Page 101 of Thoroughly Pucked

I sigh, feeling a little lonely as I think aboutafter.“It means I wish this weren’t the honeymoon I was supposed to take with another guy.”

“What do I even say to her?” I ask Dev as we enter the venue before the Amelia Stone concert, making our way to the VIP door. Because the tickets are freaking VIP tickets.

Nerves jump around inside me. “What do people say to you after a game?” I hang back with Dev as our friends walk ahead, following a tour assistant. “What if I sound stupid? How many times a day does she hear people gush,I love your music?”

“Babe,” he says, gently. “Just tell her you like her music.”

“Is that what people say to you?”

“Yes, I make sweet music in the net,” he says, straight-faced.

“Seriously. What do you say when fans are allI love you,” I ask, feeling a little desperate. “Isn’t it boring?”

He stops, tugs me around a corner, gives me a serious look, full of understanding and vulnerability. “It’s not boring when someone tells you they love you.”

My heart sweeps up like an amusement park ride. I know he’s not saying those words to me, but still, I feel a little floaty. “It’s not?”

“I like meeting fans. It doesn’t get old,” he assures me.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. And if she’s a dick, fuck her. Tell her you like her music because it’s whatyouwant to say.” He taps my sternum as if transferring some of his courage to me. “Want to practice with me?”

I take a deep breath. “I love your music.”

His eyes sparkle with pride and maybe something else.

Something that scares me and thrills me.

Something that feels all right and all wrong at the same time.Possibility.

“Good.” He runs his hand down my cheek and adds, “Have fun, babe.”

“Am I babe now?” I ask.

“It felt right,” he says, like he doesn’t need any further justification for the nickname.

And really, he doesn’t.

I grab his hand, holding it tight for a second. “Thank you.”

We catch up to our friends, and I feel a little less jittery. Ledger shoots Dev an inquisitive look, but Dev just gives him a reassuring smile. Ledger nods in return. A wordless exchange, and yet they have their own language about me.

I’ve grown to understand them in just a few days too.

So much of this week has been out of sync with my regular life in San Francisco, which involves waking up for blowouts and balayage, for yoga and smoothie dates, for book club and volunteering at Little Friends.

For lazy Saturdays when I don’t get out of my sweats or my hoodies, when I binge books and TV shows. When I see my mom, or my brother or sister. When I fritter away the day.

That’s my regular life.

This is my temporary, supercharged, high-voltageone. But I’m going to enjoy it because I fucking deserve it.

The VIP experience doesn’t stop with the tickets and special seating. Amelia Stone’s stage manager shows us around backstage, including where the pop star does one of her whizz-bang costume changes. “That’s where she goes from the red sparkles to the jean shorts and cowboy boots, right?” I ask excitedly when the woman gestures to an area just offstage. I’ve watched countless videos from her tour this summer.

“Someone knows her Amelia Stone.” The stage manager sounds impressed. I think I’m glowing.

Dev and Ledger weren’t kidding when they said they like to spoil a woman. From the penthouse suite to the concert tickets to the private jet, these guys are serious about their indulgence.

---