*E*
The day of the "date" got closer and I was not looking forward to it. The closer I got to the actual day, the more I found myself conforming to my image: conceited, rude, and more of a player. I knew it was happening, so I blamed it on the fact that I'd have to act like this to the girl even if she was awesome. It was really just nerves, I knew, nerves and the fact that I didn't want to spend a night with a girl who I could only imagine was horribly shallow.
The way I was acting was all part of the image. Lacey had been right when she told me that it sold albums. At one point, I'd actually cleaned my game up for a while just to prove that she was wrong, but it backfired. She hadn't been wrong, I had.
So, I kept the image. I didn't necessarily like it, but it sold albums and it helped me maintain a distance from anyone that wanted more than I did, female or other. It sounds awful, but I'm a celebrity; this is the kind of shit that happens.
Now though, I had to start getting into character. If I showed up all kindness and flowers for Naomi, the whole thing could be shot. I wouldn't have minded that so much, but Lacey would probably have a heart attack and, selfish second here, I wanted to keep selling as many albums as I was currently. If my image got cleaned up, that wouldn't happen.
Jay asked me once if it bothered me what the public thought of me. I told him it didn't because as long as the people I knew and was close to know the real me, I was happy.
Then the day came. It was three weeks after the signups had begun and a only a week after Naomi had been declared winner and the contest closed.
I looked at myself in my mirror and sighed. On a normal date, not that I'd had many of those recently, I wouldn't be caught dead in what I'm in now. Lacey convinced me that, because the press will be having a heyday with this, I need to dress way better than I normally do.
I'd agreed at the time, but at an hour before the date, I wasn't so sure anymore.
I was wearing purple pants. Purple.
I refused them for this reason. Not because they're girly, but because I don't do colored pants. I really don't.
When I told Lacey this, she only replied with, "No no, they're maroon darling. Maroon."
Bull. Shit.
They're purple.
The shirt wasn't as bad: just a white button up with a small purple insignia on the left-hand side of the chest, but I still didn't like it. It fit too tight for comfort and even though I didn't know the brand it had to be something too expensive and too fragile for me. That was just Lacey's way. She hated it, but I was always ruining my shirts. Not on purpose, they just always seem to rip when I do things.
Yeah, like play football or fight or spar Jay or-
I stopped thinking about it before my inner voice gave me an aneurysm.
I returned my gaze to the mirror again and shook my head. This whole thing is ridiculous.
An hour later, I was leaning on a miniature limo outside of a 5-star hotel. Naomi lives in Florida, so she'd been flown out two days ago and would fly back the day after tomorrow. In the dead center of her little vacation was her date with me.
I hoped she wasn't a groupie. I'd met a few of my extreme fans over the years and didn't feel like spending a whole evening with one. I tried to be hopeful. Maybe Naomi would be a super sweet, down to earth girl...
I was dragged from my thoughts by the hand of my driver on my shoulder and a finger pointing at the doors of the hotel. My eyes slowly followed the arm and finger until they rested on a girl who could only be Naomi.
She was tall, leggy, blond, and curvy. If this wasn't a date that had been arranged by Lacey and I had asked her out myself, I would be the happiest guy around. Naomi was hot and she was standing at the doors in a dress that couldn't have been sluttier if it tried. So much for the super sweet, down to earth girl.
I shoved off the car and made my way over to her. I did what Lacey asked and looked her up and down slowly, "swaggering" and "strutting" my way to her. Apparently, I was awful at strutting, so Lacey had set up legitimate practice times for me so I could properly woo Naomi and all the girls watching us through their phones.
I never believed it would work, but as I saw Naomi's knees start to wobble, I had second thoughts. Maybe there was something to this whole player persona thing after all. Almost immediately, I got rid of that thought. I didn't want to be like this, even if there were good things about it.
"Hi," she said breathlessly when I reached her.
"Hey." I was not breathless. "Ready?" Instead of walking lessons, Lacey should've sprung for manner lessons. I was so blunt; I could hear how rude I was being. Then again, that was the point.
Naomi hadn't seemed to notice and nodded as I held out my arm for her to take and we started back to the car. I don't think Naomi realized that the walk up to the hotel was cobblestone and her 5" stilettos weren't making the cut for suitable footwear for the night.
I fought back a grin as she stumbled for the third time, the heel of her shoe sliding into a crack in the stones again.
She stayed up right, only barely succeeding in not falling into a pile and dragging me with her. I had a quick flash of Pip and her friend sprawled out in the sand the week before and couldn't stop the smile from reaching my face this time. Their reactions were just so priceless, and Pip was so flustered when I'd asked if she was ok. It was adorable.
"Are you- laughing at me?" Oh, boy. Naomi stopped walking and looked at me with an expression that could only be described as anger, disbelief, and hurt all rolled into one.
I wanted to say that no, I wasn't. That I was only trying to give her a reassuring smile. I couldn't though, so I just shrugged.
"It was funny."
"Really? Wow." Naomi bristled and started stalking away from me to the car.
I followed with an eye roll and slid into the back with her.
"It won't happen again. I just thought it was funny. Forgive me?" I asked, displaying the smile I saved only for my fans, interviews, and photo shoots.
Naomi rolled her eyes. "I suppose you are just like any other guy in some ways."
We didn't have a long ride to the fancy restaurant and Naomi managed to fill the ride with comments about the limo we were in and passes at me to get me to stick my tongue down her throat.
I made small, uninterested replies to her comments and did my best to pretend that I hadn't heard her passes. Every now and then, I had to turn to the window so she missed the revulsion I was sure was so clearly portrayed on my face.
We arrived sooner than expected and I was thrilled. The sooner this happened the sooner it was over.
We stopped out front of the restaurant and posed for the paparazzi. Naomi soaked it up and flourished in the attention and I was more than happy to let her have it. After a while, I decided the paparazzi had gotten enough, but Naomi wasn't having it. It took a bit of coercing and controlling the urge to just throw her over my shoulder and walk in, but eventually we escaped the hoards.
I nodded to myself as my bodyguards got the paparazzi moving on. We'd agreed that they could get their picture before the dinner, not during or after. I'd also hired a bodyguard staff to patrol the area so they couldn't take unwanted pictures after the date of the scene that was undoubtedly going to unfold. I already knew that Naomi and I were a one-night thing and I was going to make sure that I told her that.
I found myself confused as we walked in to a reserved table in the back of the restaurant. I didn't know why I was really against this date. I mean, I knew the superficial reasons that I told to people, the reasons I'd rehearsed, but I didn't know why I couldn't bring myself to appreciate the extremely hot girl in front of me.
It took me a while before I figured it out. We were actually halfway through dinner when the thought hit me.
"I mean, if I was famous, or in a relationship with someone famous," Naomi was saying, and there it was: the suggesting hint that we should actually date, "I would meet everyone possible. Kim Kardashian, Zac Efron, Beyoncé, everyone. Then, I would buy the biggest house I could find and rub it in all my old friends' faces." She laughed, but I could tell she was serious. She'd actually do that.
I was used to these kind of girls, girls who were exactly like the one I see in front of me. Leggy, beautiful, and bold. They threw themselves at me and, while that had been great at first, it wasn't what I wanted anymore. I wanted someone who would date me for me, not me for Theo Archer. Someone who didn't care what my name is and what my job was, who didn't care if they could meet Beyoncé through me because we'd sang together once. Someone like Pip.
I froze with a bite of the Italian salad I couldn't pronounce halfway to my mouth. Was that it? I asked myself. Was the beautiful, green eyed girl the thing throwing off the balance I'd carefully constructed between my image and the real me over the past two years?
It did occur to me that I'd only ever really talked to her once, met her once, and yet I could just tell that she was different from everyone else. She had said outright that she'd known I was famous and didn't ask for anything. It bothered me a bit that I was used to people asking me for things like that.
I didn't realize how strange I was being until my eyes refocused on Naomi's face to see a worried expression. "What?" I asked, eyebrows raised. I didn't say it like I wanted to know why she was looking at me, but more like I needed her to repeat what she said because I'm a jerk and stopped listening.
"Damn, Theo. You're actually worse than most guys on a first date."
I sat back hard against my chair; Italian food long forgotten. Did she really think there would be a date two?
"What?" she inquired, leaning forward over her barely touched salad.
I noticed the power play: advancing as I retreated. I imitated her actions and leaned forward again. "Nothing. Just don't get the idea that this is a real thing ok? You won a contest. We're not "going steady" or whatever."
I saw the change in her eyes immediately, changing from a flirtatious playfulness to a harsh determination. It wasn't difficult to see as I was only a few inches from her at this point. "We'll see about that," she challenged.
Then she kissed me. Now, don't get me wrong, she was a good kisser. Hell, she was an incredible kisser and I should know. I've been kissed a lot, usually because I don't want to kiss the girls I'm with, so they make the first move. A lot like what just happened.
The kiss was practically over before it began, and I shoved up from the table. Naomi quickly followed suit and I strode to the back door with her close on my heels.
I wasn't worried about the check; my guys would get that. No, I was worried and annoyed about Naomi. If it was one thing I couldn't stand, it was girls thinking that they were so irresistible I would want nothing else but for them to kiss me. Happens more than you'd think.
I grabbed her arm, not too gently, and pulled her outside.
"Oooh, he likes it rough, does he?" I heard her say, and if I hadn't been raised a gentleman, I would've decked her.
Yeah, I was definitely spending some time training tonight.
"Look Naomi. I have absolutely no interest in you whatsoever. I don't want to fuck you, I don't want to kiss you, I don't want to even look at you alright?" It was extremely mean, but I was past the point of caring. I dragged her out of the doorway. "This was a one-time thing only because you won the contest. A contest I never even wanted, so you should be glad that I'm even here right now." Despite the situation, I felt great. I was finally doing the thing I wanted most: yelling at the fake people who I couldn't get away from. People the exact opposite of Pip. Oh, I really had to stop thinking about her.
The look of purely enraged surprise on Naomi's face was one to remember.
"Take the limo back to your hotel, I'll call a cab or something." I was done with this and was counting the seconds until I never had to see her again.
"You'll regret this," she shot back. "No one gives up their chance with me."
"Doubt I will and not surprising." I shrugged one shoulder.
She did that hair flip trick that all girls seem to be born with. "What's not surprising?"
"The fact that no one's given up their chance with you."
Her eyes narrowed and I guessed she was trying to look intimidating, though she only succeeded in looking like my grandpa when he was trying to read something without his glasses. "Oh? And why is that?" she asked.
I gave her a slow once over. "You're a slut," I said simply, still riding my euphoria.
If I thought the last face she pulled was incredible, that was nothing compared to this one.
Then, before I could react, she slapped me.
Letme just say that for someone with arms the approximate size of my pinky finger,she could slap pretty damn hard.