"Trust me," he said, grinning. "That's not even in the top 2000 of weirdest things on the internet."

I got rid of the autograph seekers in the simplest way possible—I forged Heather Bock's name in their book.


"You're even prettier in person," the taller boy gushed.


"I love your tiara," said the girl. "You should have tried out for Ariel."


I shook my head at that. More than just amused, I was struggling with hilarity. "They'd already cast that part, and with someone who's a real singer," I said. 


"You're a real singer!" she protested. "You sang with your brothers in that band they had."


Huh? I was getting in too deep here. I waved a hand. "Trust me. We did all that with auto-tune." Of course, I had no idea if that were true, I might be slandering the lady, but I had to get out of it some way. I signed everything they put in front of me, and they seemed satisfied. Of course, they took their phones out and took lots of pictures of me posing with them.


"Thank you, Miss Bock," they chorused before heading back to a big corner table with a couple pairs of parents, looking embarrassed but delighted.


I waved to all of them, then moved so that Rory's bulk hid me from view so I could relax into giggles.


"You have a secret life you never told me about," Rory accused me with a twinkle in his eye.


I suppressed more giggles. "I've never seen this show. Do I really look like her?"


"I guess," he allowed. "I've never seen the program, but I've seen the actress on talk shows and things. Maybe to some people, all redheads look alike?" He looked at me critically. "I think she's taller and bustier, but you get the win in number of freckles."


"Piffle," I said, and I meant it. "But mine are butterscotch flavor," I said with as much of an air of superiority as I could manage. "You know, Armand saw me on Melrose and thought I was cosplaying as this Bock person's character on her soap opera."


"Yeah," he agreed. "You told me about that. But I looked it up—there are conventions for soap opera fans, and some people do come as their favorite characters."


I boggled at that. "No kidding? For real?"


"Yup, maybe you should attend one. You could end up with a new career."


"Uh-uh. That's one of the weirdest things I've ever heard."


"Trust me," he said, grinning. "That's not even in the top 2000 of weirdest things on the internet."


We both laughed.


I hadn't realized that we were holding hands until the waitress brought our salads on little gray enamel plates like you see in a Western movie when people are getting a meal from a chuckwagon. She had nowhere to set the plates down until we got our hands out of the way. Rory gave me a little squeeze before letting go, and I returned it.


I don't know why but that seemed just totally romantic. How did I ever fool anyone into thinking I was a boy? The waitress winking at me was an extra little juice to my ego.


The salads were good, mixed greens and grape tomatoes set off by the sharp blue cheese flavor of the dressing. Standard but well done. The rest of the food turned out to be unique and delicious. How many times do you get to say that? The sausage and tri-tip were the stars, but everything else, including the corn and beans, were packed with smokey flavor and awesomeness.


I regretted not being able to eat more than a bite each of the chicken and brisket, despite not having had any breakfast. Besides, another hot flash took away what appetite I did have, but I didn't go away hungry, and Rory ate most of my leftovers. Pie for dessert was out of the question.


"I have to remember what a light eater you are," Rory commented while we idly nibbled on the remains and waited for the server to bring the credit slip back for signing.


"I'm tiny, remember?" I said to him. "According to the girls at the park, your last girlfriend was six inches taller than me."


He seemed to think about that for a moment. "I guess you're right. Most of the girls I've dated have not been small. You're sort of a pocket edition."


"Hmph," I said. "You're easily the tallest guy I've ever dated."


He grinned. "Aren't I the only guy you've ever dated?"


"Yeah, well," I said. "You're taller than any of the girls I've dated, too."


He laughed at that, and I discovered we were holding hands again. It was nice. 


After he signed the check and I waved goodbye to all my fans, he helped me down the weirdly steep steps and up into the truck, after a pause for some smooching.


Pretty soon, we were rolling again.


"Wonderful dinner," I said. "Thank you so much."


"Yeah, huh?" he said. "One of my favorite places, and I don't get the chance to come here often, so thanks for being willing to try something new."


"Uh, huh. Where to now? Are we going back to PCH?"


He grunted agreement. "I thought we could drive along the shore for a bit. We're not in so much of a hurry, and the concert doesn't start for a couple more hours?"


"Concert?"


"Yeah, I scored tickets to 'Y-Not Live.' They're a showband fronted by Aron Jones of I-NO-Y?"


I nodded. "Sounds like fun," I agreed.


"It's in West Hollywood. They built a stage and stadium-type bleachers in a vacant lot for a free concert, but you still have to have tickets," he explained.


"What kind of music?"


"Mostly 80s covers, what I understand, maybe even some older stuff. And some of Jones' own new music?"


"I think I'll like," I said. "Jones is an old guy, but I saw the HBO version of this show. It looked great."


He kept looking at me sideways when the traffic wasn't being painful.


"What?" I asked.


"You," he said.


I giggled and reached out a hand to him. He took it and squeezed, but he had to put his hand back on the wheel. "Silly," I said.


"Yeah, you're silly."


"No, you."


He laughed. "You're such a chick," he said. He signaled to turn left toward the ocean at the light—the only thing that direction was a parking lot that overlooked the beach.


He parked at the top of a low bluff, and we watched the waves come in. After a bit, he said, "We've got time. The concert doesn't start till nine because of the laser show. Wanna cuddle in the backseat?"


"That—would be nice," I said.


After helping me out and back in, he stretched out kind of sideways on the back seat and pulled me into his lap. We kissed—a lot. We talked about stuff that made no sense at all and made up cute names for each other.


"Backseat Slugger," I called him.


"Half-pint Cherry," he responded.


Like that. We enjoyed ourselves and kind of got inside each other's clothes without getting naked. His hand up my skirt was making me crazy when something in the front seat started beeping. I had my hand on his still zipped-up fly, feeling bold and naughty, among other things.


"What the heck is beeping?" I asked.


"Alarm. We need to leave soon if we're going to make the concert on time."


I said a bad word, and he laughed. "Yeah, we need to leave if we're going to do that, too."


That made it serious. I tried to sit up, and he let me, and we sat there and did a lot more kissing.


"Motel or concert?" he asked when we were both catching our breaths.


"Um?" I said.


He sighed. "You want to, but you ain't gonna?"


I nodded against his shoulder.


It felt steamy warm in the cab as we tried to straighten our clothes before climbing out and climbing back in. I claimed more kisses every time he touched me. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whispered several times.


"Don't be," he said. "I'm enjoying wearing you down." He kissed me hard then, and I felt like my lips were bruised, and my arms ached when he closed the right-hand door and ran around to the driver's side to climb in. All the windows down, we let the sea breeze bring some sanity back.


I heard him say "Intents" as he started up and rolled back through the parking lot to PCH.


That made no sense, and it took me a moment to work out what he'd actually said. "Yeah," I agreed finally. 


I'd never had an experience like that one before. Not the other night when we had necked in this same truck, not when Marjorie was getting me hot and bothered several times. It was easy to be the girl for Rory, and I knew he wanted me—even though….


"You're such a chick," he said again as he made the left and headed toward Long Beach.


I giggled. "Yeah, I guess I am, huh?" I felt good. I liked that Rory was so masterful and strong. But he was gentle, too, and when I even hinted I didn't want to go any further, he stopped.


We cruised toward the sunset, through the city that was like L.A.'s funky little sister, the one who shopped in thrift stores and flea markets. We stopped at a light just before the ramp to get on the 110 Freeway. He reached across and pulled me toward him, and he leaned close enough for us to trade hot kisses. Someone honked a horn, and he let me go.


With the windows rolled up, we cruised toward the downtown lights—not saying anything for a while. I tried to get my breathing under control, the corset not helping with that. It tempted me to breathe shallow and quick, and I was close enough to feeling like I might pass out without going into hyperventilation.


But how many more times could I tell him no? Not many, I felt sure. I didn't think either of us had enough patience to wait for my birthday in—I counted—nineteen days now. It might as well be forever, and I knew I couldn't hold out that long.


Rory touched something and put on some music. I-NO-Y, Aron Jones's other band, with Melody Alexander singing "I'm Alone Now." And yeah, I'm such a chick it made me cry. 


Never saw this coming
Never played that game
Never thought of winning
Just to change my name
Never planned tomorrow
So I could sin today
Never said I'm sorry
Just to get my way


Rory started to shut it off, but I stopped him. I had to hear the chorus.


No one can reach me
I'm alone now
No one can teach me
I'm all alone
No one can save me
I'm alone now
I have to do this
All by myself.


She started the second verse…


Never wanted nothing
Like I'm wanting you
Never said goodbye
And meant it like I do
Didn't plan on forever
Just waiting for my day
Never said, "I'll never"
To be on my way


…and I reached over and turned it off.


Rory drove in silence while I sobbed. He took a box of tissues out of the center console and handed it to me. I used several of them, but I couldn't stop crying. I wanted Rory, and I felt it was wrong, but the reasons made no sense to me.