Moving in Reverse (11 page)

Blake had a car waiting for us at the
airport, and before we walked out of the terminal, he put his
jacket over my shoulders. I slipped my arms through the sleeves and
wrapped it around me.

Neither of us had checked a bag, so we
walked past the ramps and down the escalators. Blake slipped a pair
of aviators over his eyes, either because it was six thirty in the
morning or to avoid paparazzi, I wasn’t sure which.

Sure enough, I spotted two
photographers in heated conversation on a bench by the door, not
paying attention (for now) to who was coming off the
flight.

As we came to the bottom of the
escalator, there were a few men in black suits holding up signs for
other passengers. None of them said our names.

“
Um, Blake, are you sure
you made a reservation?”

Blake shot me a slow smile, and
pointed to one of them. I followed his gesture, and saw a man
holding a sign for someone named Robert Wagner.

He winked at me and walked over to the
man, shaking his hand.

“
We don’t have any bags,”
Blake said, motioning with his chin towards the door.

“
Of course,” the driver
said. “Follow me, Mr. Wagner.”

I fell in behind them, pulling the
jacket tighter, trying to cover as much of my Halloween costume as
I could.

Blake kept his face down,
angled away from the photographers as we made our way out of the
terminal. I followed, looking out past him at the California
morning. Why exactly
hadn’t
we applied to UCLA?

Just at that second, I heard a girl
shriek — turning to look back, I saw a blonde girl scrambling down
the escalators to run into the outstretched arms of her boyfriend,
grinning madly. I smiled back at them.

And caught the eye of one of the
photographers.

“
Casey—” The photographer
called out, and I felt Blake’s body tense the second he said
it.

“
Don’t turn around—” Blake
hissed under his breath.

I stared, wide eyed, for a split
second, while the photographer got his camera to his face and fired
off six quick shots, all with flash. Blinded a little, I turned
back to Blake and followed him outside, his pace already quickening
enough that I had to jog to keep up.

“
Where’s the car?” He
asked the driver.

“
Just across the ramp,”
the driver said coolly.

The light turned green in an instant,
but the photographers were already walking alongside us.

“
How’s college,
Blake?”

“
What are you doing in
L.A.?”

“
Are you still
together?”

“
Are you breaking
up?”

“
How’s April?”

“
What do you know about
the new guitarist?”

“
Have they picked one
yet?”

“
Are you guys
engaged?”

“
When are you getting
engaged?”

Blake didn’t blink an eye,
but at the last two questions, I burst out with a laugh.
I’m 18
, I wanted to
say.
Come on, people
.

But the driver was right — his towncar
was parked twenty feet away, and we didn’t have to undergo the
third degree for long. It was a little creepy how much they knew
about us at this point.

I guess that’s what happens when you
spend half your summer on the cover of the tabloids.

Blake held the door open for me, and I
climbed in, holding down my skirt down for protection. Blake was
slipping into the seat beside me, not paying attention to the
photographers as he closed the door. The car shifted into gear when
I heard the last question, so muffled that I could barely make it
out.

“
What about Tanner
Cole?”

Chapter
Fifteen

We were out of the airport in minutes,
heading past a string of rental car places and gas stations. It was
still dark, with the sky just hinting at the possibility of
dawn.

“
Can you take Highway
One?” Blake said, straining forward to ask the driver.

“
Sure,” he replied.
“Shouldn’t be too much traffic this early anyways.”

“
Well,” Blake exhaled,
putting his arm around me in the backseat. “Now I remember what I
don’t miss about L.A.”

I looked up at him, smiling, and felt
his hand stroke my shoulder. “Freshman year would probably be a
little weird if every walk across campus was like that.”

“
It would,” Blake agreed,
twisting a lock of my hair in one of his fingers. He paused. “But I
guess it’s good to know they haven’t forgotten about me
yet.”

“
So, Robert Wagner?” I
changed the subject. “What was that all about?”

Blake laughed, pulling me closer.
“That, Casey, is what sets the college-worthy rock stars apart. The
photographers, paparazzi, whatever, will sit around in the airline
terminals, waiting for someone famous to get off a plane. Getting
tipped off by the crews, Twitter, whatever. They’re hoping to
catch, like, Blake Lively in a snuggie without makeup on, you
know.”

I smiled. Before I met Blake, those
were exactly the stories I liked to read in the tabloids, the
photos that showed stars doing regular things. Like I was going to
run into a grocery store for eggs, and there would be Blake
Parker.

Or, I smiled, in a coffee
shop.

“
So the first thing they
do,” Blake continued, “is check out the signs that the drivers are
holding. If anyone is idiotic enough to use their own name, they’re
an easy target. But really, anyone who uses their own name probably
isn’t who they’re looking for.” A slow smile crept across his face.
“But then people do all this dumb stuff — like, picking fake names
that are based on cartoons, or comic books, or other famous names,
or whatever. You can bet that the driver holding up a sign for
Scooby Do is probably picking up Justin Bieber.”

I laughed, closing my eyes and
listening to the sound of his voice.

“
Jesse once almost got all
of us arrested — he told a driver to pick Sophie up here, she was
getting back from some interview or something, with a sign for
Michelle Obama. Poor Sophie and the driver got stopped by airport
security, no joke.”

“
What did she
do?”

“
Called me, fortunately,
before they ended up at Guantanamo,” he laughed. “Jesse doesn’t
really think these things through.”

“
I wonder who’s bailing
them out now,” I murmured, and then immediately regretted it.
Thinking about Sophie had made me feel like a part of me was still
missing, even with Blake right here. She still wouldn’t talk to
me.

Blake sighed deeply. “Maybe April can
finally have a turn.”

We sat in silence for a moment, and as
I looked out, the sun was just beginning to creep up over the edge
of the ocean, forming wavy, glistening lines of water in the
distance.

“
But who’s Robert
Wagner?”

“
Seriously,
Casey?”

I looked up at him, genuinely
confused.

“
He was one of FDR’s
advisors?” Blake’s voice lifted, like I was supposed to go, oh,
right,
him
, how
could I ever forget Robert Wagner?

“
Come on, Casey,” Blake
looked at me like he thought I was joking or something.
“Robert
Wagner
?”

“
Look, Blake,” I sat up, a
little annoyed now. “I’m sorry I haven’t memorized every random
political name from sixty years ago, but I’ve been—”

Blake cut me off by ruffling my
hair.

“
Case, I’m just messing
with you. I didn’t have any idea who he was either. I just
Wikipedia-ed American History till I found a good name.”

I exhaled, smiling but feeling silly.
“You’re such a nerd,” I giggled, shooting out my arm to mess up his
hair too.

Blake gave me a predatory look for a
second, and then grabbed my wrist with one hand and my waist with
the other, flipping my body with the smallest effort until I was
lying on my back across the backseat.

“
Careful, Casey,” he said,
his lips millimeters from mine. “No more roommates, no more tour
bus. Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

I felt my body quiver in shock as a
smile spread across my face. Oh, I could finish this right now if
there weren’t a driver in the front seat.

“
I’ll keep that in mind,”
I said, trying to slow down my breathing to normal
levels.

“
If I let you get up, will
you be good?”

“
Why should I? You started
it,” I mock pouted. Also, I had no desire to get up. Lying down
anywhere with Blake was basically the highlight of my
month.

“
Oh, that’s how you’re
going to be?” Blake leaned down and kissed me, slow and hard, the
kind of kiss that made me think that California had been exactly
the right decision, that we’d put everything in New York behind us
and just drifted away.

And then the car pulled to a
stop.

Blake gave me a long, lingering look,
and then sat up, freeing me to do the same. He shot me a sideways
smile as I tried to put my hair back into place.

Blake signed the driver’s receipt to
pay for the ride, and we got out of the car, staring up at the gate
that led to Blake’s house in Santa Monica. The early morning light
was dancing on the beach behind it, and for a moment, I thought I’d
never seen anything more beautiful.

“
I don’t even have a
toothbrush,” I whispered to Blake as he punched in the code and the
gate swung open. “And please tell me your sister is in town,
because Sophie sure as heck isn’t lending me her clothes this time
around.”

Blake smiled, leading me up the path
to his door. “She is, actually,” he said. “And I think you’d like
her wardrobe. But I also have plenty of credit cards, Case. Don’t
worry — you’re not going to spend the next week in a Madonna
costume.”

I shook my head, smiling. “Well,
that’s a relief, at least.”

We paused, both of us giddy and sleep
deprived. I’d almost forgotten how good it felt to just run away.
Especially with Blake. New York, Jeff, Darby, the rest of the
Kappas... they all felt a million miles away.

Blake slid his key into the lock, and
I followed him inside.

Unpacking took me all of thirty
seconds. I put my iPhone into the charger on Blake’s nightstand,
and put the lipstick and mascara that had been in my clutch for the
party on his bathroom counter. I took off Blake’s jacket, since
L.A. was a brisk sixty five degrees even at just past seven in the
morning, and would probably be beach weather by the middle of the
day.

That left the Madonna costume, which
had seemed kind of fun about 12 hours ago, but now just felt itchy
and cheap. Blake was downstairs making coffee, so I slipped it off
and opened his closet, searching for something else I could put
on.

I settled on one of Blake’s tee shirts
— he was so much taller than me that it was basically a dress.
After wearing heels for almost a day, it was a relief to be
barefoot, so I ran my fingers through my hair, splashed some water
on my face, and headed downstairs.

“
Don’t you want to go to
sleep?” I asked, as Blake set a cup of warm coffee in front of me.
I’d slept a little on the plane, but I didn’t think Blake had at
all, preferring to scribble into a notebook or check email on his
iPad.

“
Best way to beat jet lag
is to stay awake as long as you can,” Blake said, looking nowhere
near as groggy as I did. “What day is it?”

I paused for a second.
“Sunday?”

“
Sunday,” Blake agreed.
“Ok. So we’ll lay low for a few days and then see what’s happening
later in the week.” I had a feeling he didn’t mean what was
happening at Columbia. He grinned, and his excitement was
infectious. “Case, this is going to be a blast. There’s one thing I
have to set up, and then maybe we can go walk the
beach?”

I nodded, feeling like a kid in a
candy store. Blake was right — everything in L.A. was going to be
perfect.

But... one little doubt lingered. L.A.
was also where my life had gotten turned upside down last summer. I
couldn’t forget the fight with Blake that had sent me back across
the country, completely broken. And all because of what happened in
L.A.

This time is
different
, I told myself, watching Blake
through the glass doors as he made a call on the porch.
We know where we stand now. There aren’t any more
lies between us.

Or were there? I still hadn’t told
Blake about Tanner, not really, and I thought back to the
photographer’s question at the airport. What did Tanner have to do
with any of this? Was it because someone had seen us together, at
the concert?

And what were Blake’s meetings, right
before we left school? And, for that matter, what was this phone
call that was so important it had to be out of earshot?