Page 73 of Loaded

“I do,” Jake says.

I roll my eyes. “Oh my gosh, Jakey, stop. Not everything is about you.”

“This isn’t about Easton, either, though.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “If you’re writing songs, thenyou’rewriting them. Not that guy.”

“Fine,” I say. “I’m writing them.”

Jake finally smiles. “Well, good for you. I could put in some calls to see who’s running the contest, and then?—”

I shake my head. “No thank you.”

“Some things haven’t changed, I see.”

“I guess not.” But I’m smiling back at him. No matter how much he annoys me, I can’t stay mad long. Jake’s just like that. Not with everyone, but with me. Although, I do think it’s the same boyish charm that women all over the country fall in love with on the screen. It’s just even stronger in person.

I go back to the piano, tightening a few things, working on a transition and then playing the whole thing again, start to finish. It takes me a minute, but I get it all down on paper, too. When I finally finish, I lean back and sigh.

“That was really amazing to watch.”

I nearly jump out of my skin. Jake’s sitting on the sofa, doingnothing.

“Were you watching me that whole time?”

“More listening than watching, but yes. Why?”

“It’s. . .weird.”

“It was kind of amazing. Once you’re big, and I have no doubt you soon will be, I’m going to tell people at parties how I was sitting in the room next to you while you wrote this one.”

“Jake.” I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And like all my other outrageous stories, this one’s true.”

“There isno wayyou were dropped off by helicopter and then skied your way down the Sierra Nevadas with Ashton Kutcher.”

“Don’t forget the wounded dog we found and carried to safety.”

I’m laughing now. “The fact that anyone believes that story makes me doubt the future of humanity more than anything else I’ve heard.Jellyfishhave more brain cells than someone who believes that.”

“Fine, Ashton and I didn’t exactly find the dog that way, butthisone really will betrue.” He stands and crosses to sit next to me on the piano bench. “And Ashton tells the same story, by the way. His agent made it up. I’m just following orders.”

“What actually happened?” I ask. “Twisted ankle?”

Jake sighs. “More embarrassing.”

“Oh, now I really need to know.”

“I can’t tell you. I signed a form saying we’d stick to the same story—the one you’ve heard.”

I slug him on the shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”

“But look—the one thing about my life that’s notmade up.” He points at the paper where I’ve jotted the song down. “That’s the real deal, Bea.”

I’m not good at taking praise. I have no idea what to do with it. Luckily, it doesn’t happen often, so I can usually just shrug it off. It leaves me poorly prepared for moments like this—raw, real. Thankfully, my phone buzzes. I can’t help hoping it’s Easton. Which is stupid.

When I realize Jake’s phone also buzzed, I’m a little disappointed.

ANNOUNCEMENT: WE WILL NOW HAVE A WEEKLY FAMILY DINNER ON SUNDAY. I’LL HOST EACH WEEK UNLESS SOMEONE ELSE CALLS IT. I’LL TAKE REQUESTS FOR DINNER. FIRST COME, FIRST SELECTED.

---