But once I pull back from the kiss, I see my hot pink lipstick is now smeared all over his lips and beyond, and he has splotches of glittery blush in random places on his cheeks.
I should just give up on life right then and there. Well done, Wyoming. After twenty-four years, you’ve finally embarrassed me to death.
Instead, I let out a giggle that turns into a full-out belly laugh. Josh raises his eyebrows at me, grinning but clearly not getting why I’m laughing so hard. This only makes me laugh harder, especially as the glitter catches the light.
I point at the mirror over my vanity, and he turns and then groans.
“Oh my god, Halsey,” he says. “What have you done to me? I look like I’m auditioning for some all-clown version of Moulin Rouge.”
This summons a fresh peal of laughter from me, and I’m literally curled up on the bed, laughing so hard tears are starting to roll down my cheeks.
The absurdity of the last day and a half has finally caught up to me. And none of it is funnier or more absurd than Josh Rios, here in my childhood bedroom, in his flip-flops—nice ones, granted, but he owns these things?—emerging from a make-out session looking like Ronald McDonald gone drag.
“Totally worth it, though.” He grins and flops down on the bed in a way that makes the whole mattress bounce and I laugh some more.
I swipe at my eyes, undoubtedly smearing more makeup around my face. “Yeah? Because I gotta say, this is a good look for you.”
He laughs. “Yeah, you too. Especially the hair. How many woodland creatures can you house in there, exactly?”
“Oh my god.” I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe you walked in to see me like this.” I gesture broadly at myself, making sure to include the sequined green outfit in the tally of awfulness.
“The best part was definitely the dance moves. I’ve never seen someone shake like that to ‘You Are My Sunshine.’”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
“Come on, it was adorable. That little girl, Ginnie? She was copying your every move, and having the best time.” He grins at me, and I melt a little inside.
“Well, that’s good. Because I think she has better prospects as a dancer than as a makeup artist.” I grin back as I roll off the bed and grab some makeup removal wipes from the vanity. I toss a few to him. “Speaking of which, here. You’ve got to get that makeup off. I can’t stand not being the prettiest one in the relationship.”
He blinks, and I catch the word I used too late.
Relationship.
I mean, yeah, we have a relationship. But there are relationships and there are relationships, and what if he thinks I meant the non-casual kind?
What if, for just a second there, I did?
The panic klaxons in my head sound even louder than ever.
I very carefully don’t look at him as I wipe my face as clean as I can. He stands next to me and does the same. I’m searching for the words to play off what I’ve just said, but he beats me to it.
“You know that word you avoided using before,” he says. “When you introduced me, I mean.” He swipes one last time, adding the wadded up, glitter-covered wipe to the growing stack on my vanity, and then looks at me sideways. His voice is artificially casual. “If you wanted to use it, I wouldn’t hate it.”
And now I’m blinking at him in surprise. Is Josh saying he wants to be my boyfriend? There’s a part of me that lights up, that feels giddy with the idea, giddy and warm and—
And naive. And idiotic. Because I know better. But a large part of me does not want to know better right now, and that terrifies me.
“Yeah, I turned into a stuttering mess in there, didn’t I?” is what I say. “Like some combination of the shock of seeing you and the chemical fumes from this much hair spray caused me to have a mini-stroke.”
He smiles, but it’s forced, and I know he did not miss my total dodge of the boyfriend issue. But I can’t tell him it’s not what I want, and I don’t trust myself to address it until I can.
What I do know is that I can’t agree to be his girlfriend, because when we go back to LA and it takes him five seconds to hook up with the next hot actress who throws herself his way, that will make me the biggest idiot on the planet. And that’s the best case scenario. Worst case, I’m Kai Cole getting letters from my ex about all the times he couldn’t resist the “needy, aggressive” women in Hollywood.
No, thank you.
Josh clears his throat and shrugs. “Yeah, well, you should know my real reason for driving out all this way was in fact the hot dogs. I have to taste these championship-winning dogs you bragged so much about.”
I smile, and wonder if mine looks as fake as his does. I hope not. I’m the actress, after all.
“In fact,” he continues, looking over my shoulder. “Are any of those trophies over there from the Halsey Grilling Championship?”
“Halsey Grillmaster Championship,” I correct him. “And no. I have never won the Golden Weiner. It’s pretty much always Uncle Joe.”
“The Golden Weiner, huh? Sounds prestigious.” He walks over to the trophies on the shelf. “First place, National Debate Team. First place dance. First place science fair. First place . . . blueberry pie eating?” He looks back at me with eyebrow raised. “Anna-Marie Halsey. I knew you were a woman of many talents, but damn.”
I settle myself back on my bed, pulling my legs up under me, grateful that Josh seems to want to get away from the relationship subject as fast as I do. “There’s not a lot to do in Wyoming. So I kind of got involved in everything.”
“I can see that.” The dangling golden track medal from junior year swings as he touches it. “Did you ever not come in first place?”
“Lots of times.” I play with the eyelet hem on my comforter. “I only have the first place trophies, though. My parents always threw out the others.”
“Really?” His smile drops as he looks back at me. “Why?”
I shrug. “My mom and dad are both really concerned with my success. They always have been. It may be the only thing they ever had in common. And they always wanted me to be the best.”
His eyebrows draw together in concern and he sits down on the bed next to me. “That sounds . . . stressful.”
“Only when I couldn’t be,” I say. Then I shake my head. “It’s okay, though. It’s not like they were mean about it, they just . . . have high expectations. I think because neither of them felt like they really amounted to much.”
He nods, but I don’t get the feeling he quite understands. “So I bet they’re pretty proud of you now, being on TV and all.”
“Yeah, I’d say. When I was on the cover of Soap Opera Digest, even though it was just one of those inset pictures in the corner, I think my dad bought up every copy in the county to send to everyone he knew.” I smile, but it still feels forced, which is strange. I really had been so happy to hear my dad gush about me like that. “I’m a little surprised he hasn’t completely papered the walls with them.”
Josh kicks off his flip-flops, then repositions himself so his back is against the brass headboard. The same position I was in when we talked on the phone about hot dogs and baseball games.
A pit forms in my gut, as I think about Shane on that bed, just last night. About Shane and I on that bed.
Should I tell him about that? Would he even want to know?
We’ve never said we weren’t seeing other people. He may want to be my boyfriend now, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been dating other girls the whole time he was seeing me—in fact, though I tried not to think about it much, I fully assumed he was.
But the guilt churns in me anyway.
“Well, I’m a little surprised,” he says, and I have a panicked second of thinking he could read my thoughts. “I gotta admit, when I was thinking about seeing the bedroom you grew up in, I imagined it covered in posters of
boy bands or, I don’t know, Zac Efron.”
“Zac? Really?” I can’t help but scoot in closer.
“Robert Pattinson? A Hemsworth brother? A Franco brother?”
“Mmmm, nope. No posters of any of them. I didn’t really do the celebrity crush thing. At least, not until I was out in LA.”
“Not until then, huh?” He moves in closer as well. “So who had the honors of being Anna-Marie Halsey’s first big celebrity crush?”
“Ummm . . . “ I wrinkle my nose.
Josh leans in close. “Please don’t tell me it’s one of my clients. Chad Montgomery?”
“No, not one of your clients. But it was one of my previous co-workers.”
He squints, searching his memory, and then his eyes widen. “Not—”
“Yep. Ryan Lansing. The guy whose sexcapades in Bridget Messler’s dressing room ended up getting me fired.” I laugh, but don’t bother explaining that mess further. Josh already knows all about the ‘stolen’ fake Emmy that eventually led to my current job. “Honestly, I was pretty much over the crush part as soon as I met him and found him incapable of stringing a single sentence together that wasn’t about himself.”
“Really. So there was nothing to those rumors about the two of you.” He gives me a look that says he knows well otherwise.
“I didn’t say that. I mean, egotistical idiot or not, he was still Ryan Lansing.”
He laughs. “Fair enough. I can’t blame you. If I’d had the opportunity to hook up with my celebrity crush, I would’ve taken it.” He pauses. “If I’d met her when she was much younger. And not dead.”
“What?” I’ve scooted close enough that I’m back to being practically in his lap again. “Please tell me about this.”
He covers his eyes. “No way. I can’t. It’s too embarrassing.”
“Come on, more embarrassing than this?” I strike the pose he caught me in downstairs, my disco-John Travolta. “Or this?” I press down my hair and can feel it bounce back up to its lofty heights.
He laughs again and pulls me down onto him, and I’m not about to resist that. “Yes. Definitely. But okay, I suppose it’s only fair.” He cringes. “Carrie Fisher. As Princess Leia.”
I laugh, trying to picture Josh watching Star Wars. As a kid, maybe. “Star Wars? Really? Let me guess, the gold bikini?”
He groans. “I know, right? It’s such a cliché.”
I lean in so my forehead is just inches away from his. “Maybe it’s a cliché because it’s hot. And maybe I could pick myself up one of those gold bikinis. And put my hair in a nice long braid . . .”
“Mmmm . . .” He closes his eyes and starts to lean in like he’s going to kiss me, and then suddenly pulls back. “Wait. You know she’s not wearing the buns?”
I shrug. “Yeah, of course. It’s iconic.” And then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “And I actually love Star Wars.”
His eyes widen. “Seriously?”
I’ve been keeping this part of me from him, but the guy has met my family, so at this point, this is the least of the embarrassment. And him admitting his Princess Leia crush means he can’t judge me too much, right?
“I may be a bit of a geek,” I say cautiously. “Star Wars, science fiction movies in general, some anime, pretty much anything Joss Whedon-related . . . what?”
This last bit because he’s giving me this strange look, like he’s seeing me for the first time. His hands run up the sides of my sparkly leotard, and his body tenses. “I—I just . . . really? You like that stuff?”
I chew on my lip, suddenly self-conscious, and move to roll off him, but his hands move to my hips, holding me still. “No, I mean—” he shakes his head. “Me too. I’ve read everything in the Star Wars expanded universe. I have book shelves filled with it, and all sorts of fantasy series, like Jordan and Martin and Tolkien, of course, and—”
And now I think I’m looking at him that same way, because his cheeks flush.
“—And yeah,” he says. “You may be a bit of a geek, but I’m like the biggest geek. Maybe not the admission I should have followed up with after showing up in Wyoming like an idiot.”
Is it possible? Josh Rios, super-hot, famous agent and all-around great guy who makes me laugh like no one else. Could he also be someone I could slaughter hordes of video game zombies with, or debate the highlights of Firefly episodes?
“If that’s true,” I say, “why did you never tell me?” I hesitate, suddenly sure he’s setting me up for some humiliating punchline. “I’ve been in your house and I haven’t seen these book shelves.”
Josh laughs. “Because I hide them well. And I sweep the house before I come to pick you up. His expression turns sheepish, then accusatory. “And wait. What do you mean why didn’t I tell you? I didn’t hear you ever mention wanting to watch any anime.”
“Right. Because I’m going to suggest to the super hot agent I’m dating that we should stay home and watch Death Note.”
“Yeah. Because I would have told you you were crazy if you think it’s better than Brotherhood.”
That giddiness is back, and my heart is beating faster. I feel like I pulled him out of some perfect-guy fantasy I didn’t even have the imagination to dream up.
“Oh my god,” I say. “Those posters you were asking about? I had one for Full Metal Alchemist right there.” I point above the vanity. “Also posters from Buffy. And Firefly. And mostly Death Arsenal.”
He’s grinning, and it lights up his whole face. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look this happy. “I took an online course to learn to speak Dothraki. From Game of Thrones.”
I giggle. “Yeah, well, I’ve written some well-received Death Arsenal fan fiction, in which Captain Jane Jennings hooks up with ship mechanic Curtis Huang. A lot.”
He looks confused. “Aren’t those two characters in totally different timelines? Are they ever even together?”
Oh my god. He knows who Jane and Curtis are, and Curtis isn’t even in any of the crappy DA movies. “In my world they are. Repeatedly.”
He laughs and from the sound of it, I know he’s feeling shocked and giddy in the same way I am. Our bodies are twining together, and I want him, badly, and I can tell he wants me, but I also desperately want to keep talking.
“I may have canceled a date once,” he says, “—not with you—to stay home and watch the Highlander marathon on Syfy.”
“Umm . . .” I say, and he leans forward eagerly.
“What? Tell me.”
Oh, god. Am I really going to tell him this? “So you know how I said I couldn’t go to the movie premiere with you because I was driving here that night?” I grimace as he waits expectantly. “I lied. I went to the midnight release of the new Death Arsenal game. I wanted to be first in line. I didn’t leave until the next day.”
His arms wrap tight around me.”Whaaaat?” But he doesn’t sound upset, just incredulous. “You should have told me! I would totally have come with you! Or at least come back after the premiere and joined you in line.”
The thought that he would prefer a night waiting outside of GameStop with me (and a bunch of fellow geeks in DA cosplay) over a night spent doing, well, whatever, with Macy Mayfield—it floors me.
“Do you play?” I ask, not sure my life can get any better.
He wobbles his hand. “I’ve played some of them, because Ben’s a fan, though when he and I play together it’s usually JRPGs. My own fandoms run more along books and comics. But still.”
But still.
We grin at each other like idiots. And I don’t care that I look like a deranged eighties Melanie Griffith or that my family is still downstairs waiting to barrage Josh with racially insensitive questions. I just want to freeze time here in this bedroom with Josh, just like this.
The talking, the laughing, the just being in his arms . . . All things that were alre
ady great with him, but somehow now feel like so much more than before.
Maybe more than I’ve ever felt before.
He lets me go and pulls back enough to take my hand in his, gently, and shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, Anna-Marie.”
“You too, Josh Rios.” I can’t stop smiling, especially as his arms work their way around my waist again and draw me closer to him. I breathe him in, nuzzling my nose against his jaw, which is unshaven and stubbly. “So is there anything else? Any other deeply geeky confessions? Because I know I could keep going.”
He lets out a long breath. “There are. I may happen to have the geekiest of all secrets in my basement—”
“You have a basement?” I’m trying to figure out where that would fit in the layout to his condo. “Is this some Fifty Shades of Grey sex dungeon?”
He chuckles, and his fingers trace along my arm, raising goosebumps along my skin. “Trust me, I would have showed you that already. But no, this is what proves me to be the geekiest guy ever. But I’ve already vowed that I’m not telling any woman about that. Not until I’ve put a ring on her finger, at least.”
My breath catches. Because for this one moment, it’s like I can picture it. Him down on one knee looking at me like I’m the only woman in the world for him. And more than picture it, I can feel it, feel how amazing it would be to be that person for him, and it makes me dizzy.
I’m glad when he speaks again, so I don’t have to.
“There is one thing. It’s more of a dumb joke than a geeky thing, but . . .”
I force myself to breath evenly again, hoping he didn’t notice how I was struggling mere seconds ago. “Well, you should definitely tell me this dumb, not-geeky joke. Especially if you aren’t going to tell me about this basement secret of yours.”
He looks like he wants to say something, and then kisses my forehead instead. I close my eyes against the feel of his lips on my skin. Something I’ve felt before, often and in much better places, but it feels different now. Like maybe every little touch means something important.
Like maybe I want them to.
The Girlfriend Stage Page 10