Discovering Benton Read online

  “Accidentally?” Someone chokes on a laugh. “Yeah right. Is that what he tells everyone now?”

  Jackson just smiles, his gaze fixed on me. He doesn’t say anything right away, and it feels like he’s waiting for me to speak first. I’m unsure what to say, though, so I end up standing there like a dork and staring at him.

  He’s actually not that bad to stare at. Blond hair, blue eyes, gorgeous, dressed trendily in a button-down shirt, a loosened tie, tan jeans, and stylish sneakers. He’s actually really good looking.

  “So, did you come with the pizza?” he finally asks with a cock of his brow.

  I can feel my skin turning lukewarm. “No …”

  He juts out his bottom lip. “Such a shame. I’m really hungry.”

  Okay, so I may be a good girl, but I know an innuendo when I hear one. What I don’t get, though, is why Jackson is using one on me. It’s not like we’ve ever really spoken at school, and he seemed pretty okay with that.

  A sparkle twinkles in Jackson’s eyes as I shift uncomfortably. Then he wets his lips with his tongue, folds his arms, and leans against the doorframe. “So, if you’re not here for dessert, then why are you?”

  I grow even more uneasy. Did Benton not tell him what he asked me to do, because he acted like he had …

  Wait …

  Oh, my gosh, what if it was a prank!

  “Relax, Zhara,” Jackson says with a smile. “I’m just messing with you.”

  “You are?” I ask stupidly. “Wait. About what?”

  His smile turns into a full-on grin. Then he steps back and nods for me to come inside. “Come on. Get your cute ass in here.”

  Okay, so, I may not be a fan of the word cute, but Jackson makes it sound so … well, not like an insult.

  I tug on the hem of my shorts then cross my arms, feeling very self-conscious as I step across the threshold and follow Jackson into the living room.

  The second I enter, reality slaps me across the face as twelve pairs of eyes fasten on me.

  “Zhara,” Benton says with a nod, not seeming the least bit surprised to see me standing in his living room. He has a guitar on his lap and a pen tucked behind his ear. “Glad you could make it.”

  I give him a skeptical look. Did he think I’d show up the whole time?

  As if reading my thoughts, he winks.

  I shake my head, biting down on my lip.

  The move makes him chuckle.

  “Okay, does anyone else feel like they’re having a silent conversation?” Jackson asks from beside me.

  Jett, the proclaimed stoner of the group, raises his hand. “Oh! I think they might have that mind power thing.”

  Xavier, who’s sitting by Jett on the sofa, rolls his eyes. “It’s called telepathy, and it’s not real.” He lightly smacks Jett on the back of the head. “You really need to lay off the weed, man. It’s killing your brain cells.”

  Jett waves him off. “I wouldn’t have known that word anyway.”

  Xavier sighs and shakes his head, then his gaze skims over me and lands on Benton. “Why is she here? I thought she said no.”

  “Oh, my God, don’t start.” Wilder, the musician/photographer/writer/anything artistic of the group, groans, bobbing his head back. “I can’t take any more male PMSing today.”

  “I don’t have male PMS,” Xavier snaps. “That’s not even a real thing.”

  Ridge, the quietest one of the group, sets the laptop he’s holding down on the coffee table. “I really wish you guys would stop fighting over everything.”

  “It’s a nice thought,” Jackson agrees. “But probably not very realistic.”

  Jett nods in agreement while Xavier and Wilder continue to argue over whether male PMS is actually a real thing.

  The entire situation is overwhelming, and I find myself conflicted over whether I should’ve come here.

  “All right, that’s enough.” Benton claps his hands loudly, causing everyone to zip their lips. Then he rises from the recliner and comes to stand beside me. “So, I know you all know who Zhara is, but I don’t think any of you have actually talked to her, right?” When Jett raises his hand—he did that in class a lot, too, but only to ask to go to the bathroom—Benton says, “Yes, Jett.”

  Lowering his hand, a lazy smile spreads across Jett’s face. “Actually, I have spoken to Zhara before. We worked on a group project together in science. Dissecting a frog.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. It was sophomore year.” I scrunch my nose at the memory. “You ended up catching the frog on fire.”

  Wilder makes a gagging sound while Jett snaps his fingers.

  “That’s right.” Jett shudders then continues to smile. “That smell haunted my nightmares for years.”

  I nod in agreement. "It was like spoiled eggs, and road kill spawned a baby."

  Jett busts up laughing. “That’s the best description I’ve ever heard.”

  From my side, Benton lets out a weighted sigh. “All right, can everyone just introduce themselves?”

  I want to point out that I know who everyone is already, but Jackson sticks his hand out to me before I can.

  “Zhara, I’m Jackson. I’m the bassist in the band. I love long walks on the beach, hot fudge sundaes, and pretty women in cheerleader uniforms.” He winks at me. “So, if you ever feel like wearing yours, I’m totally cool with it.”

  Unsure on how to reply, I move to shake his hand. When our palms greet, he lifts my hand to his lips and places a kiss against my skin. Then he mutters something in French, a language I’m unfortunately not fluent in.

  “Quit showing off,” Benton warns. “And quit pretending you speak French.”

  “I’m not pretending, and I’ll prove it.” Jackson grins. “Bonjour.”

  Benton sighs then faces the rest of the room. “All right, Ridge, you’re up.”

  Ridge adjusts his square-framed glasses, gets to his feet, and then crosses the room with his hand outstretched. “Hey, Zhara, I’m Ridge,” he says quietly. “I’m the sound guy for the band.”

  I put my hand in his. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say because, while we had classes together, I’m not sure if we’ve ever spoken.

  Unlike Jackson, Ridge is quieter and more reserved and considering all the AP classes he was in, I'm guessing he's also smart.

  When Ridge lets go of my hand, he nervously tugs his fingers through his messy brown hair before quietly returning to the sofa.

  Once he sits down, Benton snaps his fingers at Jett. “You’re up, man. And please don’t scare her away with any philosophical stoner talk.”

  Jett shoves up the sleeves of his plaid shirt, salutes Benton, jumps to his feet, and then trips over Wilder’s legs as he moves around the coffee table. He nearly face-plants onto the carpet but catches his balance by grabbing the back of the sofa. He lets out a giggle. “Man, that was close.”

  Collecting himself, he brushes his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes and turns to me with a lopsided, dopey, but adorable smile on his face. “Zhara, it’s nice to meet you again, especially while we’re not surrounded by the stench of a road kill, spoiled egg mutant offspring.” He sticks out his knuckles for a fist bump.

  A soft laugh slips from my lips as I tap my knuckles against his. “It’s nice to meet you again, too.”

  A smile lights up Jett’s face then spins around and practically skips back to the sofa, nearly tripping over Wilder’s legs in the process. Again.

  Wilder, who’s texting, puts the phone away and gets to his feet. “Zhara, it’s nice to officially meet you.” Like the rest of them, he offers his hand for a shake. "I'm Wilder. I play the drums, and I'm pretty badass if I do say so myself." He smiles at me.

  I try not to stare too long at the heavy, detailed ink covering his arm, but it’s like trying not to look at a beautiful piece of art. Honestly, Wilder is a piece of art. The tips of his chin-length blond hair is dyed blue, and his eyelashes are so long he looks like he’s wearing eyeliner. He has gauges ornamenting his ears
, and he’s always wearing outfits that stand out. Today, he’s rocking a vest with chains on it, and a pair of black pants that are covered in buckles. The look is topped off with leather bands on his wrists and clunky boots.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I reply with a small smile

  He offers me one more grin before turning around and plopping down on the couch.

  Silence stretches across the air, the six of them suddenly seeming uneasy.

  Benton grumbles something incoherent under his breath before clearing his throat. “All right, Xavier, you’re up.”

  Xavier reclines back on the sofa with his arms crossed and his cold, hard stare fixed on me. “I think I’m good.”

  “Xavier …” Benton warns. “Please don’t be a pain in the ass. I need this to work.”

  Xavier rolls his eyes. “There’re other ways to do this than take some prissy, good girl on the road with us.”

  Benton shakes his head. “Knock it off, Xav.”

  Xavier glowers at Benton before his gaze locks on me. “Tell me, Zhara, why’re you doing this?” His tone is all condescending. “Is this some sort of good girl rebellious phase? Hang out with a band to piss off Mommy and Daddy?”

  “Xavier …” Benton warns again. “Back. Off.”

  “Why?” Xavier questions. “If she’s going to do this, she’s going to have to put up with a lot worse. You know how the paparazzi can get.”

  Benton grows quiet as if realizing this is true, and then his gaze strays to me. I know what he wants—for me to say something. The problem is, Xavier is scary, and even before now, I thought that. He got into a lot of fights, caused trouble, and nearly got into an accident every time he drove into the school parking lot because he was driving too fast. He looks rough, too; always wearing a worn leather jacket, biker boots, and his light brown hair is cut short enough to reveal a scar on the side of his head and the tattoos on the back of his neck. But his eyes are what is truly terrifying, and scream don’t eff with me or I’ll beat you up.

  But the mention of my parents has my blood boiling just the right amount to speak up.

  “It’s not a good girl rebellious phase.” Which may be a lie. I'm not really sure since it's part of the reason I came here today. But there's more to it than that. Way, way more. "And my parents passed away, so there's no one to piss off." I remain calmer this time when I speak of my parents, so I don't come off entirely psychotic.

  Xavier stares at me for a very long minute, his expression unreadable.

  “Fine, whatever,” he finally grumbles then slumps back in the chair and grows silent.

  “Okay, then.” Benton turns to me with his brows raised and exhaustion in his eyes. But he erases the look with an easy smile. “So, that’s it. This who you’re going to be spending the summer with, that is if that’s why you came over here, which I’m assuming it is.” He gives a pause, and I nod, my heart pounding in my chest.

  Oh my God, this is really happening!

  Oh my God, I just agreed to go on the road with a band! And I haven’t even talked to Loki about it yet!

  Crap. Since when am I so sporadic?

  Benton doesn't seem to notice my mini freak-out as he crosses his arms and says, "We leave in a little over a week, and we'll need to go over some stuff with my manager and publicist. It's mostly just paperwork, and confidentiality forms, like Zen and Dee mentioned the other day."

  Paperwork? Confidentiality forms? I barely got any of the details about this, which is so unlike me.

  I think I might be a little star struck…

  “Where are we going exactly?” I ask, trying to get more information without seeming like I’m panicking.

  “We start out in New York and travel across the country for about a month before we head overseas,” Benton explains, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  Overseas? I… Holy crap. Reality is really hitting me now. And what am I supposed to tell Loki?

  I should’ve asked him first.

  Why didn’t I ask him first?

  Why am I suddenly being so irresponsible?

  This is so unlike me.

  Jesus, what would my mother think of me now?

  Guilt crushes my chest as my mind crams with worry.

  I’m a terrible person.

  I should back out.

  But I kind of don’t want to…

  "You look nervous," Benton observes me with a frown. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

  I want to say yes, and I almost do, but a small part of me, one I didn’t know existed until now has me shaking my head.

  “No, I’m okay… I mean, I’m nervous, but I want to do this.” I wrap my arms around myself to avoid fidgeting.

  “Awesome.” He looks partly relieved but a bit nervous as he sticks out his hand. “So, we have a deal then?”

  Sucking in a shaky inhale, I put my hand in his. “Yep, Benton Benningford you have yourself a fake girlfriend for the summer.”

  And just like that, I make a deal that could quite possibly change my life.

  Hopefully, for the better. But who knows.

  Only the future will tell.

  Zhara

  I don’t spend very much time at Benton’s since the band has to leave to go practice somewhere. Where, I'm not sure, and I don't feel comfortable enough to ask. Instead of walking home, Benton offers to drive me. At first, I turn down his offer since it's like a ten-minute walk, but he keeps on insisting, so finally I give in, and we head out to his car.

  “So are you sure you want to do this?” he asks me as he pulls out onto the road.

  It’s the third time he’s asked this, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe he’s not sure if he wants me to do it.

  I nod, twisting in the seat to face him. “Are you sure you want me to, though? You seem like you might be second guessing your decision to have me do it.”

  He shakes his head, giving me a sidelong glance. "I'm fine with you doing it. In fact, I'm kind of glad you agreed to do it, or else I might've had to find a real girlfriend. Or worse, find another fake girlfriend and ended up stuck with some super fan who'd try to get me to actually date her."

  I pick at a loose thread hanging from the bottom of my shorts. "Why is it so bad for you to have a real girlfriend? I mean, I know you said it was complicated, but why? Dating doesn't seem that hard… Then again, I'm not an expert."

  He shrugs, his knuckles whitening as he tightens his grip on the wheel. “I just have zero desire to date anyone. That’s all.”

  I can tell there’s more to it than that, but I decide to back off because he seems uneasy. “Well, just so you know, I’ve never dated anyone, so you might have to teach me what it’s all about.”

  The tension leaves his body as he chuckles. “You want me to give you lessons on how to date a rock star?”

  I shrug, feeling a bit stupid. “Or dating anyone in general.”

  “Actually, that might not be a bad idea.” He chews on his bottom lip. “Not about me teaching you how to date, but about giving you some lessons on how to act when we’re in front of fans and stuff. And I think maybe I should get Marla involved.”

  My brows dip. “Who’s Marla?”

  “She’s basically the band’s assistant, but she’s been with us from the start and knows almost everything about us.”

  Again, the situation starts to overwhelm me, but I try to remain.

  “We might have to work on your image too,” he adds, his gaze sweeping across my shorts and purple tank top.

  “What’s wrong with my image?” I ask, but honestly, I can kind of see why he said that.

  I don’t look like a girl that’d date someone like Benton, not to mention when he becomes Benton Benningford.

  “You don’t look bad,” he clarifies. “You look cute.” He ignores my dirty look and continues, “But cute doesn’t really go with Benton Benningford’s image. Even with me cleaning up my act.”

  I waver, considering what he said. He wants me to
change how I look? Just how much will he want me to change? And when will I draw the line?

  I’m not sure, but I guess I’ll find out when I get there.

  Jesus, look at me. I have no plan for this, and planning has always been my thing. I feel so out of place like I'm not acting like myself, and while part of me is straight up terrified, another part of me is excited.

  “Okay, I guess I can change my image, but I’m not really sure where to start.” I glance down at my clothes. “Because everything I owe is pretty much this style.”

  “I’ll have Marla get a hold of a stylist and personal shopper,” he tells me. “We’ll go from there.”

  My eyes widen. Stylist? Personal Shopper? "Um, okay."

  He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners, and my stomach flutters.

  I can see why fans get all swoony over him.

  He’s gorgeous.

  Crap. I think I’m in way over my head.

  “You’re going to have to stop looking so shocked about everything,” he tells me as he slows down the car to make a turn.

  “Sorry.” I try to wipe my expression clean, but I’m not sure if I succeed.

  Benton shakes his head as he turns into the driveway of my house. “And stop apologizing so much.”

  I start to say sorry again but stop myself. He smiles like he knows exactly what just happened.

  “See, you’re already getting the hang of it.” He puts the shifter into park and retrieves his phone from his pocket. “Give me your number. That way I can text you more information and let you know when we need to meet up again.”

  “Okay.” It all feels so official as I prattle off my digits to him.

  This is really happening…

  I feel sort of dazed as I reach for the door handle to get out of the car.

  “And Zhara,” he says before I get out. “If that Charles dude shows up again, let me know. My manager has a connection with his boss, and he’s having him pulled from the story he’s trying to do on us, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets hired by someone else.”

  Again, I feel a bit overwhelmed.

  “Okay, I’ll make sure to do that.”