Page 52 of The Pucking Grump

My anger, so easily aroused today, is already brimming beneath the surface. “Are you saying what they’re doing is okay?”

“No,” Ken says emphatically. “But I’m saying I’m confused. We all are. You despised Faye Strummer. How the hell are you dating her? And why the hell are you this pissed off about it?”

I shove my fists into my pockets. Even though I’m still furious, I’m starting to understand my teammates.

I open my mouth to say something, but just then, a car pulls up in front of us. My mood plummets further as Alex sticks his head out of the driver’s window.

“Hey there.”

I’m relieved to see he’s not smiling. If there’s anyone who has the right to tease me to death about this, it’s Alex. Especially with what happened between him and my sister.

“I called him,” Ken explained. “Figured you needed breathing space after that hellish practice.”

I slip inside the car, fuming silently. I know an intervention when I see one. Still, I prefer the company of my friends over going back to my apartment and wondering if calling Faye will seem too desperate.

“You wanna answer my questions back there?” Ken says as Alex starts to drive out of the arena. “Why are you so uptight today? And why?—”

“I’m going to cut you short,” Alex says before I can utter a word. “Ken, I think you should know that Blake’s relationship with Faye is fake. Brit filled me in,” he adds, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

I’m torn between anger and relief. I don’t want Brit blabbing my secrets all over town, but I’m glad I don’t need to come out and say it myself.

“Oh my God,” Ken says, reality dawning on his face. “That’s why you’re so mad. But . . . why did you agree to this? Why did you kiss her?”

“Because she needed help,” Alex cuts in again, and I decide that I’m stuck on relief. “She was running from the wedding, and she bumped into Blake. He saved her. And now . . .”

“Now the guys are going to make fun of you forever.” Ken snickers.

“It’s not funny,” I spit at him.

“Oh, he finally speaks,” Alex drawls, glancing at me. “Still, you don’t need to be this mad. You’re helping out a friend and?—”

“Faye is far from a friend,” I say, thinking of how she went radio silent from the moment things started going alright for her again. “And if I knew I’d be getting daily calls asking me to grant an interview, I’d have thought twice about this.”

Or if I knew I’d never speak to Faye again, anyway.

“I get why this makes you mad,” Alex says in an appeasing tone. “A PR relationship is a lot to handle, particularly when it doesn’t benefit you in any way.”

Ken nods. “Look, she wanted her reputation back, and she got it. Her fans are not going to mind if she breaks up with you now. Maybe you could get her to release a statement telling her fans to chill out with you, maybe hinting that you broke up. She could release a few songs about heartbreak or something, you know, and let you off the hook.”

I pause, actually considering Ken’s suggestion. I never would have thought of it, but it seems like the most sensible thing I’ve heard in weeks. Faye no longer needs my help—that is quite obvious. I could tell her I want to break this off. Maybe she could get her manager to rope someone else into being her fake boyfriend, call it her exploration era or something like that.

But then again, the idea of Faye going out with some other miserly male and talking about their love life makes me want to punch the window.

“You think you can catch up with her before her show tonight?” Ken asks.

“Breaking up with her before the performance would be mean. Brit spent a lot of money and time getting tickets for Faye’s ‘Welcome to Philly’ show, and she’s going to be pissed if Faye is a weepy mess up there,” Alex complains.

The fact that my sister is coming to hear Faye sing doesn’t make it easier for me to make a decision.

“She’d know it’s not a real breakup,” Ken replies. “She’ll be fine. Also, she could use the show to tell her fans to back off.”

I’m still stuck on an image where some loser has his arm around Faye. It makes me want to vomit. On the other hand, though, that’s what’s going to happen any day now. Faye has told me herself, multiple times, that she loves romance. Whatever is between us isn’t going to change that. And the sooner I recuse myself from this mess, the better for all of us.

“You’re right,” I say, my voice tight. “Can you drop me at the Filmore?”

“Sure,” Alex says, in a too-chipper voice.

I sink back into the seat, only half sure that what I’m about to do is right.

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