Messy (25 page)

Max felt his eyes burning into the side of her face. It was alarmingly similar to the sensation she got when she knew guys in the car next to her at a stoplight were checking her out.

“I’m having such a good time,” he husked, leaning toward her. “I’m so glad we did this.”

Oh, my God, is he going to kiss me?

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God, Jake Donovan is kissing me.

Max was so stunned by the feeling of Jake’s lips on her own that she had already pulled away from him and leaped off her bar stool in a panic before she even processed that she’d moved at all.

“I just remembered, I have to go backstage and wish my brother good luck before he goes on,” she stammered.

“Good idea,” Jake said, beaming. “Let’s go say hi. See you on the flip side,” he said to Brady and Brooke, who were still discussing crepes, acting like they hadn’t noticed a thing.

Max could barely manage not to make a horrified expression. She needed distance from Jake so she could piece together what her head and her heart and her mouth were all screaming at her. But he was so damn agreeable there was no way around taking him with her, so she grabbed Jake’s arm and turned to look for the entrance to the backstage area—she had no idea where it was, and she probably wasn’t on the list to get back there, anyway. All she knew was that kissing Jake made her feel off-kilter and uneasy, and she didn’t think she wanted to do it again tonight, at least not in public. In front of Brooke. And Brady. Who now thought she was
dating
this beautiful dunderhead instead of
on
a date with him. The distinction was suddenly important to Max.

Instead of finding the backstage door, Max saw Molly heading in their direction, but with an expression on her face that Max knew meant she a) had seen the kiss and b) was unsure if Max felt she needed to be rescued or not.

“Molly!” Max yelled, waving. “Over here!”

“They’re about to start,” Molly said, joining them. “I felt like too much of a groupie hanging out backstage all by myself.”

“We were just about to go back there,” Max sputtered. “I didn’t even get to tell Teddy to break a leg.”

Molly shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. He’s really nervous. He wouldn’t have even heard you. I could have told him I was having Jay Leno’s love child and he would have been totally fine with it.”

Max looked around the club, which was by that point crammed with teenagers, adults who looked like they might be in the record industry, and, in the far corner of the room, Magnus Mitchell and Chaz Kelly. She prayed they wouldn’t come over to fist-bump Jake or anything. Especially if they’d seen him kiss her.

God, what if they saw him kiss me?

“Where’s Brooke?” Molly asked. “She just texted me that she was here.”

“She and that dude were sitting over there,” Jake said, pointing. “But I don’t see them. Maybe they went to buy a T-shirt.”

“Um, right, yeah,” Molly said. “Brooke loves T-shirts. Listen, is it okay if I hang out with you guys? I don’t want
to be the fifth wheel or anything, but I feel like if I’m standing alone at the front of the stage people will think I’m pathetic.”

“
Please
hang out with us,” Max said.

“We’re only two wheels, anyway,” Jake pointed out. “Like a bike. You will make us a trike.”

Molly shot Max a wry look as the curtain opened and the host of the event—an MTV regular Max recognized from the time she fell asleep watching a
Jersey Shore
marathon and woke up to see him leading a roundtable discussion about Sammi and Ron—welcomed them all to the contest.

“Are you guys
ready to par-taaaay
?” he asked, and the crowd cheered.

But Max barely heard him, nor the ensuing musical stylings of Unsinkable Panty Line. Her mind was racing:
I can’t believe Jake kissed me. I can’t believe I didn’t enjoy it when Jake kissed me. I can’t believe I was thinking about what Brady might be thinking when Jake kissed me. If thirteen-year-old me found out about this, she’d want to punch me in the face.

After what seemed like half a lifetime of “intense” “singing,” Unsinkable Panty Line ran offstage. They were followed by a jug band called Uncle Grandma, and then a fivesome by the name of Plush that included a woman in a rabbit suit hopping around the stage and beating her chest between handstands.

“Well, they’re not much competition,” Molly noted.

“Are you kidding? I wish we were the Colby-Randall Rabbits,” Jake said. “That thing would make a rad mascot.”

Mental Hygienist was next. Molly and Max cheered as Teddy ran onstage, holding his guitar, wearing a fedora, and looking pale.

“What’s with the hat?” Max whispered.

Molly rolled her eyes. “Bone decided they needed to be more visually arresting, or something,” she said as the band launched into its first song, “Knead Your Love (I Need It [Love Bread]).”

Whether it was the hats or just the fact that anyone would have been better than Plush, the crowd immediately took to Mental Hygienist. Max never would have admitted it to anyone, especially to Teddy, but the first song was kind of good. The lyrics were incredibly stupid, obviously, but the chorus was buoyant and the tune was catchy. Even the adults in the audience were bobbing their heads to the beat.

“Thank you, Hollywoooooood!” Bone yelled over the applause as the last notes died out. “We are Mental Hygienist, and we are so excited to be here! I’m your lead singer, Bone Johnson!”

He took a bow as the crowd applauded, flipping his long bangs out of his eyes when he righted himself—an affectation Max knew from Teddy that he’d been practicing for months. Max and Molly clapped wildly as he introduced the rest of the band, especially for Teddy, who lifted his hat in a halfhearted salute. Out of the corner of
her eye, Max thought she saw some people taking camera-phone pictures of Molly cheering. It was always weird to remember that, depending on who else was in the room, Brick Berlin’s surprise daughter Molly Dix was considered a semi–celebrity sighting.

“Thanks, everyone,” Teddy said, stepping up to his microphone. “We’re gonna try something a little different now.”

With that, he launched into the song Max had heard him practicing endlessly in his room. It was slow, romantic, acoustic—and totally wrong for the audience, which had been pumped up by Mental Hygienist’s perky first number.

Molly shot Max a concerned look. Teddy was already losing the crowd; people had started to chat among themselves, and several spectators around them had abandoned ship to refill their drinks. Even Jake was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Max peered through the half light at the people around them, but she couldn’t find him.

“Where did Jake go?” she asked Molly.

Molly looked around. “He was here like two seconds ago. Did he leave?”

“I have no idea,” Max said.

“I saw you guys—”

“
Yeah
,” Max said.

“Oh, wait,” Molly said. “Isn’t that him?”

Max followed Molly’s outstretched finger all the way across the club to a darkened corner, where Jake was in a heated discussion with a very angry-looking Jennifer Parker.

“What is she doing here?” Molly asked, but the bulk of her attention was clearly drifting back to Teddy, who was valiantly pressing forward with his ballad.

“She’s probably here to choke me out,” Max muttered. She knew she should be annoyed at the prospect of being on a collision course with Jake’s ex, especially since the two of them were such enthusiastic public arguers, but she was more curious as to when exactly Jennifer had arrived on the scene. Because as much as she was terrible at reading people’s signals, she was pretty sure Jake had chosen a really random moment to go in for their first kiss.
Maybe he was making a point
, she thought. Rather than get caught staring at Jake and Jennifer, who were getting right up in each other’s faces and making violent gestures, Max turned back to Teddy. As she did so, a flash of blonde hair caught her eye.
There
was Brooke, leaning up against a wall at the back of the club. At least, it sure looked like Brooke. It was hard to tell—some of her was blocked from view because she was…

Because she’s making out.

It was like a giant stone dropping into her solar plexus, a sudden jealousy that was an actual physical presence in Max’s body. Brooke Berlin was kissing Brady Swift. And it ejected all thoughts of Jake Donovan kissing Max McCormack from Max’s mind.

I am so stupid
.
So, so stupid.

Up until now, Max had wanted to believe that she was only mildly intrigued by Brady—and that it didn’t matter
that he was probably into Brooke, because Brooke was, well,
Brooke
, and people like Max didn’t stand a chance in the face of all that hair and height and skin and batted eyelashes. But as she watched Brooke touch Brady’s neck, the full force of every conversation, every joke, even their excitement at making fun of the possum farmer thing, hit Max at once. It was a massive wallop of adoration, exhilaration, envy, agony, and regret.

It’s so obvious. I don’t just want to be with some guy like Brady. I want to be with
actual
Brady. And now he’s kissing Brooke, because of me. I made this happen. I am the stupidest girl in the world.

“Sorry about that,” Jake said, popping back up at her side. “I had to deal with an unwelcome guest.”

Max barely registered him, or that Teddy’s song was over, or the audience’s halfhearted applause. She needed to go somewhere to breathe. She spun around, almost in a panic, trying to scope out the exit.

“Max, it’s okay, I got rid of Jennifer,” Jake called out to her. “Told her this was none of her business. Wait, where are you going?”

Max wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to get out of the club, away from everyone, immediately. She mumbled something to Jake that she hoped sounded like “Be right back” and pushed away through the crowd, not stopping until she’d burst out of the heavy double doors leading to the parking lot and collapsed against the wall.
All her other emotions were quickly being supplanted by resentment. Brooke had asked her several times if she was into Brady. Clearly, she had seen something Max herself hadn’t.

And yet she did this anyway
, Max raged to herself.
She told me it was for publicity. She told me she didn’t like him. She told me she wasn’t going to lead him on. And now she’s making out with him in public. She lied. Brooke Berlin is not my friend. Brooke Berlin has never been my friend.

“Max,” Brooke’s voice said.

Max looked up and her eyes slowly focused on Brooke’s perfectly painted, very satisfied face. She had her arm wrapped around the waist of a flushed, slightly embarrassed-looking Brady.

“What a night, right?” Brooke chirped.

“You could say that,” Max said, staring at her shoes. She didn’t want either of them to see her face. Because then surely they would know. For all her crowing about her poker face, Max had no idea how to hide what she was feeling right now.

Why didn’t I quit this stupid job when my mother gave me the chance?

“We’re off—early call times tomorrow,” Brooke said. “See you on set!”

As they walked away, Brooke suddenly stopped and said something Max couldn’t hear, then ran back to Max.

“Did you see?” Brooke whispered excitedly. “Mission
accomplished! The tabloids are going to go nuts.” She squeezed Max’s hand. “Just remember, you made it happen!”

And with that, she scurried back to Brady and dragged him to the valet stand. Max just watched them go.

I made this happen.

In the distance, Brooke rummaged through her purse and briefly unearthed the edge of what looked like one of Max’s flash cards before hastily stuffing it back inside. A slow smile spread across Max’s face.

Yeah, I made this happen
, she thought spitefully.
And I can make it un-happen.

“THE NERVE OF THAT GIRL,”
seethed Jennifer Parker.

“Mmm,” Brooke said.
Damn, he’s cute
.
And those dimples.

“I ran into her at Barneys, talking to
your
regular shoe salesman and trying on those YSL boots that
you
saw in
Vogue
and said you liked,” Jennifer nattered. “And when I went up to confront her she blew me off! Can you believe it? Doesn’t she know who I am?”

“Mmm.”
He’s like Ryan Gosling combined with that hottie from
White Collar.
How did I not notice this before?

“And then she cut off Rene’s head with a sales receipt and made it into a purse.”

“Great.”
I wonder what our Hollywood couple nickname will be. Brooky? Bralin? Brake? Broke? Ew, no.

“Brooke!” Jennifer shouted peevishly, snapping her fingers in front of Brooke’s face.

“What? Sorry, Jen. What were you saying about Brady?”

“I wasn’t saying anything about him,” Jen huffed. “I was talking about your disrespectful little assistant.”

“What did Max do now?”

“Not her,” Jen spat. “Brie. As if they’d even
let
Max into Barneys.”