by Ali Novak
I should have said no. Aaron was a stranger, and for all I knew, he was some dangerous gang leader or mass murderer. But at the same time, I wasn’t ready to let go of tonight. Sure, there was the whole soda-on-my-dress incident, but besides that, my time at the ball actually did turn out like I wanted. Better even.
I opened and closed my mouth a few times, trying to decide what to say. Aaron was holding his breath, and when a couple of seconds passed without me giving an answer, he deflated. His gaze cut away from mine, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. All it took was seeing that look on his face, and I made up mind.
“All right,” I said. “But just to warn you, it’s almost a forty-minute drive to my house.”
Aaron’s smile was filled with relief. “That’s okay. I have plenty of music for us to listen to.”
• • •
Five minutes later, after taking a wrong turn by the gazebo and losing our way, we emerged from the garden. I immediately came to a halt. Not far from where I’d left my shoes, there was a couple sitting on the edge of the fountain. They were wrapped in each other’s arms and much too busy making out to notice us. Aaron followed my gaze, and we exchanged grins before tiptoeing around them, grabbing our things, and scurrying up the stone steps.
“Good thing we got out of there when we did,” I said, slipping into my heels again. As much as I wanted to cross the ballroom barefoot, shoes dangling from my fingertips, I knew Sandra would be mad if she caught me disregarding the dress code. “Any later, and we would’ve caught them in significantly less clothing.”
This made Aaron chuckle as he pulled his tuxedo jacket back on, and after adjusting the sleeves, he gestured toward the door that was still cracked to the festivities inside. We fell in step beside each other as we crossed the terrace, and when we reached the back entrance, Aaron moved aside like a gentleman and let me go first.
As I reentered the ballroom, the sudden temperature difference was shocking—from dry and scorching to cool and crisp. I felt like I’d stepped into the walk-in freezer at the diner. I surveyed the room as Aaron stepped in next to me. The shortest route to the lobby was by using the grand staircase, and even though we’d have to navigate the dance floor, I turned in its direction.
“Felicity,” Aaron said. He must have had a different route in mind, because when I looked back at him, he shook his head and pointed away from the staircase. I let him take the lead, and we hugged the perimeter of the room, flittering around the edges of the party. Finally, we hit a side entrance, one we could have reached much quicker if we cut through the thick of the crowd, but Aaron seemed intent on avoiding as many people as possible. The door led out into a narrow hall.
“Shouldn’t you tell your dad you’re leaving?” I asked as we made our way down the long corridor.
“No. He already showed me off tonight.” As he said this, something shifted in his eyes. “He won’t notice I’m gone.” I wanted to ask him what he meant, but Aaron’s voice was tight, and I could tell it was a subject he’d rather not discuss.
I stayed silent until we reached the lobby. Someone was locking up the coat check room. “Can you give me a second?” I asked Aaron. “I need to grab my stuff.” I dashed across the shiny marble floor. “Hey, wait!”
A custodian glanced at me over his shoulder before returning his attention to the door. There was a ring of gold and silver keys in his hands, and he appeared to be looking for the right one. “Can I help you, miss?” he asked, his tone bored.
“My bag is in there. Mind if I grab it?”
He stopped searching and turned to face me. “I was told I could lock up because none of the guests checked coats this evening.”
“I’m a volunteer,” I explained. I pulled my CCA employee lanyard out of my clutch to show him. “See? I left my belongings inside when my shift was over.”
The man examined the plastic badge like he was a bouncer checking IDs at a nightclub. “All right, go on in. You’re lucky you had such good timing.”
“Thank you!” I slipped into the dark room and found my way over to the counter where I’d stashed my bag.
After a few seconds of searching blindly, my fingers brushed against the familiar worn material. In junior high, there was a bejeweled designer messenger bag that was all the rage. Every girl in my grade had one instead of a backpack, but Mom couldn’t afford it. Instead, she bought me a simple canvas one, and I dressed it up by beading a sun on the front flap in yellow, orange, and red beads. The girls at school asked me where I got it, and I just smiled and told them it was custom made.
I stuffed my clutch inside before lifting the strap over my head. Then I hesitated, wondering if I should take off my mask and put it away too. I didn’t need it anymore, but reappearing without it felt weird somehow. Aaron and I had yet to see each other without masks on. I wasn’t nervous for him to finally see me, but I felt like once my butterfly was taken off, the night would truly be over, and that made me a little sad.
“Miss, did you find your bag?” the custodian called.
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
Before I could overthink it, I pulled off my mask and tucked it on top of my bag where it wouldn’t get crushed. Then I hurried out of the room and thanked the man before surveying the lobby for Aaron. He was standing beside the valet counter, headphones in as he waited for me. His head bobbed to the beat of whatever song was playing, and when he saw me coming toward him, he stiffened.
“What’s wrong?” I asked when I reached him.
“Nothing,” he said, yanking out the earbuds. He stood straighter and nodded at me, but his response was too quick and I didn’t believe him.
“No, really. What’s up?” Reaching up, I self-consciously brushed a strand of my hair away from my eyes.
“It’s just that, well…you took off your mask.”
Oh man, that’s a bad thing?
My cheeks caught fire. Okay, so maybe my bottom teeth could be a little straighter, and I hated the number of freckles I had, but it wasn’t like my face was repulsive or anything. At least, I’d never thought so.
Aaron instantly backtracked, waving his hands in defense. “Crap, I didn’t mean it like that. You have a very lovely face…er…I mean, you’re really pretty.”
“Um, thanks?”
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That came out all wrong. What I meant was… Now that you took off yours, I feel obligated to as well.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“No, it’s not that, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head, and took a big breath. “There’s something I haven’t told you.” He paused. “About myself.”
“Okay?” I said, my voice rising slightly. Did he not want to give me a ride home anymore? If so, I was totally screwed. I’d probably missed the bus, and there was no way Asha was home from picking up Riya yet, which meant I’d have to call my mom and interrupt her date. She would not be happy. “Are you some crazy serial killer?” I joked, voicing my earlier concern. “Aaron the ax murderer?”
“No,” he said, “but my name isn’t Aaron.”
My entire body tensed. “What?”
Why would he lie about his name?
“I’m sorry,” he said, slowly untying the ribbon that held his mask in place. “It’s just…I didn’t want you to think of me any differently.” He pulled the wolf away, and somehow I kept my mouth from falling open. I knew his face, but my mind couldn’t accept that he was the person looking down at me. “My real name is Alec.”
Holy. Freaking. Shit.
“Alec,” I repeated. I tried to swallow my shock. “As in Alec Williams.” Son of Sebastian Williams, CEO of Mongo Records—one of the largest labels in the music industry—and bass player for the Heartbreakers.
He stood there blushing, hands clasped behind his back.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around this imp
ossibility, and I thought if I said the truth out loud, then maybe I would actually believe it. Because I hadn’t spent my time at the ball with some random cute guy. No, Alec Williams and his bandmates were some of the most famous guys in the whole flipping universe. Even more famous than Gabe Grant and Violet James.
It wasn’t like I was crazy obsessed with the Heartbreakers like Asha was. Sure, I liked their music. Heck, I’d even bought one of their albums, but I’d never been to a Heartbreakers concert, and I didn’t stalk their lives like a crazy fangirl. But the revelation that I’d unknowingly spent the past hour with an actual celebrity was overwhelming. Suddenly, all those embarrassing moments rushed back to me, and I blushed so deeply that my face probably turned the color of my hair.
Alec watched me with a guarded expression as I tried not to freak out. And then I remembered what he’d said only moments ago: he lied because he didn’t want me to think of him any differently.
Right now, I was doing just that.
He’s just a regular guy, I tried to convince myself. Pretend he’s still Aaron.
I flexed my fingers and pasted on a smile, but before I could say anything, a woman in a navy ball gown stepped in front of me.
“Alec Williams?” she asked, an uncertain smile on her face. When he nodded, the woman’s shoulders relaxed. “I thought I recognized you. My daughter absolutely loves the Heartbreakers. Your music is the only thing she listens to, and she’d be crushed if I had the opportunity to get an autograph and came home empty-handed. Do you mind signing something for me?”
“Of course not.” Alec grabbed a pen and a piece of paper off the valet desk. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Zoey.”
I watched as Alec scribbled a quick message and his name before handing the paper over to the woman.
“Thank you so much,” she said, clutching the signature in her hands. “This will mean the world to her.”
Alec nodded again, and the woman said good night. I wondered if it was always like this for him—having to sign autographs, posing for pictures, putting on a smile everywhere he went. As backward as it sounded, living like that must’ve been lonely, to never have a moment to himself or be just a face in the crowd. I almost felt sorry for him.
When Alec faced me again, his lips were pressed tight, like he expected me to ask for an autograph too. Instead, I smirked.
“Well, I can honestly say I didn’t see that coming.”
A few seconds passed, and a grin split his face. “Because I’m more the serial-killer type?”
“Yup, totally.” We stared at each other with hesitant smiles, and suddenly it was like he was Aaron again, not Alec Williams of certain Heartbreakers fame.
“Mr. Williams?” the valet asked, materializing at Alec’s side. “Your car is ready.”
Alec took the keys. “Thanks,” he said, and my eyes went big when he slipped the man a fifty. He turned to me. “Do you still want me to give you a ride home? There are going to be people out there who will take our picture.”
I gulped. Did I want a bunch of flashing cameras in my face? No, and I suddenly realized this would be a whole lot easier if I’d kept my mask on. But at the same time, I had a feeling the boy standing next to me was worth a few uncomfortable moments in the limelight.
“Yeah,” I said, and my mouth twitched into a smile. “Besides, I probably already missed the bus.”
“I guess you’re stuck with me.” And then he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me out into the night.
• • •
Walking down the red carpet wasn’t what I’d imagined. I’d watched the Grammys and the Golden Globes and thought I knew what to expect, but when we stepped outside, there weren’t throngs of people screaming Alec’s name, reporters and journalists asking for interviews, or a storm of flashing cameras.
Well, duh.
When I thought about it, the lack of commotion made sense. The guests had already arrived, so the red-carpet part of the event was over. I smiled to myself, thinking that our departure would go unnoticed, but Alec knew better.
“Put your head down,” he whispered as we neared the sidewalk. There was a group of men lounging against the building smoking, but I was too distracted by the car parked in front of us to pay them any attention.
“Wow,” I murmured, shaking my head slowly. I wanted to run my hands along the sleek lines of the Ferrari, but I kept my arms clamped to my sides. “Is this an F12?”
Alec glanced down at me, eyebrows high. “You know cars?” he asked, but I never got a chance to answer. Someone called out Alec’s name, and I turned my attention to the men rushing toward us. A few stragglers were still putting out their cigarettes against the brick wall, but I was instantly blinded by the flashing lights. Paparazzi.
“Alec, who’s your friend?” one of them asked. He was a tall, burly man, and when he shoved his camera in my face, I finally took Alec’s advice and ducked my head.
Alec didn’t flinch at the attention. Ignoring a bombardment of questions, he opened the passenger’s side door as the men danced around us snapping pictures. He positioned himself between me and the photographers as best he could, and helped me climb inside.
The car was low to the ground, and I was extra careful not to step on my dress as I moved. It would be just my luck to face plant in the street and end up in next week’s edition of People. Once I’d settled in and made sure my dress wasn’t hanging out, Alec shut the door. He hurried around the front of the car—the men following after him, cameras blazing the entire time—and scrambled into the driver’s seat.
The Ferrari roared to life, and before I could tell him how to get to my house, Alec tore away from the curb. Green traffic lights stretched through the next four intersections, and the car shot down the empty street, launching me back against the leather seat.
We were going the wrong way, and I knew I should give him directions, but I could only focus on how we were flying, because that was what riding in Alec’s car felt like. I wished I could roll down the window and holler into the night, but I didn’t want to seem like a little kid, so I bottled up my exhilaration and tried to tame the buzz that was surging through my body. There was, however, no way to contain my grin, and it spread across my face, wild and wide.
A few blocks later, Alec slowed the car. He glanced at me before his gaze flickered back to the road.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Considering I’m sitting in a sexy-ass car,” I said, “things could be much worse.”
Maybe later, when I lay in bed reflecting on the night’s events, the paparazzi taking my picture would bother me. But right now, all I wanted was for Alec to gun it again so I could feel another rush of adrenaline.
His lips twitched into an almost smile. “Good,” he said more to himself than me. Then, as if masked balls, paparazzi, and fast cars were a regular night for him—which, I had to remind myself, they probably were—he dug his phone out of his pocket and dropped the subject.
The drive was quiet with the exception of my directions and his music. Alec didn’t discriminate against any genre, and over the course of the forty-minute trip, we listened to everything from soft rock and heavy metal to pop and rap. An electronic club song was pumping through the speakers, and Alec bobbed his head to the beat as we neared my house.
“Take a right at the stop sign,” I directed him. “I live down the street.”
He clicked on his blinker, and when we pulled into my subdivision, I cringed. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t want Alec Williams to see where I lived. Before today, I’d never felt embarrassed about the small one-story, two-bedroom house. Was it a Beverly Hills mansion? No. But it was cute in its own charming way. Rose and I had planted a flower garden along the tiny concrete porch to bring some color to the yard, and a beach-glass wind chime hung next to the front door. More importantly, M
om worked hard to pay the mortgage, and I was proud of her for that.
But as we approached the driveway, I was acutely aware of how tired the house looked. For starters, it needed a paint job. The old beige coat was flaking away from the siding like dry skin, and a few shingles were missing from the roof.
“It’s the one with the ladybug.” I pointed out our red-and-black mailbox, which came complete with antennae. A flush worked its way down my face and neck. I’d painted the ladybug at a summer camp when I was little and was incredibly proud when Mom proclaimed it “the most adorable mailbox in the postal service kingdom.”
Definitely not so adorable anymore.
I peeked at Alec, nervous about what his reaction would be, but his expression remained neutral as he pulled into the drive. He turned off the engine, cutting off his phone midsong, and then his hands dropped from the steering wheel to his lap.
Neither of us moved. A cat emerged from the yard next door and slunk past the front bumper, his fat body illuminated in the headlights. Things were less awkward between us when there was music to listen to. I’d noticed that when we were in the garden too. Now that the music was off, the mood in the car was ripe with uncertainty.
What happens now?
If Alec was still Aaron No-Last-Name, I would probably give him my number. Maybe we’d go out on a few dates before one of us lost interest and stopped texting the other, and then our relationship would become nothing more than a friendship on Facebook. But he wasn’t Aaron. Hundreds of girls probably gave Alec their numbers, slipping him a piece of paper with doodle hearts and lipstick marks.
If I did the same—minus the silly decoration, of course—would he think I was only interested in him because of his fame? Was I even interested in him? Yes, I answered myself instantly. I’d enjoyed my time with Aaron-Alec. He was quiet and introspective and sweet in a way I never expected Alec Williams of the Heartbreakers to be. When I thought of famous boy band members, I envisioned someone with confidence, charm, and a little too much swagger. That Alec was entirely unexpected made him all the more intriguing.