Audible Love: A Young Adult Romance

by Maggie Dallen

  I purse my lips and make a show of studying him. “I don’t normally admire sneakiness, but in this case, it has its advantages.”

  He gives his hand a flourish as he executes a small bow. “My sneakiness is at your service, madam.”

  “You are such a dork,” I say.

  “And you love it,” he adds.

  I do. I do love it. And we’ve already firmly established that I somehow inexplicably, yet undeniably find it crazy hot.

  Chapter Nine

  Seth

  Here’s the thing about this night. It has been too perfect. It’s too good to last.

  I know this because I have a lifetime of experience to back me up. When life is this good, the other shoe is about to drop. It has to. That’s Murphy’s Law, right? That’s karma or yin and yang, or whatever it is you believe. What I believe is that I am not a lucky guy. I never have been, my family never has been, and I certainly don’t believe my luck has instantly turned overnight.

  But try telling that to my face, because I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since that kiss. Yeah, the night might have started off a little rough. Seeing Avery with Trent was…not fun. I don’t even want to admit to the crazy levels of jealousy that had me clenching my hands into fists every time Trent touched her.

  It sucked, and it sucked hard. The worst part was, that churning pit of envy made it impossible to ignore the obvious.

  I’d developed a thing for my new friend.

  Oh, I’d been telling myself it was just a little crush—the sort of thing one would expect to occur when befriending a hottie the likes of Avery. It is physically impossible not to think about what she looks like naked, so of course there’s going to be a bit of an infatuation there.

  But that jealousy, the rage that had made me feel capable of murder just to keep Trent from touching Avery? It called me out as the liar I am.

  But then…then the craziest thing happened.

  Trent blew it. I mean, I don’t know why I ever doubted that he would. Trent’s not the sharpest tool in the shed and Avery...well, Avery is. She’s quick and she’s insightful, and she sure as hell knows a self-absorbed moron when one is holding her under his arm with his meaty bicep.

  My mood had brightened quickly. There was little more satisfying than watching Trent turn Avery off. The girl might be an ice queen, unreadable to most. But not me. Not anymore. And those little flickers of feelings, the way she’d fidgeted uncomfortably at his touch…she might as well have just tasted milk that had gone sour. That’s how obvious her distaste was to me.

  And that was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.

  So yeah, I was jealous. And that jealousy was impossible to ignore. For a little while, I’d tried to tell myself it was just Trent. It was just the fact that the guy she was dating was the school’s crown prince, the heir apparent of entitlement, the guy whose famous name and pretty face I had to thank for the demand for my free time in the studio and whose very existence was an affront to my moral code.

  But no. It wasn’t just Trent. That much was so obvious. I couldn’t even pretend that I’d be any happier if it were any other guy with his arm around Avery because one thing was shockingly clear.

  I wanted to have my arms around Avery.

  And then in the office, my deepest darkest fears were confirmed the moment I kissed her.

  I was falling madly, deeply, and insanely in like with Avery Sinclair.

  I can’t use the other L-word yet, not even to myself. I barely know the girl, after all. I try to tell myself that I barely know her as we make our way back to the street. I’m trying, and I’m failing.

  Our options, it’s rapidly clear, are limited. “We could call for someone to pick us up?” she suggests.

  “Like who?” I say. “Trent?”

  She makes a funny face that makes me way too happy. “I’m such a jerk.”

  “Why?” I know what she’s referring to, but I want to hear her admit what we just did, not out of some perverse desire, but because I’m a little afraid it’s either not real and I’ve become delusional in my desire for this girl, or that kiss was very much real and she very much regrets it.

  She flashes me a narrow-eyed look at the question, and even in this darkness, I can see her blush. “Because I kissed you,” she says slowly. “And I was on a date with him.”

  “Yes, but he wasn’t exactly paying attention to you,” I point out. I’m still not certain she’s not filled with regret, and my insecurity is killing me. Of all the times to become some pansy-ass needy guy, did it really have to be now?

  “I know,” she says. Her sigh is sad, and I hate Trent with a violent passion—for both the fact that he was his typical jerky self on his date with Avery, and that he’s so blessed with his looks and charm that she had such high hopes in the first place.

  “Such a disappointment,” she says with a shake of her head.

  “The whole night?” I nearly bite my tongue off as soon as the words are out. I just wanted to gauge her reaction to the kiss, I didn’t mean to fish for compliments.

  She flashes me a sidelong grin that makes it hard to walk. Or breathe. Or think.

  Whatever she’s done to me, it’s complete and total. I am a goner.

  “Not everything,” she says in that crazy sexy voice of hers. She toys with her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear in a rare show of shyness.

  I swallow down a primal roar of triumph. Yes. Yes, yes, yes! She doesn’t regret the kiss.

  “It’s just…” She sighs again and licks her lips. “I held Trent up on this pedestal, you know? And I should know better.” She shakes her head in obvious irritation as we head back toward the school. It’s miles away, but I think it’s clear to both of us that we can’t rely on any Trudale ‘friends’ for help, and there are no taxis or Ubers in this suburban sprawl.

  “How so?” I ask. I honestly don’t know if I want to hear this or not. Like picking a scab, I can’t not prod the subject even though everything about it makes me uncomfortable. The fact that this lie by omission exists between us doesn’t make me feel great as her friend. And now that we’re…I don’t know. More than friends? Friends who’ve kissed on a couch? Now that we’re friends-plus, I have no clue how I should handle this.

  I should have told her right away if I ever planned to tell her at all. But I didn’t know if she’d understand or if Trent would be pissed. It’s not just my secret, and it’s his reputation on the line as an actor…right?

  After seeing the way he acted tonight, it’s hard to remember why I care. He clearly doesn’t care about anyone but himself so why should I worry about him?

  “I know it doesn’t make sense,” she says, her gaze focused on the intersection ahead instead of me. I wonder if she’s waiting for photographers to pop out of the woods to our left.

  I know I am. Maybe her paranoia is contagious.

  “But then again,” she shifts her bag on her shoulder as she casts me a quick glance. “Then again, maybe it does.”

  I arch a brow. I don’t trust myself to speak.

  She shrugs. “Any good actor who can project so much emotion has to first feel that depth of emotion…right?”

  I try not to focus on my own inner dilemma and focus on the question instead. “Are you trying to tell me that every actor you’ve worked with is deep?”

  She tips her head back with a wicked laugh that makes me want to pull her back into the woods for another hot, passionate kiss. I shove my hands in my pockets instead.

  She gives me a cute look. “I said good actor.”

  “Touché,” I mutter, making her laugh softly. It’s then that I realize that I’ve become a junkie for her laughs. I need to hear it. I didn’t even like this girl last week—on principle, at least. But now her laugh is my fix; it gives me a thrill every time I hear it.

  Every. Single. Time.

  Holy crap, is this what it feels like to be into someone?

  This sucks.

  Although, it’s also kind o
f awesome, because right now she’s sneaking a look at me out of the corner of her eye and it’s so not the look of a friend. Her gaze is shy, that little nibble on her lower lip gives away that she’s nervous…and I know. I just know.

  She feels it too.

  My chest swells, making it hard to breathe. Or think. Or focus. What’s she talking about? Oh yeah. Acting.

  Some of that crazy heady joy falters. She’s talking about me…she just doesn’t know it.

  That secret weighs between us. Well, it weighs on me. She doesn’t even know it’s there.

  It’s crazy that I don’t know how to tell her. I should just open my mouth and say it. But I don’t know how. I can’t seem to make myself. All Trent issues aside, this night may be the most perfect of my life—which is truly saying something since we’re currently on the run from cops and paparazzi.

  And my chance is gone yet again as she keeps talking about some of the actors she’s worked with and their philosophies on acting. She’s so clearly passionate about the topic, and it’s a whole new side of her that I’ve never seen.

  It makes every thought of Trent and my quasi-loyalty to him fade out of existence as I watch her come alive. How I—or anyone else, for that matter—could ever have been fooled by that ice queen façade is a mystery.

  I was an idiot. We were all idiots. She’s passionate—crazy passionate.

  She’s also sensitive and sweet and funny and sarcastic and…

  And she’s waiting for me to speak.

  Crap. I lost all track of the conversation during my ridiculous mooning. That’s what that was. I was mooning. Swooning like an adolescent girl over her new crush. I clear my throat, and luckily she rephrases the question.

  “Right? Don’t you think?” she asks. “I mean, no one can conjure up that kind of emotion from nowhere, right?”

  It seems her metaphysical question might just be the opening I need to clear the air so this new thing between us isn’t muddied by a lie. “Yeah, um, about that,” I start.

  And that’s when it happens. The telltale squack right behind us makes Avery jump, and I come to a standstill. The terror on Avery’s face is real.

  Just as real as the police officer who’s opening his car door and heading toward us. His top lights are on like he’s just pulled us over for speeding.

  “What are you kids doing out here so late?” the officer calls out.

  I’m scrambling to think of a lie because every officer in this town knows that Trudale has a curfew. But this officer is coming from the direction of Dorman’s, so unless he’s a complete moron, he knows why we’re out here.

  “We’re on our way home, officer,” I start, stepping in front of a frozen Avery like that might help.

  The officer is bald and pudgy, and he’s wearing a very paternal frown. The kind that says ‘I’m concerned about you, and more than a little disappointed, young man.’ At least, that’s what it means when my dad wears it.

  He heaves a sigh and puts his hands on his hips.

  Yup. We’ve disappointed this man. This stranger who I’ve never met before clearly expected better from me.

  “It’s late,” he starts, taking another step toward us. We’re all in the flashing blue light now, and it gives this whole scene an eerie horror movie vibe. Without meaning to, my brain starts writing the script to accompany this setting.

  The kind, local cop gets slashed first, of course, since he’s a secondary character.

  One more step and the cop turns his gaze on Avery. The sudden change in him is ridiculous. It turns this moment from serious, potential horror movie opening scene to a slapstick comedy à la The Andy Griffith Show, and this man here just became Barney Fife. The fatherly old cop’s jaw goes slack and his eyes widen to saucers.

  He recognizes Avery, that much is obvious.

  And he’s starstruck. He makes noises that aren’t exactly words, and I cringe on his behalf. I’m a little afraid to turn around and see Avery’s reaction. Not that I’m worried she’d be a jerk—I know better now. She’s a softie under that icy layer.

  No, I’m just worried I’ll laugh.

  I sneak a peek over my shoulder and sure enough, she’s giving baldie a sweet, rueful smile of acknowledgement. Like, yup, it’s me. Good to see you again, overgrown fanboy.

  That’s how I read her smile, at least.

  Her smile breaks him out of his weird frozen position and he comes stumbling toward us, nearly running me over as he reaches for her hand. He’s babbling about how he’s such a big fan, about how his daughter is her biggest fan. Now he’s cataloging her resume back to her like she’s unaware of her work history or something, naming each and every TV show and movie with a pathetic look of approval.

  But the thing is, I’m barely aware of him. I’m too busy watching Avery. It’s insane to me that she has this image of being cold and stuck-up. How could anyone think that when they see the way she is with this guy.

  She’s kind and she’s gracious. If anything, she’s humble to a fault, ducking her head as she tries to wave away his comments. I can’t tell if she’s uncomfortable at the praise, in general, or because this is happening in front of me, or if she’s still wary of the cop lights.

  If it’s the latter, she’s right to be wary. A van comes to a stop behind the cop car and then another car comes by.

  I see Avery stiffen, but the cop seems completely oblivious to the fact that his flashing lights are causing a scene. He’s handing over a small notebook and asking for an autograph, telling Avery what to write.

  Either he can’t see the anxious panic written all over her face or he’s not looking. But I see it, and everything in me wants to protect her. But how? Unless I can suddenly conjure a mask or an invisibility cloak…we’re screwed.

  She’s screwed.

  No one cares about me, but Avery? The media will have a field day with this. I try to shield her from view, and she flashes me a wide-eyed look filled with such panic I just want to scoop her up into my arms and run into the woods.

  But something tells me abducting America’s princess-of-the-small-screen won’t go over well—with the paparazzi who’ll give chase or with her biggest fan here who likely wouldn’t love the idea of his daughter’s hero being kidnapped from right in front of him.

  Right. New plan. “Could you give us a ride?”

  The cop blinks at me, and I know for a fact that he’s forgotten all about me. But I step in front of Avery, shielding her from her fan and from the people who are filing out of vans and cars and shouting her name. “Please,” I say. “We just want to get back to our school without any trouble.”

  The cop is finally coming back to reality and he scowls over at the rabid group who’s descending. He snaps into action, straightening as he holds his hands up palms out as if to physically stop their progress.

  It doesn’t work.

  “Keep your distance, folks,” he says as I steer Avery toward the car. She hesitates, and I know why. They’ll get shots of her getting in the car. But we have no other choice unless we try our hand at running and hope against hope that this crew doesn’t follow.

  Unlikely, at best.

  “It’s too late,” I tell her. She looks up at me and I see her deep inhale as she nods. “You’re right.”

  They’ve already got plenty of ammo with their shots of her in the police lights, with the officer. They can skew it however they’d like. The photo will look incriminating even though we weren’t doing anything wrong.

  Well, except for sneaking out of school. But at Trudale, that’s pretty much a rite of passage for each incoming class so not exactly a big deal.

  The world feels small and quiet once we’re inside and sitting in the back seat. The noise from the officer and the reporters is all blocked out, and Avery rests her head back. “Shirley is going to kill me,” she says.

  “Shirley?”

  “My mother.” Her voice is flat. “My manager.”

  Ah. “Maybe there’s something she can do—�
��

  She’s already shaking her head. “She won’t. She decided a long time ago that since I’m not cut out to be a saint, Avery Sinclair would be a sinner.” She flashes me a wry smile that reeks of sadness. “There’s no in between.”

  “So then why would she kill you?” I ask. It’s the only thing I can think to ask because what she says makes me feel sorry for her, and no one wants that. Least of all her.

  She gives a half shrug. “Because I haven’t given her a heads-up. Because I probably didn’t handle it like she would have wanted.” She shrugs again. “Who knows. All I know is, I never handle these things the way she wants.”

  I try to imagine a life like that. I picture my sweet mother, who still calls me pumpkin and cooks all my favorite foods when I come home. I try to envision her manipulating my life, telling me how I should be perceived and how I should act.

  I can’t even fathom it.

  The officer eventually climbs into the driver’s seat and drives away, but not without an absurd amount of camera flashes in the window.

  “I’m sorry,” she says quietly as the car takes us back to Trudale.

  I turn to face her. “For what?”

  She reaches out for my hand and I slide my fingers through hers. Her expression is so forlorn I try for funny and miss by a mile. “What, did you kill someone or something?”

  She ignores the lame joke. “You’ll be in the photos.”

  I blink at her. That hadn’t even occurred to me before. I mean, logically I knew that I’d be in the shots, but the significance of it didn’t really click. “That’s…fine,” I say slowly.

  She gives me a slightly pitying look. One that says “oh, you magnificent moron” as she spells it out for me. “Everyone will want to know who you are and why we’re together. They’ll find out and they’ll dig into your life and…”

  She swallows and licks her lips, her eyes filling fast with regret that makes my own chest hurt. I don’t want her to regret this. I don’t want her to regret kissing me or sneaking out with me. “It’s fine,” I say with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”