One of the ladies gasped. “Itisyou! My granddaughter is just over the moon for you, you know.” She humphed. “I better keep this little tidbit to myself. I swear she thinks you’re going to sweep in any minute and whisk her away into some teenaged fantasyland happily ever after. I haven’t the heart to disabuse her of the fantasy.”
Myles’s grin faltered momentarily, and then returned brighter than ever. “Well, I don’t know what I can do about that, but I can do this…” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a Sharpie, strode across the room and snagged one of the extra Joker cards and scrawled his autograph on it. “You got a phone?”
The old woman pulled out a cell phone that was at least ten years old, brought up the camera. Handed it to him. He circled to crouch behind the woman and snapped a selfie with her, and then another with all the women in it.
I was weirded out by the whole thing. And I suddenly realized why he’d put on the cap and had been acting so weird on the ferry and the walk to Mom’s: he didn’t want to be recognized.
Until now, I’d never been in public with him—only on the bus, at his condo, or going from his car to a quiet booth in the back of fancy restaurant. No one had ever bothered him like this—I’d never been faced with the reality of his fame. Not like this.
He was a different Myles. Smooth, suave, easygoing, grinning. Fake. But still him, all him, all brightness and friendly warmth. So, not fake, just a different facet I’d never seen until now. He signed one of the other women’s CVS receipt, a brochure for hot air balloon rides, and a page from a day planner. More pics. Chitchat. I saw hints that he wanted to get away, but he never let on, and they seemed to have forgotten that only moments ago he’d been making me scream bloody murder in a janitor’s closet. I was completely forgotten. They had his undivided attention, listening, nodding, laughing.
Finally, he eyed me. Smiled apologetically at the group of women. “Well, I should get this one into some dry clothes,” he said, nodding at me. “It was nice to meet you all.”
They gave a chorus of nice-to-meet-you as he ambled back to me. I heard whispers from them, along the lines ofmy, isn’t he handsome, andwhat a lucky girl she is.
What a lucky girl I am.
I saw him with new eyes, then.
He wasn’t just my Myles.
He was Myles North.
Rock star god. Not a rock musician, but still every inch the rock star. Famous enough to get stopped for selfies and autographs in the community center of a tiny condo complex in suburban fucking Ketchikan, Alaska.
He wasn’tmyMyles at all.
He wasn’t my anything.
I let him walk me out the door, and then sped away from him. He didn’t stay with me.
“Um, Lex?” His voice stopped me.
I turned. Saw him gesture in the opposite direction. “This way, ba––” he cut off, stopping himself. “It’s this way.”
More mixed up than ever, I ducked my head and moved past him. Made it about twenty feet before he jogged to catch up to me, stopped in front of me, and grabbed me by the shoulders. Not holding, not restraining—he’d learned that lesson, clearly.
“Wait.”
I rolled a shoulder, away from his touch. “What, Myles?”
“What’s the deal? Are we going to talk about what just happened?”
“Which part? My tantrum at Mom’s, Lucas, and you? The fact that we just fucked—loudly—in public, in a closet, within earshot of four little old grandmas? Or—or maybe you want to talk about the fact that you signed autographs and took selfies with fingers that were literallyjustinside me? Or maybe you want to talk about whatever thefuckit was that happened in that closet…which I still have no words for, and the answer is no,fuckno, I donotwant to talk aboutthat, at fuckingall.” I stomped past him, aware I was basically one big walking meltdown. “I have to go apologize.”
He didn’t follow, and I stopped. Glanced back at him. “But you first. I’m sorry, Myles. I apologize for my outburst and my behavior. It was really wrong.”
He shook his head. Seemed…either confused or disbelieving; walked over to stand in front of me. “Lex, you can’t—you can’t avoid everything all the time, forever.”
I raked my hand through my hair. Reached up and snagged his hat, settled it on my head backward. “Sure I can. Been doing it successfully for years. Don’t plan on stopping now just because it’s inconvenient for you.” I sounded breezy, felt anything but.
“Goddammit, Alexandra—”
I whirled on him, stabbed a finger at his nose. “Ohhh no. No no no no no. My mother is the only human being on the planet who gets to call me that, because she gave birth to me. You’re not her, so you don’t get to use that name, especially not in that tone.”
I gave him no opportunity to respond—I bolted, stomping in my shit-kicker boots across the parking lot. I had no clue if I was going in the right direction, and honestly didn’t give a shit. I wasnothaving this conversation with him, not now, not ever.
I hated apologizing. Hated it.
