Heartbreakers

“You have got to be shitting me.”

  This wasn’t seriously happening, was it? I mean, how was it even possible to run into the same celebrity so many times in one day? These kinds of things happened in movies, not real life.

  “Ladies, ladies,” the concerned concierge called out. “Please give our guests some room.” His request went unnoticed.

  “Xander, I love you!”

  “Alec, marry me!”

  “JJ, over here!”

  “Oh my God, Oliver!”

  The band paused to greet a few of their fans, and as I looked on, I decided that this would go down as one of my craziest days ever. Cara was never going to believe me when I told her. I continued to watch the Heartbreakers until Oliver glanced at the counter where I was standing. I quickly spun around before he spotted me.

  I knew it was irrational, but I almost felt as if he’d lied to me by not telling me who he was. Or maybe I just felt stupid for not knowing. Either way, it would be awkward to talk to him again.

  After a minute of negotiation with the desk clerk, I managed to get our room for free, but it wasn’t much of a comfort. Just thinking about spending a whole night feeling hot and sticky made me want to yank my hair out. But there was nothing else I could do, so I headed for the elevator.

  “Stupid boy band,” I grumbled as I stepped inside and hit the button for the fifth floor. It was childish, but it helped to have someone to be angry with.

  “Hold the door!” Glancing up, I spotted a bodyguard pointing at me. The Heartbreakers were being led across the lobby, their guards trying to hold back the growing group of girls. I jabbed the “door close” button multiple times, hoping I could escape, but no such luck. The group slipped into the elevator, the doors almost shutting on the last guy.

  “Thanks so much,” the boy with glasses said. “That would have been a nightmare.”

  “I didn’t know appreciating your fans was such a chore.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before my mind even registered what I had said.

  Oliver’s head popped up at the sound of my voice. He stared at me for a moment before breaking out into a huge grin. “Stella!”

  He remembers me! My heart leaped, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to respond, and I watched as the smile slipped off his face.

  Nobody seemed to hear Oliver’s comment, and the boy with glasses readjusted his frames as he tried to get a better look at me. “Say what?” he asked.

  “What do you mean, not appreciating our fans?” The boy with the big muscles crossed his arms in an intimidating sort of way, and the tattoo around his bicep stretched. “We had an autograph signing today.”

  “Yeah, I know that,” I snapped. “I waited for three hours only to get right to the front of the line and watch you all leave.”

  “Oh, an unhappy fan?” he asked. His expression did a one-eighty as a grin spread across his face.

  “We can definitely fix that,” Glasses Boy added. He pulled a Sharpie out of his pocket. “Do you have a camera?”

  I let out an unattractive snort. “You think I’m a fan?” Pausing, I shot him a glare. “Not a chance in the world.”

  The boys glanced at each other, not sure how to respond. “I think she might be crazy,” Muscles whispered to the boy with the perfect hair, who still had a pair of headphones draped around his neck. He had yet to speak, and he only gave his friend a quick nod of agreement.

  “The only thing that’s crazy is that people actually listen to your music.” I could feel my pulse fluttering with each word I spoke. “I was at the signing today—which was torture, considering I was forced to listen to the same CD until my ears bled—for one reason only: to get my sister an autograph. And if she weren’t my sister, I’d probably disown her for listening to crap.”

  The band stared at me, mouths gaping.

  “Anything else?” Glasses asked.

  “Yeah,” I added with one final burst of irritation. “You guys suck.”

  The elevator stopped and the door slid open.

  “I think I kind of like this girl. She’s got sass,” Muscles said with a smirk. “Can we keep her?”

  “Screw off,” I told him, and then, without looking at Oliver, I shoved past the Heartbreakers onto the fifth floor.

  • • •

  “Why do you look like someone just killed our dog?” Drew asked as I stormed into the room.

  “Hotel’s completely booked,” I said, slamming the door behind me. “All I got was a refund.”

  “Hey!” Drew said, holding his hand out for a high five. “That’s awesome.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that it’s still stifling in here,” I complained, ignoring his waiting hand. I pulled a clean set of clothes out of my backpack and stepped into the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.”

  Locking the door behind me, I stripped off my dirty clothes. My whole body felt like it was on fire, and a sick feeling was gathering inside my chest. I shouldn’t have yelled at them like that, I thought as I turned on the water. It wasn’t the Heartbreakers’ fault that my day sucked. Without waiting for the water to warm up, I stepped into the cold blast and closed my eyes. I stood there, hand against the tile for support, and held my breath as I waited to feel better. But the frigid water only numbed my body. It didn’t do anything to ease my guilt.

  Oliver probably hates you now. The incident in the elevator kept flickering through my head, replaying the moment when Oliver’s smile fell. I was a jerk and he would never want to see me again. A bitter tang overwhelmed my mouth, and for a brief moment, I felt ill.

  What the heck is wrong with you, Stella? I shouted at myself. Get a grip. Grabbing the bar of soap, I scrubbed myself with enough vigor to remove a layer of skin. There was no reason for me to be upset that Oliver Perry didn’t like me. Sure, he was cute, but I didn’t know him at all. From what I’d seen of Cara’s magazine article, Oliver was a total player, not someone I’d want to get involved with.

  Drew knocked on the door, interrupting my thoughts. “Stella, I ordered room service,” he called over the noise of the shower. “Is pizza okay?”

  “Sure,” I answered and turned off the water. I didn’t feel completely better—I was still embarrassed that I had blamed the band for my bad luck—but I refused to be upset over a boy I’d never see again.

  After drying off, I pulled on a pair of shorts and a camisole before heading out to the main room. As we waited for our food, I turned on CSI and braided my hair. During a particularly bloody scene, there was a knock on the door and I jumped up, happy for an excuse to avoid the gore.

  “Thanks so much,” I said, pulling the door open. “We’re starve…” I trailed off. In the hall stood Oliver Perry.

  “Stella,” he said. His tone was curt.

  I was staring like an idiot again, but I couldn’t help it. What was he doing here?

  Then I noticed his pursed lips. He looked pissed, and I realized that he probably wanted an apology. The thought made my cheeks turn pink, but I knew he deserved it. I had been pretty harsh.

  I opened my mouth to apologize but choked on the words. Something entirely different came out. “How’d you get my room number?”

  “Um, I gave the front desk your name,” he said. My question obviously caught him off guard, but Oliver quickly recovered and narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you bipolar or something?”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Well, this morning I met a girl at Starbucks,” he explained. “She was completely sweet and adorable, but she seems to be MIA at the moment.”

  Oh, right. He wanted an explanation for my mood swing. “You should have told me the truth,” I responded, trying to defend myself.

  “About what exactly?” he asked, his chin jutting forward as he spoke. He sounded irritated, but there was something about his eyes that made me think he was more hurt than anythin
g. My throat was thickening, and I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. That would be too humiliating.

  “Hmm, I don’t know,” I said, splaying my hand across my chest, trying to hide my guilt with sarcasm. It wouldn’t help fix anything, but words were flying out of my mouth again, just like they had in the elevator. “You could have mentioned who you are.”

  “Are you saying that you really didn’t recognize me?” he asked, crossing his arms.

  “Yes, I am,” I said. Oliver shot me a disbelieving look, so I added, “Look, I’ve heard my sister talk about Oliver Perry a million times, but I didn’t realize that was you when we met.”

  He stared at me, brows raised, as if I had just offered the answer to my own question. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

  His response made me blink. “Okay, well, I guess I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t. Why wouldn’t he want me to know who he was? “Now I know who you are. Thanks for stopping by.” I started to shut the door.

  “Hey, wait!” Oliver stuck his foot out to stop me.

  “Is that the food?” Drew called out. The bed squeaked as he got up to see what was going on.

  “Hey,” Oliver said, poking his head into the room to greet my brother.

  “Ah, hi.” Drew scratched the back of his head. “Don’t I know you?” After staring at Oliver for a second longer, I watched the realization wash over his face. “You’re that guy from the band. Stella, what are you doing? Let him in!”

  Closing my eyes, I let a sigh hiss out of my mouth. When I released my grasp on the doorknob, Oliver stepped in beside me. His arm brushed against mine just like this morning, and the contact made me suck in a sharp breath. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as everyone stared at each other.

  Finally my brother spoke up. “So no offense or anything, but what exactly are you doing here? Wrong room number or something?”

  “No,” Oliver said. He glanced at me before continuing. “I came to talk to your…girlfriend?”

  “Sister,” Drew corrected and shot me a curious look.

  I watched for Oliver’s reaction, but his face stayed composed. “Right, sister. Anyway, she mentioned in the elevator that you guys wanted an autograph so I thought—”

  Before Oliver could finish his sentence, Drew cut him off. “Wait, you two met in the elevator?”

  Dang it. Now I would have to explain everything. If Drew found out from Oliver that we actually met while I was getting coffee, he’d be beyond ticked. “Actually,” I began, already regretting my words. “It was this morning.”

  Drew still looked lost, so Oliver clarified. “At Starbucks.”

  “Wait, so we stood in line all day for an autograph when you had already met him?” Drew asked, gaping at us like we were insane.

  I threw my hands up in the air. “I’m not Cara, Drew. I don’t have posters of the Heartbreakers hanging on my wall. I didn’t realize it was him. If I’m going to listen to a band, I’ll listen to a good one like the Sensible Grenade or Bionic Bones.”

  Okay, so Cara was right about the weird underground music stuff—of course, that didn’t make her ignorance of punk-rock legends excusable—but the bands I listened to were much more talented than the Heartbreakers.

  Oliver cleared his throat. “Um, okay. Low blow.”

  My brother looked like he was going to explode, but he took a deep breath, put a hand on my shoulder, and turned to Oliver. “Could you excuse us for a moment? I need to talk to my sister.”

  “Sure,” Oliver said as he shrugged his shoulders. “I just came to invite you up to our room.” He handed me a spare room card. “Just give this to the man in the elevator. He’ll let you up.”

  When the door shut and Oliver was gone, Drew spun around to face me. “What the heck is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Why did you keep insulting him?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean to, but he was getting on my nerves.” Well, that was somewhat true. Oliver didn’t do anything that was irritating, but the sudden feelings I was experiencing around him were. He made me giddy in a school-crush sort of way, and that was mortifying.

  Drew’s mouth formed a thin, straight line. “We drove down here for Cara. Not you, not me, but our sister.” Ashamed, I looked away from his intense glare. “Rocket…” he said, lifting my chin to face him.

  It was Drew’s nickname for me, short for “bottle rocket.” He said it was because when I got agitated, my temper flared without warning, but the explosion was never very large, and my anger fizzled as quickly as it had been ignited. Whenever I got worked up, he used the nickname as a gentle reminder for me to cool down.

  “Okay, okay!” I said, twisting away from him. He was right—I had gone all Fourth of July on Oliver and wasn’t thinking clearly. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Apologize,” Drew said sternly.

  “I’m super sorry?”

  “Nice try, Stella. We’re going up there to get an autograph, and you are going to apologize to Oliver.”

  Just the mention of his name made butterflies pulse through my stomach. I was going to have to talk to Oliver Perry. Again.

  Chapter 4

  When we stepped inside the penthouse, my stomach was a jumbled-up mess. I’d insisted on waiting for our pizza to arrive before leaving. I’d hoped the extra time would help me calm down, but instead, a watermelon-sized rock formed at the bottom of my stomach and I wasn’t able to eat a bite.

  “Hello?” Drew called out. The door slammed behind us, and the thud resonated through the silent suite, announcing our presence along with Drew’s greeting.

  When nobody answered, I hesitated. “Now what?”

  “Maybe they’re at dinner.”

  “Well, if no one’s here,” I said, eager to leave, “let’s go.” The closer I came to facing Oliver again, the worse I felt. A thick sense of dread was seeping into my veins like an injection of concrete, making my whole body feel heavy. I couldn’t stop my fingers from twitching, and I had to hold them tightly to my side and resist the urge to run.

  Drew clamped both his hands down on my shoulders. “But you haven’t had a chance to apologize yet,” he said with a wicked smile. He gave me a small push forward, guiding me down the hall until it opened up into a living room.

  “Holy crap,” I whispered, forgetting about my nerves. Drew and I exchanged impressed looks.

  The space was massive, furnished with the sleek grays and blues of modern decor, and the far wall was a floor-to-ceiling window that framed the glimmering city below. To the right of us was the largest flat screen I’d ever seen, and it was paused on a commercial, almost as if someone had just been watching. Across from the TV was a long couch with matching armchairs, a coffee table littered with fast-food wrappers, and a pool table.

  “Still no one here,” I said in a hushed tone. “Can we leave now?”

  Drew ignored me. “Hello?” he called out again, stepping forward onto the carpet.

  It was quiet for a moment longer. Then, unexpectedly, the Mission: Impossible theme song blasted out of the sound system.

  “Ready, fire!” Three boys jumped out from behind the couch, arms raised and ready. “You’re going down, Oliver!”

  An array of objects launched in our direction, and when something green and slimy hit my shoulder, I shrieked. I looked down at my camera, afraid that some of the mystery goo had landed on it, but it was slime free. Before I was hit by anything else, I tore my camera away from my neck. The strap was tangled in my hair, but I pulled it free just in time as a water balloon smashed against my chest and soaked my shirt through.

  “Oh shit,” someone yelled. “Abort mission!”

  When the attack stopped, we all stared at each other—Drew and I with our eyes wide, and three-fourths of the Heartbreakers with their mouths hanging open.

 
“Da hell?” the muscular boy exclaimed.

  Glasses scratched his head. “Well, this isn’t weird.”

  “No, not at all,” Drew said. He picked a pair of boxers off his shoulder. Besides the dirty laundry and water balloons, we had been pelted with Silly String and Cheetos. The green goo on my shirt looked suspiciously like Jell-O.

  A second of uncomfortable silence passed before the boy wearing glasses jumped forward, almost as if he had been startled by the realization of what had just happened, and he rushed over to us. “Oh God!” he said, and his face was bright red as he brushed Silly String from Drew’s shoulder. “I’m super sorry. We thought you were Oliver.”

  Drew shook his hair out, and a Cheeto fell to the floor. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, patting himself down to make sure nothing was caught in the folds of his clothing.

  “Dammit! We had everything planned out perfectly,” Muscles muttered as he chucked a Silly String can to the floor. He ran his fingers over his buzzed hair and then shook his head. Finally, he turned to Drew and me and cleared his throat. “Sorry if we scared you.” He glanced down at my Jell-O stain, flinched, and added, “And pelted you with crap.”

  I still couldn’t find the words to speak, but Drew suddenly threw back his head and laughed. “I’m sorry,” he said and clutched his stomach as everyone stared at him like he was crazy. “It’s just, that was probably the most eventful thing that’s happened today, but nobody is going to believe me when I say the Heartbreakers ambushed me with a bag of Cheetos.”

  Muscles finally cracked a smile and held out his hand to shake. “JJ,” he introduced himself. “I probably wouldn’t believe you either.”

  “Yeah, let’s pretend this didn’t happen,” Glasses said. “I’m Xander by the way, and that’s Alec.” He pointed at the guy still standing behind the couch. Alec hadn’t said a word, but he raised his hand in acknowledgment when we glanced his way.

  “Nice to meet you,” my brother said and shook both of their hands. “I’m Drew, and this is my sister Stella.”

  The boys studied me as if there was something off-putting about my face. I held my breath and prayed they didn’t remember me—if Drew found out I had verbally abused the entire band, I would never hear the end of it—but recognition flashed in JJ’s eyes and I knew I was done.