“Oh.” Boomer scratched the back of his head. “Sorry, Asha, but I’m totally with Fel on this particular subject.”
He pushed himself off the beanbag and stood to his full height. At six foot ten, Boomer was basketball star material, although he lacked the coordination required to play. The only trait that outshone his freakishly tall stature was the volume at which he did everything—talking, eating, even walking. He was twice as loud as a regular person.
“What? Why?”
Boomer plodded over to my bed and flopped down next to Asha, making my bedsprings squeak in protest. “Because some people value their privacy. Besides, it’s not like she has much of a story to tell. The only cool thing that happened was riding in that F12.”
I laughed. That wassucha Boomer thing to say. He had an obsession with cars. His dream was to become a mechanical engineer and work for a NASCAR team, specializing in engine development. If he wasn’t playing his Game Boy, he was most likely talking about engines or racing, and during the course of our friendship, I’d inadvertently learned everything I knew about cars from listening to him chatter. Which was how I’d recognized Alec’s Ferrari.
“Are you serious? This is about Felicity doing a service for every Heartbreakers fan out there,” Asha insisted.
Boomer cocked an eyebrow. “I thought it was about getting rid of the reporters.”
But Asha wasn’t listening. “She literally lived every fan’s dream, and she’s not going to share her experience with the rest of the world?”
“Are you calling me selfish?” I asked with a laugh.
“If she is,” Boomer said, snagging the package of cookies lying between them on the bed, “I’ll be quick to remind her that real selfishness is hogging all the Oreos.”
I knew Asha was only joking around, but I still felt the need to defend myself. “Even if I wanted to do an interview, I can’t. My mom has been weird about this whole thing.”
“Yeah, I suppose. What’s up with that?” Asha asked, and all I could do was shrug in response.
“Speaking of moms, I’d better go,” Boomer said, snatching the last Oreo out of the sleeve. “I promised mine I’d pick up Kevin from T-ball practice.”
“Ugh, lame,” Asha said, tossing a pillow at his face. “Fel and I were going to watch the season finale ofImmortal Nightstogether.”
“I take it you need a ride?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She scowled and brushed cookie crumbs from her shirt. “Ever since Riya’s car died, I’ve lost all use of the van. So unfair.”
“See you guys tomorrow at Electric Waffle?” I asked as the two stood and headed toward the bedroom door. The Electric Waffle was the diner where I waitressed. We served breakfast only, and every table had a built-in electric griddle so customers could cook their own waffles. While it was a cute idea, the griddles were more of a pain in the ass than anything—impossible to clean out, and people always wanted refunds when they burned their own food.
I worked so often that the diner had become our haunt. During my shifts, Boomer and Asha would make camp in one of the back booths. Usually they did homework or studied, but since it was summer, Boomer wasted his time playing Pokémon while Asha ran her Tumblr account. On my breaks or when there was a lull in customers, I’d go hang out.
Boomer nodded. “Yup. What time does your shift end?”
“I’ll be done at six.”
“Make sure to call me whenImmortal Nightsis over,” Asha said, pointing a finger at me. “We’ll have lots to analyze.”
“Will do. Bye, guys.”
After Boomer and Asha were gone, I focused on finishing the pattern for my necklace. I’d been making jewelry since junior high. One of my mom’s first jobs after the divorce was as a sales clerk at a fancy boutique, and I remember being mesmerized by all the sparkly pieces on display. There was no way Mom could afford to buy anything that expensive, so she got a beginners’ jewelry kit forme to make my own. Starting out, all I’d been able to do was string a few beads together, but nowadays my work was good enough that people often stopped me on the street to ask where I bought my earrings or bracelet or whatever I was wearing.
I was getting into the groove of working when the doorbell rang again.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I grumbled, pushing away from my desk. I’d tried to be patient with the reporters, I really had, but their constant badgering was driving me crazy. I stormed down the hall, and a picture of Mom, Rose, and me rattled against the wall.
“If you don’t get off my property right now, I’m going to call the police! I’mnotdoing an interview!” I shouted when I threw open the door. “What don’t you people understand about that?”
“Felicity?”
I froze.
That voice. Iknewthat voice. It was sexy and deep—a sound I wouldn’t easily forget. My hands dropped to my side, and I stared at the person standing on my porch. There was a baseball hat pulled low over his face and a pair of sunglasses hiding the spectacular color of his eyes, but I knew who he was in an instant.
And he was no reporter.
