Gamble on Engagement (10 page)

“I missed you,” he said.

I nearly melted. Every person in the lobby
was watching but I couldn’t have cared less. I thought I even
caught a flash or two of a camera, but I was way too immersed in
smelling Jake’s to die for cologne.

He pulled out of the hug—too soon, in my
opinion—and just looked at me for a second, giving me a quick kiss
and handing me the flowers.

I wanted nothing more than to jump into his
arms and kiss him again, but a girl had to have some semblance of
self-control, and somehow I managed not to. “Thanks,” I said,
taking the flowers. “They’re beautiful.”

“So are you,” he said, with another kiss.
This one lingering a little longer as he pulled me in closer. Thank
God.

I tried to make sure the flowers didn’t get
squished, which was really kind of hard because it seemed like Jake
couldn’t have cared less about them, so I ended up holding them way
out to the side and hoped there were no photogs around. I mean, the
thing about flowers is that they’re beautiful and wonderful and
everything, but once someone gives them to you, if you’re not in
your own house where you can go get a vase and put them in the
center of the table or whatever, what in the hell are you supposed
to do with them?

Luckily, Jake had thought of everything.

“They said they’d put these in the room if
you want,” he said, taking them and handing them to a hotel worker
who’d appeared from out of nowhere.

Which meant he’d preplanned everything. Just
for me. I nearly sighed all over again, but since Jake was holding
my hand, and I didn’t want him to hear any dorky girlie-girl sounds
leave my lips, I settled on a mental “eeeeeee!” and clung to Jake’s
hand as he led me to the restaurant.

The way my legs were shaking—God, it was
like I was meeting him for the first time all over again—it was
very nice to sit down. And relax.

Well, not relax exactly, since everyone in
there was still staring at us, but at least I could try to block
them out and just concentrate on Jake.

“How have you been?” he asked, leaning in
and kissing the hand that happily, he wouldn’t let go of.

I shrugged. ‘Cause, you know, a shrug looks
really ladylike when you’re all dressed up and sitting in a fancy
restaurant. Cripes! “Good, I’ve been… good.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

I let out a bit of a humorless laugh. “Yeah,
I guess not. But really, things are okay, it’s just… I may not be
cut out for this biographer business. I mean, I’ve barely been able
to get to know the… um, person I’m writing about.” I glanced
around. Good lord! I nearly said “the Prince” right there, out
loud, in public!

Jake caught my almost slip and smirked in
that way he had, that made me just want to go ahead and faint.
“Don’t worry, if you charm this… person even half as much as you’ve
charmed me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

It was nice that he was trying to make me
feel better, but there was no way in you-know-where that anyone was
going to me feel good about the book. You know, since I had hardly
any of it written. And barely even researched. I mean, it’s not
like you can just pop into the library and pick up a book on a
living person. You know, unless they have a biography.

I groaned quietly and put my head in my
hands.

“You know what?” Jake said, grabbing my hand
again. “Let’s talk about something else. In fact, let’s not talk
about work at all. Tonight is our only night together and I want to
make it count.” He leaned in closer, whispering. “And I really want
to make it count once we get upstairs.”

My face went red. Good Lord, I was a grown
woman and my face went red at the mere mention of a little
ooh-la-la later on. Although it could have been the fact that that
ooh-la-la was going to happen with a movie star that could not have
been any more gorgeous if he tried, and believe me, I’d seen him
get ready in the morning and he really does not have to try too
hard to look the way he did.

I crinkled my brow.

Come to think of it, how did he get that
gorgeous body anyway? I’d never seen him work out. And he never
even talked about it. Weird.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?” he asked, taking a sip of water.

“When do you work out?”

He spit his mouthful all over the table.

I, of course, could not stop the giggles
from escaping. I mean seriously, when else was I going to get a
chance to catch Jake—my movie star—doing something that might be
embarrassing? And spitting water on the table was the only thing
even remotely embarrassing I’d seen him do.

“Um…” he said.

I caught my breath and eventually said,
“What the heck? Was it something I said?” I let out one last laugh.
“I mean, all I did was ask when you worked out. It’s not like you
get a body like yours by lounging around all day.”

He cleared his throat, clearly still
embarrassed by the water incident. Or so I thought. “Well, yeah…”
he said, sheepishly.

And I could not figure out why on Earth he
would be so shy about something so normal. I didn’t even know what
to say, so I just looked at him, hoping he’d fill me in on what the
heck was going on.

“It’s just that… oh God, this is so
embarrassing.”

“What?” I said, smiling and hitting him
playfully on the arm. But my mind was whirling, wondering what in
the world could make him so uncomfortable.

He leaned in really close, like ‘past my
face and his lips practically becoming a part of my ear’ close. “I
don’t really work out, exactly. I mean, not in the conventional way
with weights and stuff. I…” he took a deep breath. “… I do yoga to
keep in shape,” he whispered.

Oh my God! I did yoga too! Just one more
thing we had in common. “So that’s it? That’s the big secret? That
you do y…”

He flung his hand to my lips, silencing me
and looking around to make sure no one was paying attention. Which,
of course, was wishful thinking since everyone totally was.
“Shhh.”

“What?” I said, though it came out more
like, “mmrawpht,” what with his hand still covering my mouth and
everything.

He dared to let go of my face long enough
for me to say, “so what’s wrong if people know you’re into…” and
then the hand was firmly planted again.

I crinkled my brow in a way that said,
“jeez, what the heck is up with you? Afraid a few people might find
out you like to do a little downward-facing dog?” At least, that’s
what I was trying to say with it, but I’m pretty sure I got a
little distracted picturing Jake in a downward-facing dog, so the
expression might have come out a little… differently than I’d
intended.

“I don’t know, it’s just that… it seems a
little feminine for a guy who’s supposed to play an alpha male
onscreen to be getting ripped via tree poses and plank
postures.”

I think he might have said something else,
but seriously, he couldn’t possibly expect me to be listening after
he’d got me thinking about him in poses like that.

I shook the images out of my head. “But what
about guys like Matthew McConaughey or Hugh Jackman? They’re always
on the beach doing their...” I looked around. “Yoga,” I whispered,
with my hand blocking my mouth from the side.

He looked at me like I’d just made his
point. “Exactly. And look how… goofy they look!”

Hmmm… goofy had certainly not been one of
the words I’d been thinking. I licked my lips.

“Josie!” Jake said, possibly starting to get
the teensiest bit annoyed that he didn’t have my full attention.
“You have to swear you won’t tell a soul about this.”

I shrugged. “Okay,” I said.

It might be nice to have the images all to
myself anyway. Well, except I had to tell Mattie of course, I mean,
his head would totally explode when he found out.

“And especially not Mattie,” Jake
finished.

“Aw man…” I pouted.

But Jake finally smiled again, satisfied
that he’d sufficiently succeeded in getting me not to spill. Of
course, it wasn’t like I could really help myself with info like
that most of the time. Really, he should have known better than to
tell me if he really wanted to keep it a secret. Which reminded me
of a fairly ‘wanting to fall into a crack in the Earth’ yoga story
that I really should get into my diary, and it really could not
have popped into my head at a better time, because with Jake being
all embarrassed and stuff, I was actually starting to feel like we
might be on the same level. Yeah, I was on the same level as my
super-gorgeous movie star boyfriend. Right. I needed to remind
myself what a miracle this relationship really was so I wouldn’t do
something stupid to screw it up.

I excused myself and headed to the restroom
to quickly jot it down before I forgot again.

Dear Disaster Diary,

Remember the time Calla and I (ugh, Calla, I
still have trouble thinking her name let alone writing it) went to
that advanced yoga class on a whim? We’d taken a few basic classes,
so we figured we must be ready for something a little more…
challenging.

Well, I was not prepared for how toned and
perfected everyone in the class was, and Calla looked at me like
she was ready to bail too, so we were about to gather up our things
and get the hell out of Dodge. But that was the exact moment the
instructor showed up, and it was so crowded in there with
everybody’s mats all squished together like sardines, so there was
no way we could sneak out.

There was nothing left to do but sink or
swim.

And things were actually going pretty well,
I felt like I almost belonged there. I mean, I was having trouble
keeping my breathing steady since every move we did was forcing my
body into places it had never been before, but even though I was
working harder than I ever had, I was keeping up!

Then it was time for Crane posture. It’s
this crouching move where you squat and put your hands down in
front of you, kind of like you’re ready to take off in a game of
leapfrog, but instead of jumping, you climb your knees up onto your
elbows and balance on your hands.

I was terrified.

But I climbed on up like a good little yogi
and couldn’t believe it, I was balancing on my hands!

I was doing it!

And then I began to teeter. And, well, when
your hands are trapped under your entire body weight, you’ve really
got nothing to help catch your fall.

You know, except your face.

I swear I nursed that fat lip for a
week.

And I suppose, things may not have been so
bad, and everyone might have even had a little giggle at my
expense—which, goodness knows I’m used to—if not for the fact that
when I fell, I rolled into the person in front of me and started a
giant Crane posture game of dominos with yoga students going down,
one after the other after the other.

I couldn’t help it. I scarfed down dinner like it
was the last time I was going to eat. But Jake and I only had one
night together and I was not about to waste half the time on
something as silly as eating. There were far more important things
to do when there were only a few short hours left, if you know what
I mean. And I’m not one to kiss and tell, but maybe, just maybe I
was able to convince Jake to show me one or two of his yoga
moves.

It nearly killed me to have to drive all the
way back to the castle the next day.

~ 9 ~

When I got back to the castle, I cracked
open my how-to autobiography books again. Things were getting real
now. I
had
to do something about the book.

The how-tos did actually have some very good
advice on how to collect the material on your subject. “Dig as deep
as you can, especially in an interview. Do whatever it takes to get
to the heart of the story.”

Whatever it took, hey? I wondered, thinking I’d have
to use all my best social skills to get much closer to the Prince.
Of course, that might be easier said than done given the sad state
that my social skills were usually in.

Although, the Prince did hire me after he
read the Disaster Diary entries in the tabloid. Maybe the way to
his heart was through an embarrassing story or two. Ooh, maybe I
could even coax one or two out of him if I told mine first. I
grabbed my diary and started flipping.

I needed to find the perfect story to break
the ‘ice of embarrassment.’

Dear Disaster Diary,

Life was good the day of
the
sleepover event of the year. I mean, most popular girl in
school’s house, makeovers, girlie movies, all my friends, and truth
or dare. Seriously, when you’re fourteen, how much better does it
get?

Not much.

But why, oh why, did I have to be such a
heavy sleeper? Sure, I could usually see the humor in a good prank
or two, but why must I always seem to be the butt end of them? And
why couldn’t they just put shaving cream in my hand and tickle my
nose, or even put my hand in warm water? I mean, at least then the
amount of witnesses would be fewer.

But no, they preferred a much more public
display, apparently.

I’d looked so good after the makeovers (at
least in my fourteen-year-old mind), and I could not have been more
content, or full of ice cream sundaes for that matter, as I drifted
off into my dreamless sleep.

The big game was the next day, and we had to
get up bright and early and since I’d slept so soundly, and had
barely moved through the night, my makeup still looked great.

At least that’s what my friends told me.

So off we went to the big game and boy were
people admiring my makeover. I was getting looks and even smiles
(squee!) from all the hottest guys in school.

It might have been the best day of my young
life.

But then, I had to go to the bathroom. I
smiled at all my admirers as I walked through the bleachers and all
the way to the bathroom, my confidence soaring. I felt like Cindy
Crawford on the cover of Vogue.