Page 9 of Celebrities Don't Date Bookworms

“Well, he’s from this general area,” I clarified. I didn’t realize Sloane actually remembered everything her sister ranted about the band, or I would have been more careful about what I was saying. What I did know was that while the boys were from various areas, spanning from Canada to Ireland, Jude came from a city somewhat near ours. “I wonder why they’re coming here, anyway. Wouldn’t they be better off in Toronto or somewhere in the U.S.?”

Our city wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t exactly known for housing celebrities either, especially not musicians. There were a few movie studios here but that was it asfar as I knew. But then again, I wasn’t tapped into the music world at all.

“You really need to talk to Grace,” Sloane said, shaking her head. “She’s up to date on all of this and it’s all she talks about at dinner, but I’ve stopped listening.”

We walked into the Starbucks and headed straight for the counter. I was surprised at the lack of noise inside; where there was normally a quiet din of chatter, it was silent today, save for the jazz music playing over the speakers and the two baristas gossiping behind the counter. All the tables were empty; the only other customer in the whole place was a boy my age standing by the end of the counter, waiting for his drink. I’d never seen the place so empty.

“Do you mind ordering me a mocha?” Sloane asked. She tilted her head toward the other end of the shop and held up her left palm, which was covered in pen marks. It was pretty smudged now, but it had very obviously been scribbled on. “I just need to use the bathroom and try to wash all this ink off me before my mom sees it and goes on one of her rants about how drawing on myself is a gateway drug to getting tattoos.”

“Yeah, of course,” I said. She smiled and dropped a five-dollar bill in my hand, then skipped off.

“How can I help you?” One of the baristas asked, coming to stand behind the cash register.

“Could I get two venti mochas please?” While she typed it in, I looked around again. It felt wrong to see so few people here. “It’sdead today, huh?”

“I know, right? I think everyone saw that tweet about Finn and Jude being at Sunset Cafe, and went there.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Little did they know that they would be just as lucky coming here.”

I forced out a laugh as I handed her my money, even though I had no idea what she was talking about. Sometimes—usually—it was easier just to pretend than to ask for clarification, especially when it came to something that I knew nothing about and a person I would never see again.

She turned to make the drinks, and I shifted down the counter, coming to a stop a couple of feet away from the boy who was still standing there. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, but looked away when I thought he might be turning toward me because I definitely didn’t want him to catch me staring. That would be awkward. From what I saw in my quick glance, he wasn’t wearing a Summerfield uniform, which meant he was either a very quick changer or he went to school somewhere else, which would be a little strange since there weren’t any other schools within easy walking distance. It was possible he drove, of course, but it was a little surprising he would be here this early if he was from anywhere else.

“Here are your coffees,” the barista said, sliding them both over the counter toward me.

“Thanks,” I said. I picked mine up and took off the lid to blow on it and cool it down. I turned to go to the counter along the other wall that had the extra jars of milk and cream, but I didn’t make very far. The boy who had been standing still until that moment washanded his drink by the barista, then while I turned, he turned too, and crashed straight into me. My cup flipped over in my hand, spilling my drink all over my chest and down my torso.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed.

My eyes widened in surprise at the British accent, and I stumbled out the words, “That’s okay,” even though it totally wasn’t okay because the hot liquid was burning my chest.

“Are you all right?” He grabbed some napkins and started patting away the coffee from my skin, which would have been all well and good if it had been anywhere but my chest. As it was, his hand was dangerously close to my boob, which was the last thing I wanted, so I jerked away as if he had shocked me.

“I’m fine!” I said a little more sharply than I meant to. “Um, I mean, it doesn’t even hurt. Thanks though.”

I was lying through my teeth, but I was sure I could keep in my yells of pain before I got home and could scream into my pillow.

“Oh… Okay.”

I finally looked up at his face, which I had to crane my neck a little to do. He was a bit taller than me, but what else was new? His loose brown curls fell in his face slightly, and his eyes seemed to be some strange cross between green and brown, without quite being hazel. He was possibly the cutest boy I had ever seen in my life.

“Hi,” I breathed out. He lookedinsanely familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite place where I knew him from.

He grinned at me, and a dimple appeared on his right cheek. “Hi.”

“I’m Megan,” I blurted. I internally facepalmed. This was why I didn’t have any friends—because every time I met someone new, I acted so weird that I scared them away. I awkwardly held a hand out to shake as if that would help anything, but the boy just continued to smile at me, and he shook my hand as if I was acting completely normally.

“I’m…” he trailed off and blinked a couple of times.

“Did you forget your name?” I asked, biting back a smile. Honestly, that was something I would do.

“No, I just…” He narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Do you not recognize me?”

“Oh,” I said. One of my worst nightmares was coming across someone I was supposed to know and not recognizing them—it was supremely awkward, and I had no idea how to deal with it. I felt like his name was on the tip of my tongue, but I still couldn’t place him. I tried to channel my inner Sloane—AKA trying to act as cool as possible—as I said, “I mean, of course I do, silly.”

His frown only deepened at my response. I cleared my throat and looked around, hoping that somebody would come interrupt this conversation for some reason, but there was nobody to do so. My only hope was that one of the barista would call out a drink, but they weren’t even working on anything. They werepressed up against the wall, whispering and giggling while looking in our direction. I didn’t really appreciate them laughing at my misfortune, but I tried to ignore it as I looked back at the boy again.

“You’re not freaking out,” he said. Now it was my turn to frown. Surely, if I knew this boy well enough that I would freak at the sight of him, I would remember his name, wouldn’t I? Maybe he had me confused with someone else. Sure, he looked familiar, but maybe he went to my school, or I had just seen him around town. Maybe he lived on my street? I couldn’t be positive. One of the major pitfalls of never interacting with anyone was that I could never remember anyone’s names, even when I saw them all the time.

“Um…”

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