Gage Hunter updated his status:
Congrats to my pal Ember. Four exams down, one to go. Way to go, baby girl!
Ember clicked on the notification box, not surprised to see a handful of likes from total strangers by the time her Facebook page refreshed. Gage had groupies. How weird was that? He didn’t even have an album out, but social media was changing how celebrities and fans connected.
She knew better than anyone that Gage was something else up close and personal. Even through the anonymity of the internet, he probably made each of his fans feel the same way she did. Special. Like she had his undivided attention. Even beautiful, although Gage had never shown any interest in her beyond friendship. His still referring to her as baby girl underscored that fact in a big way.
They were the same age. She was actually two months older than him, although by the time they met in grade nine, he was already taller, and by the time they graduated high school, he was a good deal bigger too, at least through the upper body. There’d been one mortifying afternoon where he’d pulled on her jeans after swimming, and they were too big in the hips. He’d laughed hysterically. She hadn’t spoken to him for a week.
She moused over the status update again, wondering if she should reply, when an instant message popped up in the corner. A wicked thrill dashed from her heart to her girly bits at the sight of his bad-ass rocker avatar.
Gage: Are you studying?
Ember: Nope. Last exam is Modern Canadian Literature, and it’s an open book essay. I’ve got my notes ready to go.
Gage: You know we’ve got a show in the city tomorrow night?
Ember: Uh, yes! I already have my tickets. I’m bringing a girlfriend. Try not to hit on her.
Gage: Ouch, you wound me.
Ember: If the shoe fits…
Gage: Got any plans tomorrow during the day?
Ember: Only if you’ve made them for me—I assumed we might catch up. But it’s okay if you’ve got other stuff to do, too.
He didn’t respond right away, so Ember clicked on his name and flipped through some of the most recent pictures. Gage on the main stage at a folk festival, mid-afternoon. He’d been so proud of that gig. Gage and three blond fans. Ha. Gage and more fans. Gage and—she paused that thought when a knock sounded at the door. Her celebratory pizza was a bit early. She clicked back to the chat window.
Ember: brb, my pizza’s arrived.
Gage: Pizza!
She shook her head and giggled as she jogged to the door. The delivery person knocked again, this time in a sustained pattern. She yelled for them to hang on a second, and grabbed her purse.
A third round of knocking began just as she swung the door open, and her bitchy snapback died on her tongue as six feet of wicked awesomeness loomed over her, waving a bottle of pink champagne in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other.
“Gage!” She dropped her purse and threw herself against his body. She breathed in his spicy cologne and underlying Gage-ness. His chest was warm and hard under her cheek. “You’re here! I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”
“Surprise, baby girl.” He gave her a quick squeeze with his forearms before she stepped back. Then he waggled the bottles at her. “I should have waited until all of your exams were done, but we’ll be in Kingston and then Ottawa after that, and you were crowing on Facebook earlier so I thought it was safe tonight.”
