Page 30 of Hard Rock Desires
The next place on our list was actually a cafe that baked their own goods on site. It looked cute from the outside, with a white frilly awning and a signboard out front listing the specials with round, bubbly chalk writing.
“This place doesn’t look too bad,” I said. “Seems like the kind of place young women would go for coffee with friends.”
“Cute on the outside,” Zain lowered his voice as if narrating a horror movie, “deadly on the inside.”
“Let’s not judge,” I said. “Just because it has bad reviews for the pastries doesn’t mean the whole place is bad. Maybe they have great coffee.”
“I changed my mind,” Zain said. “You’re not a pessimist. You’re an annoying optimist.”
I pushed past Zain to open the door and walk through first. The place was as frilly and cute on the inside as it was on the outside. I’d been right that it was a popular hangout, because all the tables were packed with girls, and a few of what must have been their boyfriends.
“See?” I said, turning to Zain as he walked in behind me. “There wouldn’t be so many people here if it was terrible—”
“Oh my god!” A shrill voice piped up. “It’s Zain Weston!!”
Instead of the hushed whispers from our baking class, girls jumped up from their chairs to be the first one to approach Zain. Every single person had their phone out for selfies. I was knocked out of the way by a trio of young women with looks of utter adoration on their faces.
“Whoa, hey, ladies, no need to push.” Zain laughed, delighted, as if he were having a grand old time. “Let’s form a line, yeah?”
I watched the chaos from the outskirts, waiting for Zain to finish, but the girls kept chattering at him, and he kept smiling and laughing and, of course, flirting.
I wasn’t surprised at the flirting. I knew exactly what kind of vain, attention hog Zain was. But I was surprised at how annoyed I felt at it.
Annoyed and upset.
He was supposed to be here with me. We were on a… not a date, exactly. More of an excursion, really. But still, it was supposed to be the two of us. Not the two of us plus a dozen of his fans.
And he wasn’t even paying attention to me. Didn’t even throw me a second glance. He was too preoccupied with his fan club.
A lump congealed in my stomach, and it wasn’t from the eclair.
Wasn’t this exactly what I should have expected? Zain was a rich, famous, sexy rock star. He had his pick of women. He would always have a lineup of them waiting to throw themselves at his feet.
He was ignoring me for them, and that was fine, in a way. After all, he’d been right when he said he owed everything he had to his fans. Of course he had to make them happy. They would have been upset in their own right if he refused all those requests for selfies and hugs.
I understood it.
The lump in my stomach turned sour.
But that didn’t mean I had to stick around for it.
Ten
Zain
I probably should have expected it. Going out in public usually caused at least a little bit of a stir. But the way these girls were acting, you’d think I’d stumbled into the Until We Break fan club HQ.
“Can I get another selfie?” one of them asked. “This one didn’t turn out.”
“Sure thing, love.” It was the dozenth or more photo I’d posed for, but I didn’t mind. It was like I’d told Grace, I owed everything to my fans.
Speaking of Grace, the last time I’d seen her had been — I checked the clock on the wall — twenty minutes ago. I winced inwardly. Shit. I’d lost track of time. I hadn’t meant to, but being bombarded with this many girls at once sort of took up all of your attention.
“All right, ladies, I think that’s everyone, yeah?” I tucked my hands in my pockets and gave them all a winning smile. “I’ve got to get on with my day, same as you.”
My ears were assaulted with a chorus of groans, but considering I’d spent almost half an hour catering to their whims, I didn’t feel bad about ducking out.
“Hey, Grace, you want to go get—”
