Page 121 of Charming Like Us
“No,” I say, trying to shut this convo down before it starts.
“No?” Charlie bows forward more between our seats. “So you two didn’t kiss last night? Was that a deepfake then?”
“We kissed,” Jack and I say in unison. It causes both of us to smile. And I add, “But not becauseyouset us up.” I don’t care if he put us in the right orbit together; I don’t need Charlie meddling in my life.
Ever again.
“Of course not.” Charlie leans back again. “You two would have definitely hooked up had I not orchestrated it. I’m sure you would have found a way to spend all this time together without me.”
I grit down so I don’t grin at his sarcasm.I’m not a buddy-guard.Not. A. Buddy. Guard.
Jack rakes a hand through his hair, his smile rising.
Charlie taps the window. “It didn’t fully work though, did it?”
“What do you mean?” Jack asks, his face falling. Eyes darting to me. Like I told Charlie something aboutusand left him out.No way.
I shake my head tensely at Highland.
“It was supposed toendthe Oslie rumors,” Charlie explains, “not make people loathe you because of them.” He expels a frustrated noise. “It’s all a fucking mess.”
“Story of our lives, bro.” I switch lanes and pull into a parking garage.
“Yeah.” Charlie nods slowly. “So it goes.”
I park, and we reach Clifford’s apartment complex with relative ease. No paparazzi. No screaming fans. It’s almost too easy. So it’s not a surprise when Clifford isn’t home.
Next stop, the theatre. We find another parking spot, and when we climb out and walk towards the theatre building, it’s clear this is…a shit show.
Girls and guys hoist posters and stake out the front of the old 1900s structure. Theatre security pushes them back, and a couple paparazzi vans hug the curb with parking meters.
“They’re always here early,” I explain to Jack and adjust my earpiece. “Eliot has an afternoon performance in a couple hours.” We approach from the side, not spotted yet.
“Eliot’s fans are my favorite,” Charlie says. “They’re mostly theatre nerds who send him Shakespeare love letters and dead ravens.”
“CHARLIE KEATING COBALT!” That shrill piercing scream comes from a girl holding a giant pink poster board that readsEliot Alice, can I be your corpse bride?
Jack takes it all in with interest, and I almost clasp his hand—about five times—like I’m strolling down the street with a boyfriend.
I’m working.
I’m on-duty.
Here to protectCharlie.I playback the words in my head to stay sharp. Alert.
Charlie waves a nonchalant hand at the crowd—more like he’s brushing away a gnat than greeting them, and they all respond with an awed noise as though he just proposed.
He’s unaffected.
Don’t like that we’re exposed.
“Back door,” I instruct and step quickly in that direction. It’s too late though. Someone spots Jack.
“Homewrecker!” she screams.
Charlie stops in his tracks and turns around. I fist his shirt before he charges away from me. “I’m straight!” he yells at them. “There is no Oslie!”
“It’s okay, Charlie,” a girl pipes in. “We know you want it to be a secret. We know you’re not ready ye—”
