The Cheat Sheet: A Romantic Comedy

by Sarah Adams

  I don’t laugh because I can see she’s genuinely embarrassed. “Why are you looking at this?”

  “Because! I need to get ideas for how to pose. You’re so used to all of this, but…I’m over here trying not to have a freak-out because in like two minutes I’m going to be ON A RED CARPET FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE!”

  I feel bad now. I completely forgot to run her through what the red carpet is like. Of course she’s nervous. I remember feeling totally sure I would faceplant during my first photo op, and I wasn’t even wearing four-inch heels like she is. Probably not the best time to tell her we also have to publicly kiss for the first time on that same red carpet.

  “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be there the whole time, and I’ll make sure you don’t trip or fall. As for posing, you want everyone to have a chance at a good angle. Keep your shoulders back and chest proud, and then pretend you’re trying to set up facial recognition on your iPhone.”

  She sputters a laugh and her shoulders relax. “What does that mean?”

  “You know, when it makes you turn your face every which way so it can learn every detail of your face to unlock it. Do that with the cameras. Look left, right, tilt your chin up slightly in one direction, and then repeat on the other side.”

  She nods, focusing on my instructions. “Okay, and what do I do with my hands?”

  “You’ll be holding my hand with your left, and the other hand can go to your hip. Don’t worry about knowing when to walk and when to stop. I’ll guide you the whole way.”

  She takes in a deep breath, and I don’t let my eyes fall to the part of her cleavage that’s showing under that sheer piece of sparkly fabric. But I want to.

  “Thank you. Is it…is it bad that I’m looking forward to this a little?”

  Something about those words eases the constriction in my chest. She’s excited? Bree has always made it a point to tell me how much she would hate to be involved in this part of my life. I lick my lips in lieu of pouncing on her statement. “I’m happy you are. Because I like you here with me.”

  Her bright eyes shift to me, and suddenly, this SUV feels small. Like a gloriously teeny tiny box.

  “We need to kiss,” I state with zero tact.

  Her expression falls. “Excuse me?”

  I clear my throat and mentally punch myself for being the farthest thing from smooth. “On the red carpet. That’s what Tim was telling me on the phone. Nicole thinks it would be good for our ‘couple image’ to kiss briefly while they’re taking pictures.”

  Bree’s eyes are so wide I’m afraid they’re going to fall out of her head. She twists her hands in her lap. If she were standing, she’d be pacing. “I can’t kiss you out there! I’m worried about just smiling as it is! Kissing is going to…Nathan…oh my gosh. Our first kiss can’t be in front of paparazzi!”

  My stomach flips at her words: first kiss. Like she knows for sure there will be more.

  “Do you—do you want me to kiss you now?” I HATE how nervous I feel right now. Don’t let your voice quiver like a damn fool.

  “No! Absolutely not!” She pauses, looks out the window for a few seconds, and then pivots her gaze back to me. “Well, maybe. Actually, yes.” Another pause with a definitive headshake. “Wait, no. It’s better to only kiss in public so we don’t feel like it’s real.”

  “It will be real.”

  She glares at me. “No. It. Won’t.”

  “My very real lips will be on your very real lips, Bree. That’s the very definition of real. It will not be in our heads.”

  She gets ready to put her hands over her face but pauses when she remembers she can’t mess up her makeup. She whimpers instead. “Ugh. Nathan.” Her eyes slide to me, and she looks scared. “It’s…a lot. All of this. Me and you.”

  “I know.” I want to rest my hand on her thigh to comfort her, but I know that would make it worse. Instead, I feel like I should sit on my hands so they don’t get any ideas. I’m supposed to be inching Bree into this shift in our relationship, not tossing her over the front of the boat without a life jacket. “Look at me, Bree.”

  She does, and her eyes are filled with so many emotions I can’t read.

  “It’s just me. Me and you. Nathan and Bree Cheese. Kissing won’t change that.” It’ll make all those things better.

  The heaviness in her expression lightens, and she smiles. “You’re right. It’s just a kiss. No big deal.”

  Well, that’s not exactly what I meant.

  I don’t get a chance to expound, and we don’t have time to practice our kiss even if we wanted to. The SUV slows to a stop, and Bree’s frantic, terrified eyes fly to me. Oh no. She looks like she’s going to puke. Now, I do reach over and squeeze her thigh. Her skin is warm and smooth beneath my fingertips. I don’t let my brain register how good she feels. I can’t right now or I’ll lose my mind.

  She swallows, and then the door opens. There’s immediately an explosion of cheers from fans lurking beyond the rope and flashes of cameras wanting to catch the exact moment we step onto the red carpet.

  I give Bree one quick nod. She nods back, and we’re really doing this. Together. It’s my dream come true, and I only hope this doesn’t end up being Bree’s nightmare.

  Immediately this night is different from all the other events I’ve had to endure without her by my side. The whole energy is different with Bree gripping my hand and sticking to me like a June bug as we stride down the red carpet. I keep glancing back at her to make sure she’s not puking while walking, but after about ten steps, her smile changes from tight and terrified to softer and more confident.

  I know that feeling. It’s the same as when you jump off a diving board for the first time. That first second after you jump is the worst, and then from there, it’s easy. There’s nothing to do but enjoy the free fall.

  Bree’s hand squeezes mine, and I look back to see her crinkle her nose at me in her signature cute smile. It’s her Can you even believe it? look. My heart bursts. It’s wide open, completely hers for the taking. Always has been.

  “Nathan! Over here!”

  “Nathan!! Bree!”

  The paparazzi are loud and the flashes are bright, but I barely register them as Bree and I come to a stop in front of the backdrop with Pro Sports Magazine’s logo printed all over it. Because it’s time to kiss Bree.

  I let go of her hand to wrap mine around her hip and angle myself a little more toward her, making sure to keep the majority of our bodies facing the photographers. Suddenly, I hate that this has to be our first kiss. It’s the worst. It feels stiff. Calculated. So far from romantic we might as well be in a garbage dump with a rotten banana peel laying over my head. There’s no way this is going to make her knees weak, and I don’t want to settle for anything less.

  I feel Bree take in a deep breath as she angles her smile up toward me. More photographers are shouting. One yells, “Give us a kiss!” Bree widens her eyes in a Go ahead look. And now that’s what they are all chanting. Nicole was right—everyone is dying for this. I’m dying for this. I just want it in the privacy of my own home where I can give Bree the attention she deserves. Where I can pin her against the wall. Where I can worship her mouth like I’ve been dreaming about for years.

  This is my one shot, and I’m going to ruin it. Should I just take her lips in a harsh kiss? Should I let it roll low and slow? Should it be a peck? Damn. I can’t. Now my heart is pounding painfully, my hands are sweating, and we’ve been in this spot too long. The woman with a clipboard and a walkie-talkie is telling us we need to keep moving. We’re monopolizing the red carpet and she wants us to get lost so the next SUV that just pulled up can unload. But I can’t move. My hands are feeling pinchy and tingly, and my face is hot. The flashing lights are painful and the abrasive shouts are closing in around me. What’s happening? It’s the same sensation I felt in the tunnel before the last game. I think I’m going to pass out.

  Bree’s smile slips for only a second. She must see somethin
g in my face that I don’t mean to be showing. Her delicate hand comes up to my jaw, and she smiles for real. It’s soft. A blanket. A Bree and Nathan smile.

  “You still with me?” she asks quietly, making me focus on only her. I let myself drown in her, and my pulse calms a little.

  I nod and swallow. She rises up on her tiptoes and places a soft, quick kiss on my lips. I squeeze her hip, wanting to keep her here, wanting to soak up every moment of her mouth pressed against mine, but all too quickly, she pulls away. She faces the photographers again and angles her face in two more directions like she’s been doing this her whole life. Apparently satisfied with the amount of photos taken, she crosses in front of me, takes my hand, and pulls me along behind her, smiling like a seductive queen back at me. Everyone should bow down to her as she passes. I follow along, her lost puppy. She squeezes my fingers a few times as we walk like I did for her on the way in. I’m still in a daze, not quite registering everything around us, but I’m sure that later when I’m alone, I’m going to kick myself for ruining our first kiss.

  I get Nathan into the tent and pull him off to the side quickly. He is not the kind of man that’s easy to hide though. I’m basically sneaking a hulking bear into a tea party. Here, grizzly, wear this cute little hat and no one will notice! Everyone still notices. Heads everywhere are turning as we walk in, which means we have about thirty seconds before someone decides they need to be obnoxious and monopolize his time. So many people are already gathered here, professional athletes and celebrities galore. It’s an all-you-can-eat-buffet of people I like to stalk on social media. Can’t focus on that now though.

  I link my arm through Nathan’s and guide him ten steps to the side of the tent entrance before pivoting us so his back is to the crowd and his chest is facing me. I’m hoping I’ll be able to give him at least a few seconds away from prying eyes. His gaze still looks sort of glassy, and those dark circles I noticed the other day have worsened. I can’t help but feel like we shouldn’t be here tonight. Nathan is exhausted.

  “Hey.” I step closer and rest my hand on his chest so everyone knows this is an intimate conversation they shouldn’t interrupt. And also because, hello, I like touching him. He feels so solid beneath my touch. “Are you okay? Should we go home? It’s okay if you say yes.”

  His eyes drop to my palm pressing against his firm chest, and he covers it with his hand. The contact is a jolt through my veins. It reminds me that I just kissed him. On the red carpet. In front of everyone.

  It was so brief and full of onlookers that I barely registered it. And then, the second I pulled away, I felt disappointed. Not because it lacked sparks, but because I didn’t get a chance to pay attention to the sparks. I was too worried about the panic attack I think Nathan was having out there and focused on getting us off that red carpet before every photo in tomorrow’s gossip magazines showed Nathan looking like a deer in headlights. The tabloids would have had a field day coming up with lies to explain his expression: Nathan Donelson losing the fight against narcotic pills!

  He breathes deep, and I feel his chest expand against my palm. “Sorry about that back there. I’m okay now.”

  It’s so like Nathan to breeze over this. “Are you sure? It looked like you were having a panic attack.”

  He grimaces and looks left, the sharp, strong corner of his jaw emphasized. “Nah—I don’t get those.”

  I laugh because the man is dead serious. Like he’s some super breed of human that just doesn’t have mental health issues from time to time. Look out, science, we’ve found a man who never feels stressed!

  “You don’t have to have an anxiety disorder to get a panic attack. Sometimes they can come on from too much stress, or overextending yourself, or—”

  “Bree, I’m telling you, I’m fine.” Nathan cuts me off with a pleading voice. He really does not want to talk about this right now, and judging by the way his face has gone pink, I think he’s embarrassed. “C’mon. Let’s go have a good time.”

  I nod, taking pity on him and his embarrassment. We can talk about all of this later when we’re in private. “Okay, let’s do this thing.”

  Nathan takes my hand and turns us toward the room. That’s when I really look at the crowd for the first time, and now it’s my turn to freeze. This glitzy, glamorous party tent is stuffed with important famous people. Athletes from every sport. Actors and singers. I doubt there is a single normal person here. Correction: There is exactly ONE normal person, and it’s me.

  “Changed my mind, I want to go home.” I let go of Nathan’s arm and take five retreating steps backward right into a giant standing poster.

  I wish I could say I just bump it lightly and everything is okay. But no. It happens in slow motion. I feel the thin paper at my back, but my high heel gets stuck on the stand that’s propping it up. I feel myself falling backward and see Nathan’s eyes go wide and his mouth forms my name. His hands shoot out to grab me, but he’s not fast enough. I careen backward right though the poster and hear it rip right down the middle. On the bright side, I don’t fall to the ground. I somehow manage to stumble on my feet. On the dark side, I now stand in the middle of a nine-foot-tall ripped poster, and every eye in the event is on me.

  Yep, I’m going to throw up. I turn around to quickly grab each side of the torn poster and stick it back together. And now I realize belatedly that this poster I have torn is a Goliath-sized image of a naked Nathan Donelson, and my hands are directly holding his hands…aka his hands that are holding the football that’s perfectly positioned in front of him to keep this photo PG-13. Realization dawns on me as I look around and find many similar posters of other athletes, all featuring one of their photos from the form issue. I then see a photo op station in the corner with a backdrop that reads “FORM ISSUE’S 10TH BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION!” There are fake illustrated muscles you can use as props. Cute.

  Right. I’m face to thighs with Nathan’s blown-up naked form, looking like the biggest pervert in the room. Time speeds back up. I yelp and drop the poster. Naked Nathan floats in the wind as he separates and falls limply open, showing how I’ve completely ruined what was probably a couple-hundred-dollar poster. I hear several laughs behind me and a few oh nos, but mainly it’s heavy silence. My face is so hot it’s going to melt off my bones.

  Nathan steps up beside me, wraps his hand around my bicep, and presses his chest to my back so he can lean down and whisper, “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head in a few quick movements. “How quickly can you get me to a new continent?”

  Nathan is still laughing at me during the elevator ride up to his apartment. He’s been chuckling ever since we left the party, and any time I think he’s going to speak, I hold my finger up at him. Don’t you dare.

  All in all, the poster shredding wasn’t that big of a deal. Nathan—the enigmatic, sexy, life of the party that he is—easily turned the whole situation around to be framed in an endearing light. He faced the crowd and let his voice carry across the room with one of his trademark smiles. “So…I think my girlfriend wants to box this one up and take it home—can we get a little help with that?”

  Everyone exploded with laughter and I did a little stage bow, and somehow, that made us the hit of the event. Nathan and I even posed beside the torn photo, and when I posted it, I added a caption that read: If only Tide pens could wipe out embarrassing situations. It got four thousand likes in the first hour.

  The whole night, we barely got a moment to ourselves because absolutely everyone and their mother wanted to speak with Nathan and wish him luck in the playoffs. I didn’t mind. It felt good to hold his hand and be introduced to so many people as his girlfriend. There was also something deeply satisfying about seeing Nathan give everyone his business smile. It never reaches his eyes, and only I would know that, because now, he’s giving me his smile. The one I’ve seen since high school.

  Nathan rips his tie from his neck and loosens the top button of his shirt as we walk through the foyer of his apartme
nt. I kick off my heels and he tosses his coat and tie onto the entry table, and now it’s just us and the waves outside his window crashing onto the shore. I can breathe. A thrill trickles through me when I realize this time I’m the one walking through the door with Nathan after an event. Me. I was out with him in front of everyone, and…I loved it. Which is bad. Very bad.

  How do I stuff this jack back in the box?

  I freeze by the door, and Nathan keeps walking. It takes him a few seconds to realize I’m not with him anymore, and then he looks back over his shoulder with a fading smile. “What’s wrong?”

  Oh, nothing much. Just having an internal freak-out because I’m realizing the full extent of how much I’ve wanted this life with you. No big deal.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” My bare feet are backing up.

  Nathan gives me a skeptical side glance. “Bree…”

  My shoes are in the corner by the door, but I don’t have time to grab them. If I’m going to make a break for it, I’ve got to move fast. I turn around to bolt, but Nathan is on me in two seconds flat, taking my legs out from under me and scooping me up in his arms.

  “No way. You’re not getting out of here that fast.” He carries me to the couch and deposits me on a cushion. He points a stern finger at me. “Stay. Nothing is different. We are completely normal.” Then he disappears into the kitchen to grab something.

  The lights are still low when he returns, and I need someone to kick the high beams on because he looks too suave, too James Bondish in this romantic lighting with the dark ocean roaring in the background. And the way he looks at me, I feel like our friendship is a ticking time bomb. I just know I’m going to lose my best friend somehow.

  Nathan’s shirt is untucked now and hanging loose. He stops right in front of me and tosses an unopened Starburst log into my lap. “I keep this for emergencies. I think this moment constitutes one.”