Page 26 of Rebel

“Sure, tell yourself that. The truth is, pretty girl, you want me.” He stands, and I gape at him.

“You are so self-absorbed?—”

“Your nipples are so hard, they are cutting your shirt. I also see your pretty thighs clenching when you don’t think I’m looking. I’ve been desired by many, Beck, so I know what it looks like.” He grabs an apple and takes a bite, letting the juice drip down his chest. “But keep staring, I like being watched.”

I bet he fucking does, but I refuse to let Chase scare me away or get the upper hand.

This is a game, but I was never good at following the rules. Instead, I rebel. I stand and head around the table. Holding his gaze, I lick his chest, tasting the apple before biting the other side of the fruit that’s not in his mouth. His eyes widen as I pull back, taking the apple with me as he gapes. “I will never fuck you, Chase, but feel free to watch me too. We both know you like to. Oh, and keep dreaming about me because it’s the closest you will ever get to me.” I saunter away, leaving him staring after me.

Game on, baby.

Despite the guys drinking their body weight in alcohol, they are showered and ready to go by eleven. I completely forgot about the interview today, and when we reach the studio where it’s being filmed, nerves fill me. I’ll be on national TV, broadcast around the world. Everyone will know who I am, and I won’t be able to hide anymore.

I made this decision, though, and I knew what I was getting into, so I follow them inside through the back door and to the dressing rooms. There are two, and the guys take one while I take the other, pacing across the carpeted floor.

I can’t do this.

Fuck. I slap my cheek and glare at myself in the mirror.

You can and you will, I remind myself. I need to remember why I’m doing this. Nothing else matters. Dropping my head, I take a deep breath just as there’s a knock at the door. I allow the air to fill my lungs for a moment before letting it go and lifting my head. I paste a fake, welcoming smile on my lips when they knock again.

“Come in,” I call.

A beautiful woman with an epic head of curls saunters in. “Hi, I’m Sasha. I’ll be your stylist today. I’m the intern, but I have your outfit and the shots of what they want your hair and makeup to be like, if that’s okay.”

“More than okay with me. I’m Beck.” I hold my hand out, and she shakes it while hustling me to the chair.

“We don’t have much time.” She grins at me in the mirror. “Luckily, you’re already beautiful, but let’s make you killer, alright?”

“Sounds good to me.” I grin. “Paint me with some war paint.”

She peers at me, then a grin curls her lips. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

I let her work, and we fall into a comfortable rhythm. I ask her about her life, and she answers while working. I tell her a little bit about mine as well. “So what’s it like with the guys?” she asks.

“What? Have a crush?” I tease.

She laughs as she pins a curl back. “Nah, not my style. Don’t get me wrong, they are sexy as hell, but something tells me they are already taken.”

I’m not sure what she means, so I just grin while she watches me knowingly. “Okay, and done,” she says thirty minutes later.

My makeup is gothic and moody, and I love it. My hair falls in messy curls with bits pinned to make devil horns. It fits the black, see-through dress with red heels I’m planning to wear so well.

“It’s incredible, Sasha,” I tell her honestly. Makeup and hair are art forms not many can easily master, and she made it look effortless.

“Thank you for being so nice to me. I’m only an intern, and most don’t want that,” she says as she fluffs my hair.

“Well, tell them I want you every time. You did fucking amazing. It’s the best I’ve seen, plus you’re nice. That’s better than most stylists I’ve met. Besides, Sasha, I’m new to this too, so fuck them.”

The grin she gives me is wide, and I return it. “I will.” She steps back and nods. “Knock them dead, Beck.”

“Oh, I plan to.” I wink as she packs up her stuff. “See you later.”

Once she’s gone, I strip down to my thong and press the X’s on over my nipples before shimmying into the knee-length dress, which flashes skin when I turn. The heels lace up, and once I stand, I give myself a once-over in the mirror.

A complete stranger is staring back at me.

Gone is the brown-haired nobody with a broken heart, and in her place is a rock star. I realize I don’t know myself anymore.

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