again, hon, you saved me. Now all we need to do is find you a looker, huh?" She kisses my cheek before leaving to meet her shadow of the night. I close the door behind me, and fall face-first into the couch.
Only Dad ever called me Junebug. He used to say it in a slow, southern drawl, as if my name was a rumble of adoration in his chest.
“Junebug, going with me to that boat show today?”
“Hey, see if we got any pale ale, Junebug.”
“Junebug, I love ya girl.”
“Goodnight, Junebug. Sweet dreams.”
I don't remember when he first called me that, but I remember the times that meant the most, when he called me his Junebug, as if I was no one else’s in the world. I was special when he called me that, one of a kind.
Then, this stranger calls me Junebug. He says my name slowly, lingering on the u, softening the g, as if my name is…
As if my name means something again.
As if it’s a secret the two of us know.
Tuesday
Chapter Eight
I have four more days until I can return to a normal life.
Stretching, I fix myself a cup of coffee and close myself out on the balcony so I don’t wake up Mom and Chuck. I check my phone. Caspian left a voicemail last night, so I should probably call him back and be a good invisible girlfriend. But I find myself on Twitter instead, searching for Roman Montgomery sightings. I'm not obsessed. I'm really not.
There isn't a single picture of us from last night—thank God. One person said she saw him in Myrtle Beach, but no one believed her.
Exiting out of Twitter, I dial my best friend's number. She picks up in two rings. “Good morning, bb,” I greet happily. "How's work hanging?”
"Like how bad do I want to hang myself or how low Mrs. Jackie's hemorrhoids are hanging today?"
"I'm sort of disgusted you know the second one."
"She talks. A lot," Maggie deadpans. "Like, her voice echoes in the library."
The palm trees sway against the breeze. The condo is on the fourth floor, so we're eye-level with the top of them. Cyclists move in lines across the beach, leaving thin trails in their wake like comet tails.
“I met someone last night.”
“Ooh!" Maggie's voice raises an octave with interest. "Do tell! Cute? Tall? Hunky? Dorky? Sneezy?"
"And he lives with six other men in a cottage by the woods, sure."
"I always loved the polygamous type. Is he hot at least?"
"Yeah," I reply, trying not to think about that one half-naked poster of him in Maggie's bedroom.
"On a scale from one to fuckable?"
"Super fuckable. And I'll probably never see him again."
"Oh, you know what they say, never say never."
"Where have I heard that before?"
"Besides," she goes on, "he can't possibly be comparable to Roman Montgomery. Oh, hunky piece of hipster manflesh...I just read a new amazing scoop on John's blog. Well, it isn't really amazing. It actually kinda sucks."
My stomach twists. I sip my coffee to try and loosen my nerves. The coffee is warm and bitter, just the way Dad would've liked it. "How does it suck?"
“Like, no one can find him so the music company they're signed with, you know, Muse Records? They’ve got Renee Prosperity and Jason Dallas, too?”
Renee Prosperity has a ‘true love’ fetish, and Jason Dallas is as emo as a black crayon. "Jason Dallas's new song isn't that bad. I mean, for an emo pop-rock—"
“Are you even listening? Roman has no contract anymore! I mean, it's like duh because you can't have a band that doesn't want to be found, but still. I think my heart broke a thousand times when I read that. The record company even gave their Madison Square gig to Jason Dallas. This is huge, Junes.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “This is bad.”
Does Roman even know this? I remember the bitterness in his eyes last night. He probably does. “What if he just doesn’t want to be found?”
“Or maybe he does but he’s been kidnapped and locked in some crazed fangirl's closet, screaming for help but only we can save him and—”
I interrupt her. "Have you been watching those Korean dramas again?"
The line quiets for a moment. "Maybe."
Rolling my eyes, I slouch down in the chair and prop my feet up on the railing. I watch a seagull hover in the air, cutting against the beach breeze. “Mags, think about it. What does he have to come back to? What in the world could he miss more