Savage and Laila during their first season,” Kendrick says to me. “They made them pretend to be madly in love.”

“And those two hated each other at the time,” Eli adds with a laugh. “So, at least you two have the advantage of genuinely loving each other already.”

I smile at Kendrick. “Okay, let’s do it. I’m in.”

Both men whoop and congratulate me.

“As long as I’ve got Kendrick there with me,” I add, “I’m sure I’ll have the time of my life.”

“Fantastic!” Eli says with a clap. “I’ll call them now with the great news and try to negotiate that bonus option, too.”

“Wait,” I say. “There’s a condition to my yes. I want a performance slot in the finale for Fugitive Summer, the same length as the one APM is getting. And I want us to go on after them, or else my answer is no.”

Eli snickers. “You’re going to write a response song, huh?”

“No. That would only confirm I’m ‘Ruby Tuesday.’”

Eli scoffs. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but if you go on the internet for all of two seconds, you’ll find out?—”

“The whole world knows I’m her. Yes, I know. But people assuming that is different than me and my band expressly confirming it. I refuse to give Cooper more clout than I’ve already given him.”

“Amen,” Kendrick murmurs.

“Then why do you want to perform right after?”

“Because I want them teasing and hyping up the world premiere of Fugitive Summer’s brand-new song throughout the whole damned finale. That’s going to make everyone and their mother think we’re going to perform a diss track of some kind, so they’ll all tune in with bated breath.”

Eli laughs. “You’re a genius.”

“And with that many eyeballs on us, whatever new song we debut will smash it. ”

“Absolutely. It’ll go to number one that night. And as long as the song is catchy enough to go the distance, you’ll have a massive hit on your hands. Great thinking, Ruby. I love it.”

I wink at Kendrick. “And the best part is, when we don’t, that’ll be an even bigger diss than any song about him could have been.”

We all cackle with glee.

“You’re so smart,” Kendrick says, beaming a smile at me. “You’re actually kind of scary.” Clearly, he means this as high praise.

Eli says, “For what it’s worth, I’d strongly advise you to include at least one line in the new song that could be interpreted as a ‘fuck you’ to Cooper, even if it’s a stretch. Do that, and the song will go ten-times diamond.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, as Kendrick waggles his eyebrows at the suggestion. “But first things first, get us that performance slot. Tell them if they won’t do that, my answer is no.”

“I’m sure they’ll agree. I honestly predict they’ll go batshit crazy for this idea.”

“Just tell them it’ll be a new single that we’re in the midst of writing now. No specifics, okay?”

“Gotcha.”

Kendrick clears his throat. “Hey, Eli, do you think the producers might want Ruby and me to live together, like they required of Savage and Laila their first season?”

“Nah. That made sense for Savage and Laila because they were judges. With two guest mentors, I doubt they’ll want to pay all the extra expenses to make that happen. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled with you two looking cozy at the press conference, and then again during Mentor Day and at the finale.”

Kendrick exhales. “Okay. Cool.” He presses his lips together. “That’s a relief. ”

“I’m guessing I’ll have an answer for you within an hour. Don’t tell anyone about this yet. Wait for the deal to be finalized.”

“Can I tell Savage and Laila, so I can thank them? We’re all headed to the airport in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, you can tell them, since they’ve already signed an NDA with the show.”

“What about Titus? I swear he won’t say a word.”

Eli chuckles. “Tell the whole band, Ruby Duby. That’s fine. But that’s it.”

We say our goodbyes, and Kendrick disconnects the call.

“Thank God you’re going to be there with me,” I say to Kendrick on a sigh. “With Cooper there, I doubt I would have said yes, if not for you.”

Kendrick smiles and bites his lip. For a moment, his eyes drift to my mouth. Ever so briefly. Or maybe I’m imagining that. “I’m gonna head to my room to shower and pack before they come get us for the airport.”

“I need to do all that, too. Thank you again for everything.”

“Anything for you, Ruby. Always.”

He slides out of bed and saunters toward the door. But as he opens it, Titus is standing in the doorframe, his fist raised like he’s about to knock.

“Oh!” Kendrick blurts, as both men take surprised steps backwards.

“I know what this looks like,” Kendrick says quickly. “But nothing happened last night between Ruby and me. We crashed right after we got here.”

“Okay,” Titus says. But his raised eyebrow makes the word sound more like he’s saying, “Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” I say. “Not that it’d be any of your business, either way.”

“I never said it’s my business. All I said was I didn’t want you two doing something shitfaced you wouldn’t have done sober.”

I vaguely remember Titus saying something like that, now that I think about it.

But last night is kind of a blur for me, thanks to the copious amounts of booze and weed in my system.

The only two things I remember with perfect clarity from last night, now that I think about it, are the following: one, I definitely kissed Kendrick last night, as a ‘fuck you’ to Cooper, and, two, somewhere in there, while my lips were still connected with Kendrick’s, I thought: This is the best kiss of my life.

Sadly, I don’t remember the physical sensations that prompted that shocking thought.

Honestly, I don’t remember what it felt like to kiss Kendrick at all.

But now that I’m remembering I had that surprising thought, I can’t deny I’m deeply curious to kiss Kendrick again—while sober the next time—to try to find out exactly what prompted it.