“I have to confess something,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“I hateGuns N’ Roses.”
My mouth hangs open. “Impossible. Nobody hatesGuns N’ Roses.”
“I do.”
“If you do, it must be professional jealousy. Slash is your only real competition.”
“Nope. Not professional jealousy. And loads of people don’t like them.”
“In that case, you’re probably getting on the bandwagon like a sheep. I didn’t take you for a music snob, Karl Sommer,” I tease, all thoughts of the photographers outside gone now.
Our food arrives, and Karl dives into his tacos al carbon while I eat my elotes. Sofia really does have the best food in town.
“How long do you think before the pictures are out?” I ask.
Karl looks up from his taco. He shrugs. “Within the hour, probably.”
I’m stunned and push my food away. Oh god. This is getting too real, too fast. Twenty thousand dollars, I remind myself. That’s what I bargained for.
And guitar lessons.
* * *
Within the hour,the photo of us in Karl’s car as he kissed my hand was on every online tabloid imaginable. My name isn’t out there yet, but Karl says it’s only a matter of time.
I think I’m going to be sick. I didn’t give this enough thought.
Then fear slices through my very core. I should never have agreed to take this public.
What if they find out the truth about my family? I’m not sure I’m ready to let them drag my family name through the mud, not when they’re no longer here to defend themselves. But it’s too late to go back now. The best I can hope for is that they are satisfied enough with the sensation of Karl Sommer finally having a serious girlfriend to not dig into my family’s past.
We’re lounging in the living room after a few hours of packing the last of Karl’s things. He’s playing a video game, and I’m leafing through his copy ofSteel Hard Rockmagazine when the doorbell rings. Karl opens the door, and Brenner Reindhart, looking like a raged bull, storms into the house. His house now, I suppose.
“Do you have a death wish?” he roars.
“Calm down,” Karl says.
“Didn’t we just talk about you taking things seriously?”
I rush to the foyer to let Bren know I’m here too and listening.
“Oh, hi Lola,” he says. “I’m sorry for yelling.”
“Hi, Bren. Is Sofia here?”
“No. She’s home with Addy, but I can’t stop her from murdering Karl.”
I snicker. “What’s going on?”
Bren looks between Karl and me, waiting for an explanation, but we both just stare back at him.
“I thought Sofia told you to stay away from her, that she’s seventeen,” Bren says, in lower volume but no less furious-looking.
“No. Sofialiedto me that she’s seventeen,” Karl explains.