Discovering Benton Read online

  He chuckles. “Not quite, but you’re getting close.”

  “Are you a model?”

  His lips quirk. “No, but it’s flattering you think I could be one.”

  “Well, if you’re not a model or an actor then what are you?”

  He stares at me as if debating whether he wants to back out of telling me or not. "I'm a singer. The lead singer of the band Rebel Lyric Bliss."

  I snort a laugh. He's so full of crap. I listen to that band when I'm wanting to feel a little bit bad because that's what Rebel Lyric Bliss is—a band made up of five very sexy bad boys who sing about sexy, dark, and sometimes twisted things.

  “So you’ve heard of the band?” he asks, seeming a bit surprised.

  “Yeah, I’ve listened to them a few times,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t know why you seem so shocked about that. Practically everyone in the world has at some point.”

  “I know, but… You just don’t seem like the type who listens to our music.”

  Our music? No… There’s no way…

  “I know you’re not in that band, Benton…” But then it clicks where I’ve heard the name Benton Benningford before.

  Because it’s the name of the lead singer for Rebel Lyric Bliss.

  Still, I'm skeptical. I've seen photos of the band, and Benton doesn't look like the singer.

  Does he?

  I dig out my phone and search for an image of the band. Once I find a good one, I assess the lead singer closely. His hair is blue but is obviously died, and he's wearing more black eyeliner than even Alexis wears. And the leather jacket he's sporting covers up the tattoos on his arms. But if I look really closely, I can see some similarities, like the piercings he has and the color of his eyes. And if I look even closer, I can see similarities in the other guys standing in the photo with Benton.

  Minus one—Ridge—the five members of the band Rebel Lyric Bliss are also the guys known around school as the Bad Boy Rebels. Honestly, I never could’ve made the connection on my own since they’re all grunged up in the photos. And I really doubt anyone else could tell they’re the same guys.

  I glance up at Benton, at those bright blue eyes that I was just staring at in the photo. “Holy shit.”

  Zhara

  I rarely swear aloud, and Benton must know that because his brows rise to his hairline.

  “So I’m going to take that ‘holy shit’ as a sign that you believe me,” he says.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  He stares at me in disbelief. “Did you seriously just apologize for swearing?”

  I frown at myself. “I’m sorry. It just sort of slipped out.”

  “And now you just apologized for apologizing for swearing.” He shakes his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Man, I’m going to have my hands full.” His mouth suddenly sinks into a frown. "That is if you agree to do this.”

  “Agree to what?”

  He massages the back of his neck tensely. "Agree to… Well, here's the thing…" Sighing, he sinks down onto the bed and picks up Mr. Sparkles again. "I'm not sure if you've figured it out or not, but Xavier, Jackson, Wilder, and Jett are also in the band. Ridge is our sound guy, and he also helps write the lyrics, but he always comes on tour with us."

  “Yeah, I made that connection already. Well, not about Ridge, but about the rest of your friends being in the band.”

  He bobs his head up and down, studying me. "But anyway, I'm not sure if you've read any articles about us, but lately my image hasn't been so great. I've been getting into a lot of trouble and have kind of gotten a reputation for being an asshole, troublemaking manwhore. Apparently, it's starting to make us lose sales, so…" He huffs out a breath. "My manager and publicist have been bugging me to get a better image, and one of the things they want me to do is get a steady girlfriend. They hope it'll improve my image and keep me out of trouble. I haven't been on board with the plan and have been putting zero effort into finding someone to date. And I don't want to, but they're being pretty persistent about this, so yesterday when they showed up to my apartment to hound my ass about it again, I saw you and had an idea that… Perhaps you could pretend to be my girlfriend. It could be just for the summer, and we wouldn't have to do anything except pretend to date. Well, that and you'd probably have to come on tour with me and the band."

  I stare at him in shock, certain he has to be messing with me. But he looks serious, and I can’t even wrap my head around it. I can’t even imagine trying to pretend to be anyone’s girlfriend, let alone a lead singer in a famous rock band.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Benton says, assessing me closely.

  Anxiety bubble inside me, either from the situation or his gaze—it’s hard to tell for sure. “I’m thinking I’m confused.”

  “That’s understandable. I just threw a lot of shit on you.” He pauses, his gaze never wavering from mine. “Maybe if you tell me exactly what you’re confused about, I can help clear up some of the confusion. Unless you just want to kick me out of your house." He doesn't seem too thrilled about the idea. "Which I completely understand. But I'm hoping you don't because I really could use your help.” He gives me a pleading look; the same one he gave me in the parking lot when I pretended to be his girlfriend.

  I’m quickly learning I’m a sucker for that look.

  “You don’t need to leave.” I mull over what to say next. “I guess, I just don’t understand exactly what you want me to do. I mean, when you say pretend to be your girlfriend, what does that involve? Like holding hands in public? And how long are you going to be on tour? And how do you travel for it? And…” I press my palm to my forehead as my mind spins with confused dizziness. “I honestly can’t see myself doing a very good job at this.” I lower my hand from my head and look at him. “I mean, lying would be part of the job, right? Because I’m not a very good liar. Plus, I don’t want to lie to my family or want them to think I’m dating you when I’m really not.”

  He presses his lips together, contemplating something. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea to do with someone like you.”

  My jaw ticks. “Someone like me?”

  He pulls a whoops face. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.” But he makes no effort to correct himself.

  “So, you don’t think I can handle this?” Anger simmers underneath my skin, on the verge of boiling. Even though I just said the same thing. “Why?”

  He drags out a pause. “Because you might be too good of a girl to do this.”

  I grind my teeth. “Then why ask me? Huh? If you think I’m not right for it.”

  “It was a sporadic decision, but I probably should’ve thought it out more,” he says. “You might be too sweet and cute for me to pretend to date.”

  The mention of cute makes me pause and really assess him. “Wait a second. Are you playing me right now?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks innocently.

  “I mean, are you trying to trick me into saying?”

  “How would anything I just said be tricking you?”

  “Because, when you wouldn’t let me into the party and called me a narc, I got mad and said some very not nice things that were completely out of character for me. And now I’m wondering if you’re trying to get me riled up by telling me I’m too sweet and cute to pull this off so I’ll get mad and agree to it.”

  He rolls his tongue in his mouth, wrestling back a grin. “Is it working?”

  I shake my head, unsure whether I’m irritated or amused with him. “I don’t know.” I release a breath as I pick at a loose thread on my comforter. “Do you really think I can pull it off?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” He twists to face me, bringing his knee up onto the bed. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but I think if we tried, we could make this work. And it'd give you an opportunity to do more adventurous things. You could travel, see things you've never seen before." His lips quirk. "Hang out and party with a bunch of
sexy rock stars. And you'd really be helping me out."

  “Why? Is getting a real girlfriend really that bad of a thing for you?”

  He shrugs. “It’s a complicated thing for me.”

  He seems twitchy, and I want to know why, but I've never been very good at pushing people into doing stuff. Honestly, I've never been good at anything except schoolwork and doing the right thing. I even failed at going to my first party.

  I release a sigh, realizing something. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this. Going on the road … pretending to date you … partying… that’s not who I am, even if I’d be pretending.”

  He nods. “I kind of expected you to say that. He pats my arm, all buddy-buddy-like. “Thanks for hearing me out. I appreciate it.” He rises to his feet. “I need to get going.” He crosses the room and opens the door but pauses before walking out. “I’m really sorry for putting this on you.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “But I need to ask you for one more favor. Or, well, two actually.”

  “Okay.” Hesitancy rings in my tone, but underneath disappointment resides.

  But why am I disappointed? I’m making the right decision.

  Right?

  “I need you not to tell anyone what I just told you,” he says. “I don’t want it getting out that I tried to hire someone to be my girlfriend or anyone finding out who I really am.”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  He relaxes a bit. “And the other favor I need is for you to promise me you’ll stay away from that guy that knocked on your door.”

  Questions pop up in my mind like a zombie invasion. “Why?”

  “Because I’m pretty sure he was paparazzi.”

  My lips form an o. “Okay, I can do that.”

  He visibly relaxes. “Thanks, Zhara. And not just for this, but for not freaking out when I told you the truth. And for playing it cool when I told Dee and Zen you were my girlfriend.” He backs out of my room, giving me a wink. “You’re pretty badass for a good girl.” He grins before exiting my room, leaving me alone in my room.

  And strangely, a heavy amount of regret.

  Benton

  I leave Zhara's place feeling a little bit disappointed that she didn't agree to do it, but I have a feeling that might not be her final answer. It's something I picked up on the other night when she showed up at my part. That if she's challenged, it pushes her out of her comfort zone. And I could tell that part of her wanted to agree to do it; it's part of that side of her I briefly the other night. The side that secretly craves adventure and excitement, that wants a taste of the wildlife. Not that I think she'd ever go really wild and start partying hard. If I did, then I wouldn't be pushing this whole fake girlfriend thing with her.

  Honestly, she might be perfect for the job. But I need to get her to agree to do it first. And if she does, we’re going to probably have to find a way to convince her brother to let her. She may be almost eighteen, but she’s still underage and is going to need his permission.

  I'm yanked from my thoughts as my phone rings. I dig it out before climbing into my car and starting up the engine, not bothering to check who's calling me since very few people have this number.

  “What’s up?” I answer the phone as I steer onto the road, heading in the direction of the apartment to meet up with my band.

  Usually, we meet up at my real house, but since Zhara was supposed to be with me, we decided it’d be better to go to the apartment since she hasn’t signed any forms yet so it might not be a good idea for her to know where I really live yet. Not that I don’t trust her.

  Honestly, Zhara seems like a really trustworthy person, which is one of the reasons she might be really perfect for this fake girlfriend job.

  “I just wanted to call and make a time to meet up tomorrow so we can discuss the details of your relationship with Zhara Baker,” Zen says. “I’m hoping you two have had some time to discuss whether or not she’ll be going on tour with you this summer.”

  I'm not sure what to tell him since I'm still a bit hopeful Zhara will change her mind.

  “We haven’t discussed it yet,” I reply, flipping on my blinker.

  He sighs into the phone. “Look, I know this whole relationship thing is new to you, but generally when you’re dating someone, you should discuss things like taking off for the summer for three months.”

  “I know that,” I lie. I really don’t, though, since I’ve never really been in a relationship before.

  Sure, I’ve hooked up, a fucking lot, but I know that’s not the same as actually dating someone.

  "I hope you do," he says. "If you want this relationship to work, talk to Zhara about the tour. And then let's meet up tomorrow at around five, so we have Zhara sign a confidentiality agreement because whether she goes on tour with or not, we still need her to keep quiet about your identity unless you want to risk everyone in Honeyton finding out about you."

  “I know that.” I steer onto the main road. “We might already have that problem, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m pretty sure some paparazzi guy was poking his nose around at Zhara’s house this morning.”

  “She didn’t tell him anything, did she?” he asks worriedly.

  “No, she didn’t,” And I know that for a fact since she didn’t know who I really was then. But I’m not going to tell him that.

  “I hope so.” He gives a long pause. “Did you see the guy by chance?”

  “Yeah,” I say then give him a brief description.

  “I think I might know who that is,” he replies when I’m finished. “I’ll make sure to take care of it.”

  “Thanks.” I relax a bit.

  But then he says, “It’s my job to take care of this stuff. Just like it’s my job to make sure you stay out of trouble and make sure you have a reputation that appeals to your fans, something I’ve been failing at, but we’re going to change that. And I really do think the best way is for you to bring your girlfriend on tour with you.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I internally grimace.

  Shit, this is bad. Because if Zhara doesn’t end up changing her mind, I have a feeling I’m going to be spending the summer with some rando while trying to pretend I’m a good guy, something I’m definitely not.

  Zhara

  After Benton leaves, I have very little time to dwell over my declining of his offer as I get cleaned up then drive Nikoli to practice. The rest of my morning is spent grocery shopping and doing a mail run for Loki. Then I go home, clean the house, do the laundry, water the plants in the backyard, and then go upstairs to download my syllabi for my summer courses.

  Since I love writing, I'm hoping to major in journalism when I go to college, and I'm taking a couple of high school journalism classes this summer to get a feel for it. But deep down, I'm worried I don't have what it takes. After all, finding a story to write about means going out into the world, being adventurous, and probably being able to be pushy when I need to. None of that sounds like me. Although, I wish it did.

  As I’m waiting for the printer to spit out the hundred or so plus pages, I struck the strings of my guitar as I stare out the window at the backyard of the house to the left. My neighbor, Miss. Camernathie, a fifty-something-year-old woman, who’s never been married and who has at least ten cats, if not more, is watering her plants in her pajamas. She often spends time doing that, along with spraying people who step on her grass and conversing with her garden gnomes. But that’s okay. To each their own, right?

  But the thing is, watching her water her tulips and roses when I just did the same thing ten minutes ago is striking a nerve.

  Is that where I’m going to end up? Is that where I already am? Am I a fifty-year-old woman trapped in a teenager’s body? Is that how other people see me?

  My suspicions are confirmed when my phone buzzes with an incoming text from Taylor.

  Taylor: Hey! I haven’t heard from you since Benton’s party. Hope everything’s okay! You left so e
arly … But anyway, I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Some of the girls and I are going out clubbing tonight, and we were wondering if we could call you when we need a ride home because all of us suck at being DD. LOL! And I know you don’t stay up that late, but I was thinking maybe you could stay up and binge-watch that weird series you’re always babbling about. That way, you’d be awake already.

  Her message makes me grind my teeth until my jaw aches. Nowhere does she mention that perhaps I should go out with her. She just assumes I won’t want to. And who can blame her? It’s the vibe I’ve given off for years. It’s who she thinks I am. It’s who I am … right?”

  I really don’t know anymore.

  But I want to find out.

  Sucking in a huge breath, I text her back.

  Me: I have other plans tonight so I might be up already. Just send me a text when you're ready, and I’ll either come pick you up or call a cab for you. :) And make sure to be safe.

  Then I set the guitar down, leave my pile of syllabi papers in the printer, slip on my sandals, and leave the house, walking down the sidewalk toward Benton’s, crossing my fingers I’m not making a huge mistake.

  And that I can handle whatever’s waiting for me when I get there.

  Zhara

  I walk at the pace of a ninja power walker all the way to Benton’s. But when I actually arrive at his apartment, my adrenaline rush nosedives at the sound of several deep, male voices floating through the door.

  I almost turn back and run home. And maybe I would’ve if the door didn’t open.

  Jackson, who most fans consider the flirt, appears in the doorway. He’s about to walk outside, but he slams to a halt when he spots me.

  He blinks. And blinks again. Then a grin curls at his lips.

  “Hey, Benton,” he calls out, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Did you by chance happen to order a side of cheerleader with that pizza?”

  “What are you talking about?” Benton shouts back. “Or did you accidentally eat some of Jett’s brownies again?”