“What do you say?” Rafe asks me. “You don’t want me to sit alone, do you?”
Orly turns her little face toward me. “Pleeeeeeze?” she implores, letting go of the pom-poms and clutching my hand in her two tiny ones.
“Oof,” Xander says. “How can you even consider refusing a request like that?”
“Fine,” I say, biting back the smile that’s threatening to split my face. Resistance is futile. “I guess I’m going to Disneyland.”
“Yay! It’s all settled!” Xander snaps. “What are you going to wear?”
“Excuse me, young man? What about the dog?” Naomi asks, suddenly remembering why Xander is there.
“Oh, she’ll be fine. I know a guy who can come install an invisible perimeter tomorrow morning. That’s probably the safest thing for now. And there are some great classes I can refer you to. Dog training’s more about training the people than the pets.” He shrugs apologetically. “Let me know if you need a pet sitter while you’re at Disneyland.”
lorelei
Is there sucha thing as lady blue balls?
I hit the drive-thru on the way home from Noah’s. The plan is to cash in my Taco Bell v-card, drowning my sorrow in forbidden fast-food items while finishing reading his campaign module. I order one of everything on the menu.
Damn, the chalupas are good. Does Chef Jose Andres know about chalupas? Chalupas and Cheetos. I have definitely been missing out all these years. No time like the present, though. I shove a Cheetointoa chalupa and wish I could tweet openly about it.
The other completely amazing thing is Noah’s mind.
He has completely reimagined the story ofA Midsummer Night’s Dreamin an almost virtual reality-esque world. I wish I was acting in a stage version of his vision, with audience participation and dice rolls shaking things up and adding an element of improv. Nothing against classic Shakespeare.
I’m dying to call Noah when I finally finish reading his notes at 1 a.m. I want to talk about it. I want to tell him how much I admire his mind. His vision.His buns.Then I start thinking about his sexy forearms and the way they looked, attached to his big, strong hands on my hips when he lifted me off him, saying, “This is not the time or the place.”
That should have been the clue right there. I should have recognized that voice. Those words. It’s pretty similar to the tagline to his show. “This is the time. You’ve come to the right place.” I hear it every night in my bed.
“This is not the time or the place,Kenna.” How many times have I fantasized about the Dungeon Master Max Mercury saying my name? But no. He’d called me Kenna. It was like I’d rolled myself a one. Critical failure.
When I can’t sleep, I do the only sensible thing—I pull up one of my favorite episodes and take care of myself, with Noah’s growly Dungeon Master voice echoing in my ear.
* * *
I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing at 7 a.m. There’s a chalupa wrapper stuck to my face and a pile of used condiment packets on the floor next to the crumpled paper bag. The trash can in the kitchen is already overflowing from all the other delicious takeout I’ve consumed this week. I should take it out. Intellectually, I know that this is a thing people have to do. It involves trash bags and trash cans and trash days, and honestly, it seems so tedious. If there’s one good thing about being a celebrity, it’s never having to take the trash out.
“What? What? WHAT?” I flail, feeling around for my buzzing phone on the lumpy futon. There are two missed calls from Kenna. And six texts, not counting the one that comes in now from the momager. Short and sweet.
Happy Gotcha Day, Lorelei. Miss you so much. Xxoo Mom
Taco hangovers are bad. Almost as bad as booze. My head is swimming from all the salt, and I still think I have onion breath after double brushing my teeth. Coffee. Today, I might actually need some.
The phone rings again and I answer it this time. Kenna. She sounds as sleepy as I feel. “Lorelei, you gotta go to the diner. Carlos needs you there. The coffee machine is broken again.”
“Isn’t there a repair service you can call?” I ask.
“Already did. But he needs you to come in and help with the morning flow. The trainee called in sick, and the line’s out the door. Plus, my uncles texted. There’s a potential buyer stopping by the diner to have a look later. They’re checking out our house, too. The realtor said we don’t have to be there, but I dunno. I’d feel a lot better if someone could be there.”
“Right.” I splash cold water on my face. “I’m on it.” At least I know I can get some coffee at the diner.
Before I leave, I call Carlos to let him know help is on the way.
“Is Noah there?” I ask.
“Who?” Carlos asks.
“Noah Greenberg? Walks with a slight limp? High school teacher?”
