Chapter Two

"Unfortunately, the bastard was right," I admitted. Figures, right? Even from blocks away, AJ can still be responsible for an oncoming headache. "What can I do for you, Nick?"

I could hear his smile through the phone. "Nothing much. I just figured that I'd give you a call and attempt casual conversation to ease the awkwardness of this whole 'blind date in Hollywood' situation."

I couldn't help it. Despite my inhibitions, the corners of my mouth curled upward. "Casual conversation, huh?"

"Kind of," he admitted. "I really wanted to introduce myself and get to know you a little bit better before I take you out. I mean, I know that we don't know each other, and I recognize that this has all the makings of a sketchy situation."

"Is there a reason you keep calling this a 'situation'?"

Finally, he laughed. "Nah, no reason. I thought it sounded less hokey than 'scenario.' Besides, scenarios are usually hypothetical, and this awards thing is most definitely the real deal."

"You make it sound like a drag," I observed. He really did, too. He sounded like "this awards thing" was only slightly more fun than receiving an enema. I was beginning to wonder exactly what I had let Taylor and AJ talk me into.

"Honestly? It is a drag. I mean, it's cool to get to see friends in the business, but it's mostly a way for the hot shot stars to get their face on the cover of every magazine within a ten-nation radius. We're not nominated or anything, so there's no special reason for us to be there. We're basically going to end up chilling in the crowd until we present an award, at which point we'll just cruise on over to someone's high-end after-party and pretend to live a glamorous life for an evening."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "You're telling me you don't usually live the glamorous life?"

He burst out laughing. "Hell no! You know where I was just before I came home to call you?"

I didn't want to ask, but I'm a sucker for prompts. "Where?"

"Walmart," he answered. "I can get my cargo shorts there for, like, twenty dollars less than a department store."

Not that he needed to save the money or anything, but...I was impressed. I hated to admit it, but his initial down-to-earth attitude was slowly winning me over. AJ's generally a pretty casual guy--he's more into McDonald's than five-star cuisine--but the boy's passion for designer clothes is hardly a secret. I was secretly glad that Nick didn't seem quite so suited to the perks of the Backstreet gig.

"Why so quiet?" he prompted gently. "Not a fan of Wally World?"

"The idea of getting my underwear and my oranges in the same place kinda freaks me out," I admitted, "but I'm trying to figure out why you're giving up another night at Wally World to go to one of these huge industry gigs if you hate the glamorous life so much. I mean, why go to these frou-frou parties if they make everyone so
miserable?"

He chuckled again, and I couldn't help but smile at his boyish giggle. "Man, I suck. I make it sound terrible. It's not, really, it's just kind of tedious if you're not into red carpet politics." He paused for a moment. "I'm excited about this one, though. AJ always has good things to say about you, and it's been a long time since I've had a long conversation with a normal person."

"I see," I nodded. "So you're trying to get a head start on that whole long conversation thing?"

"Kind of," he admitted. "Really, I figured that, if we get the initial awkward conversation out of the way tonight, we can have an amazingly clever conversation come Friday."

I had to give him credit; he was way more intelligent than I had expected him to be. From the way AJ had spoken about him, I'd been expecting a sweet and innocent, dumb blonde kid with a small vocabulary and an even smaller ego.

He certainly didn't have a small vocabulary. The jury was still out on the whole ego thing, though.

"So, what do you say? Are you in the mood for idle chitchat?"

I closed my eyes and silently resigned myself to the fact that I probably wouldn't be getting much sleep that night. Unless, of course, he was one of those guys who only wanted to know where I grew up and how long I've been an underground prostitute.

I was surprised to find myself hoping that Nick wasn't one of those guys.

"Sure. A conversation sounds great."

He breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief. "Awesome. How'd you get into football?"

I fought the urge to laugh at the question. How can a native of Buffalo NOT get into football?

"I was born and raised in Buffalo, New York, so I was worshipping the Bills before I could walk."

"That makes sense," he mused. "I was born in Jamestown, New York, but I grew up in Tampa Bay, so I'm more of a Bucs fan."

"That last season must have been painful then," I remarked casually, trying to keep the smugness out of my tone. I'm insanely competitive by nature, but my killer instinct is infinitely worse where football is concerned.

"Man, you know it," he groaned. "I was so psyched after our Superbowl win, but we just haven't been able to make things happen lately."

"You think it's a result of bad coaching or a bad roster?"

"Honestly?" he asked. "I think it's a combination of both. I think that there's a certain magic that happens when teammates connect with their coach and each other, and we haven't had a lot of that in Tampa. It's not that we have bad players or a bad coach, it's just that we're not too good at playing like a team. We don't hold things together very well." He paused for a moment. "The Bills did pretty well last season, though."

"Yeah, we did," I agreed proudly, glad for the shift of focus. "We're consistently a good team. Hell, we've been a good team since I started watching. We're still trying to get to the point where we're a great team, though."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. You think this'll be the year for another Superbowl run?" he inquired. I sighed.

"I hope so. I'd love to see us go all the way this year. I think we definitely have the players to do it."

"You think you guys'll be able to conquer the Patriots?" he laughed, and I groaned loudly.

"I hope we rip them a new one. I am so sick of them getting all the NFL glory..."

"They've had, what, twenty-three wins in a row?" he chuckled. "That's pretty impressive."

"Impressive my ass," I muttered. "They're just getting lucky. They're at the point now where their record alone is intimidating to the opposing team, and that gives them enough of a leg up that they can capitalize on their advantage."

"Good point." He seemed genuinely surprised.

I hate that. I hate that guys have to perpetuate the female stereotype to such a ridiculous extreme. "Can I be an asshole for a moment?"

"Go ahead," I agreed with a sigh. "For all I know, you're always an asshole." You know that American idea that people are innocent until proven guilty? Yeah, I don't so much buy into that.

He seemed surprised by that, too. "Is that what Alex told you? That I'm always an asshole?"

I laughed in spite of myself. "Not quite, no. AJ was trying to convince me to go on a date with you, remember? Why would he tell me you're an asshole?"

"It sounds like something Alex would say," Nick admitted. "We--I mean, the guys in the band and I--we give each other a lot of shit."

"It's the nature of friendship to keep everyone's ego in check," I remarked lightly. I should know, right? If I had a self-esteem problem, I can guarantee you that Taylor would be solely responsible.

"I suppose that's true," he chuckled. "Heaven knows we need to be taken down sometimes. Not that hordes of screaming nine-year-olds are a reason to get cocky, but..."

I was beginning to see where AJ's ADD comes from. Nick had clearly lost track of the previous conversation. Of course, far be it from me to let it go.

"So how were you going to be an asshole?"

"Oh!" I could almost see the animated light bulb going off over his head. "I was just going to say that, for a girl, you know a hell of a lot about football."

For a girl? For a girl?!

Allow me to explain my ire. If you haven't figured it out by now, I'll enlighten you--I'm not your average girl. Sure, I'll wear make-up and miniskirts and make sure my hair is nicely done; but I only get dolled up when I'm working. When I'm in class or lounging around the apartment, I do it in glasses, sweats, and ratty old t-shirts. I believe in cursing at the screen when the Bills are playing. I believe in drinking guys under the table when they challenge your tolerance. I believe in popping them in the eye when they go too far with their sexual innuendo. I may whore myself out to pay for college, but I don't take any shit if I'm not getting a check for it at the end of an evening.

Lately, I haven't taken much shit from my clients either, but that's the luxury of a growing salary and a dwindling need.

I sucked in a deep breath and refocused on the conversation at hand. "You know, not all of us girls subscribe to the Paris Hilton standard."

Silence. Fuck. One conversation, and I've already pissed him off. I could feel my ire dissipating.

Have I mentioned that I have a tendency to overreact?

Just when I was about to attempt to lessen the impact of my outburst, he spoke. "The Paris Hilton standard?"

I heaved a sigh of relief. "Yeah. You know...miniskirts, small dog...more make-up than a musical cast and blonde extensions that would make Rapunzel jealous."

He expelled a terse laugh. "You certainly have a way with words, Diana Casseras."

I wasn't sure whether or not I was supposed to be offended. "I'm serious, though! The second that sex tape came out, every man in the world decided that girls should be leggy blonde socialites."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," he began gently, "but I can see how that kind of standard would be frustrating. Is that your only beef with Paris, though? That she's blonde?"

I flinched. Truth to tell, I shouldn't be criticizing the faces that comprise a Hollywood billboard. I gripe, but, in reality, I know absolutely nothing about pop culture because I don't have the time or the energy to study it. That in mind, I decided to--gasp!--admit my inadequacy.

"I don't really know enough about her to really have quote-unquote beef with her, but she seems like a serial monogamist, and I'd hate to see yet another woman of substantial power facilitate the misconception that all women need a man. I mean, we've become a lot more liberated as a gender, and we need to realize that women can be successful without the help of a spouse."

"A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, right?" he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice. The prick was mocking me!

"Did you see that on a poster in Walmart earlier?" I shot back, and he laughed.

"Hardly! I know my Gloria Steinham, thank you very much!"

It was my turn to be impressed. I never thought I'd see the day.

"You know who Gloria Steinham is?"

"I'm somewhat familiar with feminism," Nick chuckled. "I have a sister who got big into female liberation when my parents divorced, so I know a thing or two about the philosophy." He paused a moment to chuckle again, and when he spoke, his tone was beyond facetious. "You know, not all of us guys subscribe to the Arnold
Schwarzenegger standard."

I raised my eyebrows. Not only was he intelligent, but he could match wits with me.

Hell, who was I kidding? He'd freaking schooled me within the first twenty minutes of conversation. I grudgingly admitted that I might have found my match.

"I stand corrected."

"No need to stand corrected," Nick clarified quickly. "Just...let's make a deal, okay?"

I narrowed my eyes wearily at the phone. "Tell me what it is first."

"You haven't mentioned much of it, but I'm a Backstreet Boy. That puts me directly in the public eye on a daily basis, and it allows people to cultivate a lot of assumptions about my character and its depth. I don't mind having strangers misunderstand me--at the end of the day, their opinions don't matter to me. However, I do mind being misunderstood by the people I choose to hold close to me. Those are the people that I expect to know me, and they can't get to know me if they're still holding tightly to their own misconceptions."

I was effectively and guiltily silenced. For someone who's supposed to be the dumb blonde, he certainly has a collection of eloquent phrases at his disposal.

"Now, I haven't mentioned it, but I know from Alex that you have interesting means of earning your tuition money. I can imagine that your job, while not necessarily public knowledge, incites a lot of misconceptions as well. I'm not judging you because I think that there's a whole hell of a lot more to someone than what they do. I'm just asking that, in return, you refrain from judging me." He laughed lightly. "I already know from our short conversation that you're a smart girl. I can also tell that your intelligence makes you less inclined to trust people. For tonight and the evening that we're going to be spending together later this week, though, I think it'd be really cool if we could both keep an open mind."

Well, fuck me. The boy has a point.

Not only did he have a point, but he was showing me straight up that he was willing to overlook my occupation. He was offering me a clean slate as long as I gave him one in return. I could feel my steely cynicism fading slightly at the thought of such a possibility.

I cleared my throat. "I think you're right."

"Right about what?"

"All of it," I sighed, "and I think the chance to skip the long, tedious disarmament of those stereotypes is one hell of a deal. I'm in."

"Awesome," Nick cheered. "You know, all seriousness aside, I'm really looking forward to this. Alex likes you a lot, Diana, and I can see why. I'm glad he thought to set us up."

I allowed myself a small smile. "Thanks."

He chuckled. "You're welcome. Get some sleep, Bills girl, and I'll see you on Friday."