Page 23 of Wild Infatuation (Rebel Rockstars #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Terrance

“THIS IS AN INTERVENTION.”

I yelp when Penelope grabs me by the arm, nearly dropping the broom I was using to sweep up fallen hair.

The salon is empty, the morning customers gone and the evening customers still at work.

A couple other cosmetologists glance over when Penelope physically shakes me, but no one moves to intervene.

“Put the broom away before I have to wrestle it out of your hands,” Penelope says.

“Okay, this is a crazy level of aggression. What the heck is going on right now?”

She doesn’t back down, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’ve been sighing and checking your phone all day.” She lowers her voice. “I know ‘smitten’ when I see it. You owe me a serious update.”

Cold flushes through me. I didn’t think I was being so obvious, but I can’t deny the accusation.

The last time I saw Shawn was magical, but he went right back to radio silence afterward.

It’s only been a couple days, but the quiet is already weighing on me, and I guess I didn’t hide it as well as I thought.

Still, I don’t know if I can talk about this, even if I want to.

I was told rockstars like discretion, and Shawn has certainly done nothing to disprove that.

He’s so secretive he won’t even tell me what’s going on when he’s naked in my bed.

I have to piece it together from whatever I find on social media and the scraps he offers.

Surely, I can tell my closest friend, though.

Who’s safer to confess to than Penelope?

She would never break my trust. Of that I am one hundred percent certain.

I glance past her at the rest of the salon. Bored cosmetologists sit in their chairs playing on their phones. The girl at the front desk is reading under the counter.

Regardless, I lower my voice when I say, “Fine, but not here.”

Penelope grins, flush with victory. “Get your stuff. We’ll go to the sandwich place at the end of the block.”

I follow her lead, stuffing my wallet in my pocket beside my phone before I follow her out the door. No one looks up at our passing. It’s lunchtime, after all, and we’re in charge of our own schedules. If we don’t have a client, we can do what we want. Technically, we rent our seats from the salon.

We head down the block, past pizza places and coffee shops.

We have to shoulder through other pedestrians to reach the sandwich shop, where a lunchtime rush crowd awaits.

Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of venue, but at least the crush gives me a little space to breathe.

I rack my brain for how to explain this whole thing to Penelope, what I should and shouldn’t tell her, how much I can safely reveal.

It would help if Shawn told me why everything is such a big secret.

I don’t think his bandmates are homophobic, considering two of them are dating men, so it’s gotta be something else.

Parents? Management? I don’t have the faintest clue, which means I’m flying blind in this conversation.

Well, it’s his own fault. If he would only trust me, I might know what to do.

We make it to the counter and order our sandwiches.

When they’re ready, we spot a lucky corner table and squeeze onto it.

Despite how packed the shop is, most people are getting their sandwiches and leaving.

By the time the staff shout out our orders and we claim the little metal table beside the big windows overlooking the street, the place is a lot emptier than when we arrived.

Still, I do a quick sweep of the other customers.

A guy in the opposite corner scrolls through his phone while eating.

A mother tries to get her two kids to stop picking the vegetables off their sandwiches.

Two workers stand behind the order counter, breathing a sigh of relief now that the rush has abated.

Besides them, it’s just the tables, the case full of drinks, and the big board displaying all the sandwich options.

“So?” Penelope says.

I take a deep breath. The shop isn’t bustling anymore. If I avoid using Shawn’s name, no one around us will have any reason to care about two strangers gossiping about a guy.

His paranoia about this stuff is starting to rub off on me.

I grimace. When did I become so nervous? That was never me. I go into everything believing it’ll work out for the best. I look on the bright side no matter what. Yet here I am scoping out a sandwich shop like I’m a bodyguard sweeping for threats.

“Fine,” I say with a huff. “So, I … I’m kind of seeing him.”

Penelope’s eyebrows shoot up. “ Him. Like, the guy from that job?”

She means the music video shoot, and I nod in confirmation. Her eyes go so wide I’m afraid they’ll fall out.

“I knew it!”

“Shh,” I hiss.

“I knew it,” she says more quietly. “I knew he wanted you.”

“Well, congratulations. You were right.”

“So?”

“So what?” I challenge.

“Was it amazing? How many times has it happened? What’s he really like?”

I heave a sigh and start to spin the tale of the past several strange, strange weeks of my life.

It’s weird dodging his name or any details that might suggest who I’m talking about.

It’s not like anyone in this shop cares.

The mom is trying to wrangle her kids, and the guy with the phone is scrolling like a zombie.

I’m beginning to feel ridiculous for using a hastily constructed code language to describe how Shawn came to my house the other day and spent the night.

“Hold on,” Penelope says. “He spent the night ?”

“He probably didn’t want to sneak past the paparazzi again.”

She’s shaking her head before I even finish. “That’s serious, Terrance. He stayed the night!”

“In fairness, I also stayed the night at his place.”

“That’s different. You fall in love with everyone you meet.”

A flush rushes up my neck and into my face. “H-hold on. No one’s using words like that.”

Penelope puts up her hands in apology. “I’m just saying, spending the night isn’t hook up behavior. Maybe it has nothing to do with the L-word, but it’s definitely more serious than a casual thing.”

My cheeks are burning so hot it’s a wonder steam isn’t pouring off my face. “Do you really need to describe it that way?”

“I’m your reality check, babe. Always have been.”

“Still.”

I put my face in my hands, forgetting about my sandwich until the heat recedes. It’s completely absurd to talk about this being serious when Shawn won’t even tell me what’s going on half the time.

“Wait,” she says. “Didn’t I see him in New York with a date recently?”

That brings my attention back to my friend a little too quickly. Her suspicion hardens.

“What was that about?” she says. “If he’s going to see you all the time why was he there with some girl? They looked pretty cozy.”

“You don’t need to remind me.”

Those pictures are burned onto my brain, in fact.

“Maybe he’s bi,” Penelope says, “but even so, he should come out and tell you that.”

“That would be nice, but it’s hard to get a word out of him. Last time I saw him…”

I cut myself off, but the glint in Penelope’s eyes says she isn’t going to let that one slip by so easily.

“What?” she demands.

It was a publicity thing.

That’s all he gave me. Not a word more. I shake my head, remembering how he brushed me off the second I poked at the New York situation.

“He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it,” I say. “He told me it was for publicity.”

“He’s dating a girl for publicity? What, does the label want him to be straight?”

“That doesn’t really make sense,” I say. “Everyone knows about Jacob and Keannen. It doesn’t seem like they care.”

“Well, there must be something going on,” Penelope says. “So he spends the night with you — the whole night — then jets off and walks the red carpet with some girl because of publicity? That’s kind of messed up.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

It comes out so bitter I barely recognize my own voice. When did I become this guy? I don’t like him, and I don’t want to be him, but all of this secrecy is seriously wearing on me.

“Has he—”

Penelope cuts herself off as the mom with the kids bustles past us, herding her little ones before her.

I appreciate the gesture, but the poor woman looks way too busy to care what we’re talking about.

The sandwich shop grows even quieter after she leaves, and perhaps that makes me relax and open up to the conversation.

Confessions buzz on the tip of my tongue now that we’re more alone.

“He hasn’t told me anything else,” I say. “Nothing. Last time I saw him, I swear he was about to say something when he left, but he didn’t, and I haven’t heard anything since.”

Penelope reaches across the table to set her hand on my arm. I look down, only then realizing how little of my sandwich I’ve managed to stomach.

“I know you think this guy is amazing,” she says, “and he is, for sure, but please make sure you’re taking care of yourself as well, okay? It sounds like he’s playing games with you, and as your friend, I’m not going to let that slide just because he’s rich and famous.”

“There must be a good reason,” I say. “When we’re together he…”

My mind flashes back to the attention he paid to every aching inch of my body last time I saw him. His actions spoke far louder than his words that night, leaving me no doubt about how caring he is beneath the surface.

“There must be some reason,” I say. “I don’t think he’s out to hurt me.”

Penelope’s look is less than convinced. “I’ll believe you, but if I ever find out that’s not true, trust that I’ll beat his pretty ass. I don’t care what a bigshot his stupid band is right now. He’s still a man.”

The image of Penelope accosting Shawn actually makes me chuckle. From a distance, he seems all cool and aloof and hard, but now that I’ve gotten to know him better, I see how soft he is under the surface. She’d eat him alive.

“Oh God,” Penelope says, pulling her hand away.

I snap back to my senses. “What? What’s wrong?”

“That look you just got on your face. You were thinking about him, weren’t you?”

I touch my lips as though I can feel the ghost of the expression.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet Terrance. You are in so deep for this guy.”

The only response I muster is the heat that sears my cheeks.

“Listen, he might have good reasons, but he still owes it to you to tell you those reasons. Don’t accept less because he’s some bigshot guitarist.”

I nod, and Penelope finally backs off. By the time we finish our lunch, I’m feeling a little better about the whole thing.

She’s right, I decide. Shawn does owe me an explanation, a real explanation, and I’m going to make sure he gives it to me.

I might be nice, but that doesn’t mean I’m a pushover.

We gather our trash, but as we’re leaving the shop, I catch the guy in the corner watching us. His sandwich is long finished, and a notebook sits on his lap under the table.

Weird, but I shrug it off and head back to the salon with Penelope. I’m probably being paranoid again, and that’s not the person I want to be. Everything will work out fine.

I’m sure of it.