Page 11 of Love on the Tracks
Hey, Rowan. I know tonight was weird, but I hope you’re still okay with this plan. I wasn’t kidding when I said it was totally your call. If you’re still down for it, I thought we might go out tomorrow, get this party started. When are you free?
So, it’s not exactly what I’d call romantic, but it is considerate, and I appreciate that. I’m about to answer him when another text pops up.
This is Zane, by the way. Zane Rivera. In case you had another offer for a fake relationship in the past few hours. Wouldn’t surprise me at all.
Okay, he’s funny. In sort of a dorky way. Which makes me like him better. Which is less than ideal. I’d almost rather he be a jerk. Then the playacting would be easier, more like doing pressers instead of actually dating. Press I know how to handle. Mostly. Dating . . . There’s a reason I basically get my sex at competitions. It’s because dating isn’t really a thing I do.
Strangely, no more offers to be my fake boyfriend. My day tomorrow is crazy, but I could do lunch? I’m free from 11:30 to 1:30.
This is so surreal. I’m making a lunch date with Zane Rivera. I pinch the inside of my wrist to make sure the past twelve hours haven’t been some bizarre dream. But no. The pinch hurts like a bitch, and even dream-Kate wouldn’t be caught dead singing one of License to Game’s latest hits for any reason other than to mock me. She is, and I can hear it all the way in here, off-key and all. Thank god Zane didn’t call and just texted like a normal person.
Works for me. Can I pick you up?
Okay, that’s enough to make a girl giddy.
You won’t be able to get into the village but I can meet you right outside. I’ve only been eating in the dining hall here and a couple of times out with my dad, so I don’t know anywhere.
Really, I don’t know pop star–worthy places, and I don’t even want to pretend to know what Zane might like. I mean, according to interviews and fan forums, his favorite food is arroz con pollo, but who knows if that’s actually true.
Don’t worry, I’ll find us someplace decent. And close enough to the village and the venues that we’ll be likely to get seen by some press.
Right, the all-important press. Because that’s why we’re doing this. Bigger record sales for him, and better sponsor deals for me. Hopefully it’ll at least be fun, and I’ll gather up a few tidbits to take back with me to my apartment at night, and while Kate’s with her Russian, perhaps I can get in some of the, um, self-satisfaction I was denied earlier. Maybe that’s what Kate meant by fake sex. I’ll have to ask her between when she finishes her hair and when she goes off to have some very real sex with a guy she can actually bring home at night. All the perks my ass.
Great, see you then.
Zane
I’m taking Rowan to a place a couple of blocks away from the SIG village. It’s a couple of blocks where there will at least be tourists milling around, hoping to catch a glimpse of SIG athletes coming and going. While it’d be better if it were press, more coverage on social media from cell phones isn’t a bad thing, either, and might put news outlets on the alert that hey, we’re out and about and they should cover it.
Rowan’s wearing jeans that do absolutely nothing to hide how awesome her legs are, and she’s also got on snow boots and a serious parka. I have to hide a smile, because the girl clearly values function over form—most of the girls I’ve gone out with would’ve primped to within an inch of their lives if they knew there was a chance of being covered by the press, and would’ve worn clothes that looked good regardless of whether their duds would actually keep them, I don’t know,warm.Not Rowan.
She smiles but doesn’t take her hands out of her pockets, and though my hands itch to touch her, I won’t if she doesn’t make the first move. I know we’re supposed to be pretending to date, but if we want it to be convincing, she needs to look comfortable with me, not as though she’s being dragged along for the ride.
So we walk side by side to the upscale brewery I decided on. I thought briefly about sushi, but on the off-chance it was bad and she got food poisoning? No fucking way. So, posh pub food it is.
There’s a line outside, but we get seated right away. Rowan fidgets with the menu until she has to give it up after ordering, and then she toys with her silverware, her glass, anything she can get her hands on, and does her best not to look at me.
It’s because she’s nervous, but it won’t photograph that way.
“Hey.”
She focuses on me and her mouth gets tight even as her eyes widen. I bet if I put my ear to her chest, her heart would be thumping. Jeez, girl can handle flying down a mountain on a sled the size of a dining hall tray at eighty miles an hour, but not a fake date?
“Maybe we should, I don’t know, talk?” I smile and raise an eyebrow, and it makes her laugh—at least I think that’s what that strangled noise is.
“Uh, yeah. Probably. It’s weird, though, don’t you think?”
Sure, but this isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in service to my band. “What’s weird?”
“Well, I . . .” Another choked noise I’m rapidly coming to find unaccountably attractive. “I already know a lot about you . . .”
The furious blushing that accompanies that statement is marvelous. I had no idea a person could get that red that quickly. No way do I want her to be embarrassed enough to call the whole thing off, though. So I break in over her fumbling.
“Yeah. I know what you mean. Being a public figure takes out a lot of the first date conversation topics, right? Like I already know you grew up in Maryland, but now you live in Lake Placid, and clearly I know what you do for a living.”
“Exactly.” She takes a sip of her water—well, more like a chug—and then sets it down on the table and takes an audible breath. “So I’m at a bit of a loss.”
“Then I’ll go first.” I pretend to consider it for a moment, and Rowan relaxes more, taking a real sip of water this time. “Tell me something about yourself that’s never been in a story about you. I think I’ve read them all.”
