entertainment agent for him.
“So tell me honestly, Rocky, are the rumors about you and a certain young lady true?” The reporter’s black brows arched up into sharp points like little temples of curiosity.
“Don’t answer!” Jumping off the couch, I shouted at the TV screen. “Don’t say anything about us!”
Eli shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell.”
I blew out a huge sigh of relief. My life—or Grammy’s, depending on the body situation on Monday—was complicated enough without being the buzz topic when I returned to school. While I wanted to have a famous reputation as a top agent someday, I did not want my love life broadcast in public.
“That’s not what I hear,” the reporter wheedled. “Come on, Rocky, just between us”—and thousands of viewers, I thought—“tell me about her.”
Eli shook his head again, his blush so bright that his ears looked like they were on fire. “I really … um … can’t.”
“Don’t be modest—you can brag a little! From what your friends tell me, you have the real thing going on. It’s not often you meet a gorgeous girl with talent and brains.”
Now I was blushing. What had Eli told his new friends about me?
“I don’t really … ” Eli tried to back away but the predatory reporter aimed the microphone like a loaded weapon.
“Come on, I already know who she is and your fans suspect—it’s impossible to keep a showmance a secret for long.” The reporter turned as if he’d heard someone call his name. When he swiveled back toward Eli, there was a triumphant grin on his face. “And here she is now! The beautiful and talented Miss Mila Monroe!”
The camera spun, then focused on a petite girl with an unnaturally mega-white smile and thick, honey-blond hair that tumbled around her shoulders, waving down to her very ample cleavage. She flew toward Eli like a female cyclone, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and placing an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek.
“Oh Rocky, you are just so adorable and honorable, protecting me when there’s just no reason at all to keep our feelings a secret,” she said, in a rush of sexy that reminded me of a Marilyn Monroe wannabe. If her last name was truly Monroe, I’d eat a microphone.
I could only stare—at her arm around my boyfriend’s neck, the faint pink smear of lipstick on his cheek, and her way-too-low and way-too-tight dress. What the hell?
“The rumors are true,” she announced into the microphone. The reporter shifted eagerly to her side. “Rocky and I are going out—well, to be exact, we’re staying in a lot. We don’t get much free time with the crazy practice schedule.”
The reporter laughed. “But I’m sure you manage to sneak away … for some private time.”
“You are so bad! Rocky and I are just fine and that’s all I can say on national TV,” she said with a sly wink that clearly hinted he was right.
“What about you, Rocky?” The mic was shoved back in Eli’s face. “Care to add anything about your feelings for Miss Monroe?”
“NO!” he choked out, pushing away from Mila and looking sick enough to puke all over the reporter’s nice pressed suit and tie. “I got to go!”
Then the camera panned back to Mila, or as I shall refer to her always, The Slut Who Stole My Boyfriend. She had no shame, only smiles, for the reporter. “Don’t mind Rocky, he’s adorably shy. But I’m happy to answer any questions about the competition. I’m pretty sure who’ll be eliminated tonight … ”
I wanted to smash the TV, grab her throat, and personally eliminate her.
But I heard the musical ring and answered my cell phone.
When I read the caller ID, I felt hot, cold, and angry all at once.
“Amber, listen to me!” Eli said in a rushed whisper. “I don’t have much time but I have to tell you something important before you see it on TV.”
“What?” I glanced at the TV, where Mila was smiling like she owned the world. Grabbing the remote, I shut the TV
“So tell me honestly, Rocky, are the rumors about you and a certain young lady true?” The reporter’s black brows arched up into sharp points like little temples of curiosity.
“Don’t answer!” Jumping off the couch, I shouted at the TV screen. “Don’t say anything about us!”
Eli shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell.”
I blew out a huge sigh of relief. My life—or Grammy’s, depending on the body situation on Monday—was complicated enough without being the buzz topic when I returned to school. While I wanted to have a famous reputation as a top agent someday, I did not want my love life broadcast in public.
“That’s not what I hear,” the reporter wheedled. “Come on, Rocky, just between us”—and thousands of viewers, I thought—“tell me about her.”
Eli shook his head again, his blush so bright that his ears looked like they were on fire. “I really … um … can’t.”
“Don’t be modest—you can brag a little! From what your friends tell me, you have the real thing going on. It’s not often you meet a gorgeous girl with talent and brains.”
Now I was blushing. What had Eli told his new friends about me?
“I don’t really … ” Eli tried to back away but the predatory reporter aimed the microphone like a loaded weapon.
“Come on, I already know who she is and your fans suspect—it’s impossible to keep a showmance a secret for long.” The reporter turned as if he’d heard someone call his name. When he swiveled back toward Eli, there was a triumphant grin on his face. “And here she is now! The beautiful and talented Miss Mila Monroe!”
The camera spun, then focused on a petite girl with an unnaturally mega-white smile and thick, honey-blond hair that tumbled around her shoulders, waving down to her very ample cleavage. She flew toward Eli like a female cyclone, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and placing an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek.
“Oh Rocky, you are just so adorable and honorable, protecting me when there’s just no reason at all to keep our feelings a secret,” she said, in a rush of sexy that reminded me of a Marilyn Monroe wannabe. If her last name was truly Monroe, I’d eat a microphone.
I could only stare—at her arm around my boyfriend’s neck, the faint pink smear of lipstick on his cheek, and her way-too-low and way-too-tight dress. What the hell?
“The rumors are true,” she announced into the microphone. The reporter shifted eagerly to her side. “Rocky and I are going out—well, to be exact, we’re staying in a lot. We don’t get much free time with the crazy practice schedule.”
The reporter laughed. “But I’m sure you manage to sneak away … for some private time.”
“You are so bad! Rocky and I are just fine and that’s all I can say on national TV,” she said with a sly wink that clearly hinted he was right.
“What about you, Rocky?” The mic was shoved back in Eli’s face. “Care to add anything about your feelings for Miss Monroe?”
“NO!” he choked out, pushing away from Mila and looking sick enough to puke all over the reporter’s nice pressed suit and tie. “I got to go!”
Then the camera panned back to Mila, or as I shall refer to her always, The Slut Who Stole My Boyfriend. She had no shame, only smiles, for the reporter. “Don’t mind Rocky, he’s adorably shy. But I’m happy to answer any questions about the competition. I’m pretty sure who’ll be eliminated tonight … ”
I wanted to smash the TV, grab her throat, and personally eliminate her.
But I heard the musical ring and answered my cell phone.
When I read the caller ID, I felt hot, cold, and angry all at once.
“Amber, listen to me!” Eli said in a rushed whisper. “I don’t have much time but I have to tell you something important before you see it on TV.”
“What?” I glanced at the TV, where Mila was smiling like she owned the world. Grabbing the remote, I shut the TV
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