The Pop Star and the Playboy Quarterback

sh

ouldn't pass this up. A few days ago after returning home, I got a text from Camil

iss out on hearing her sing. Something about Camila hasn't sat right with me in days, and I haven't been honest with anyone

en when practice ended hours ago. But I had no time to do more than rinse o

king how the rest of his mini vacation had gone. He'd launched into his stories about going out to parties

ll these big names in music would be attending. She told

r down my back, as if my apprehension is a foreshadowing of tonig

ns. But when the door swings open, I stop in my tracks. There is no

shutting it after realizing

e, wearing a short black skirt and pink top. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail,

ammer out, unsure

h mine and starts to wal

his surprise for days!" She pur

ont of a table, a single red rose in a small vase, and a candle lit up.

up to you. You want to hear me sing, and I'm here to deliver!" She throws her fre

reaking into a fit of coughs. "You

Ugh, you're so lucky. I wish someone had done the same fo

n the cold, quiet, space. This..

oice is laced with an expectant tone. It's hard to explain. It's like she wants me to complimen

words exit

want to eat or drink!" She cups her hands at

back down at me. "I'll be right out

didn't fit with the woman who snapped at dinner, wh

k out. She introduces herself as if I'm some strang

e poignant, but the passion that I saw that first night is stagnant. I don't bel

sang the first time. Nothing about it is pulling me in. I love the song itself,

it. You don't grow up in a house with AJ and not pick up on footstep patterns, spe

and above her eyes, squinting down

rce myself to smile, politely stating, "

ay to the large sign that says it's the bathroom. I sigh, trying to think of some way I can leave the building without b

he curtains. I almost think nothing of it, but my heart drops to th

t, is backstage, sitting on a stool and singing int

slowly back and forth to the rhythm of

doing, I pull the curtain asi

ration on the song, but I can see the fear in her eyes. Her eyes dart to me, then lo

at me, still not sto

n I put it

ot Camil

elia, since t

wn voice, but instead pretending to have Ophelia's? And why on earth is Camila pretending that she has any

't give me any

still not saying anything. Her eyes seem to plead with me. There's something else

egging she isn't saying, hinting that something much more complicated is at play. I do

Camila, indicating that if Ophelia doesn't choose to open up to me, things are going to get a lot

ngs I've had since our date. She's not anything she says she is. All I s

ize it. But now I see that I was quite literally blinded by

another minute before I exit. I return to my seat and act a

ding that I'm overcome with all the emotions she must be expecting from me. In truth, I stopped watching Camila. I

loss is written by the waitress. Not the egotistical, self-centered woman bowing

be a fan, but like many before her, she just cares about what I can

s, bringing her seltzer down with her. She doesn't seem to notice

k. "That was one of my best performances yet. You

eels more like a

ow about you and me, after we finish up here, head back to my apart

nothing in the world I'd hate more t

st how good of an actor I can be when it comes to lying. "I've got

yance, the irritation impossible

me to the next performance

will do that. I hope you enjoy your plans." Her teeth are gritted together, b

ood night

ying not to look as though I'm

ght answers. I don't want to be l