pretty little liar // brad simpson

two

SPENCER

I rolled my shoulders back and twisted my neck to the right, feeling instant relief as my joints cracked at the movement. My hands slid over my arms as I massaged in my body butter, and then stepped through a spritz of my Burberry perfume. 

Stepping into my dress, I suddenly felt as if I was going to collapse. I was nervous, shaking from the tips of my fingers to the pit of my stomach. Bradley Simpson was going to come knocking in ten minutes, and then we would be on our way to one of the nicest restaurants in the city for an elegant "first date," one that had been planned down to the last detail in a long, drawn out email from our manager. 

Eight minutes. I stood before the door mirror, looking at the slinky royal blue dress, which was a bit snug down to the middle of my thighs, a bit looser around my middle as it was a formless shift dress. My fingers danced over the tops in my closet until I picked a cropped beige suede cardigan of sorts, which I shrugged on before sliding my strappy black heels. 

Seven. I applied another layer of mascara, deciding that I had made the right decision when I put on dewier, peachy makeup instead of a smokey, sultry eye. There was a good amount of leg on display, but I had made myself up modestly as Mr. White had instructed. My fingers slid through my hair as I twisted it up into a high, curled ponytail, leaving a few small strands framing my face,

Six minutes, and I'm standing in the kitchen, drinking a cup of water to ease my nerves. Anna is sitting on the couch with her boyfriend, Allen, watching Skins. Effy is having sex on the screen, and Allen is tickling Anna's sides. She hates watching sex scenes. There's a ring of pink lipstick on the edge of the glass, and my shaking fingers move to wipe it away.

Five minutes left, and Anna's finally noticed me fiddling with the strap of my black Steve Madden cross-body, trying to get the zipper loose despite the fact that my fingers are trembling with nerves. "Need help, Spencer?" She asked, leaning over the back of the couch so the hem of her sporty crop top rides up on her dark skin.

I shook my head. "No, just a bit nervous."

"Awe, how sweet!" She cooed, winking at me. She was clueless, thinking I was just nervous for a date, not for a live performance that would make or break my career, which would earn him love and attention from his fans or hateful responses from his critics. This night wasn't exciting, it was petrifying, and I couldn't help but fear the hours of discomfort I was going to endure trying to enjoy this set-up even slightly.

Four - there was a knock at the door. Anna whipped around to look at me, her face in a huge smile. Allen laughed, getting to his feet and heading to the front door. I looked away from my best friend, feeling like each second I met her eyes was another fib I was telling, and headed to the entryway to meet Brad.

Allen was shaking his hand, and past his massive shoulder I could see Brad wearing some tight black jeans, a navy button up with tiny white flowers on it, and a leather jacket that matched his black leather boots. His hair was all tousled, a wide brimmed hat resting on top. He looked nice, but relaxed - much like how most celebrities you saw in magazines would dress at an impeccable restaurant - like it was just a regular Friday night, not a five-star experience.

"You look lovely, Spencer." Brad complimented, shooting Allen a quick glance to gauge his reaction when he said the words. I smiled stiffly, stepping past Allen and reaching to pull the door closed behind me. Anna was shouting something, but I cut it off as I slammed the door after us. "Ready to go?" He asked, though he had already started off down the hall and wasn't even checking to be sure I was on his tail.

It was quiet. Not awkward pauses of silence where we weren't sure what to say, but one long, unending moment. Neither of us said a word the thirty minutes it took to get to the restaurant - at least, not to each other. I made a remark as I changed the radio away from a Drake song that was too overplayed, and Brad made a noise when he got cut off by a huge SUV, but otherwise I sat and slid my fingernails back and forth over my palms, waiting to get home and call to quit as soon as I could.

We parked down the street from a bustling, elegant restaurant, and Brad was sure to hurry around the car to pull the door open for me. "Really, Spencer, that dress..." He complimented again, shooting me an awkward half-smile. I nodded, ducking out of the car and crossing my arms over my chest. Brad followed me to the front entrance, a hand gently resting between my shoulders, where he pulled the door open for me.

"Welcome! Reservation?" The hostess asked, wearing a sleek black dress and looking down at a leather book of names and lines. 

Brad nodded, resting his hands on the table between us. "Two for Bradley."

My eyes slid over his back, the way his curly hair seemed to be a bit longer, the weight of his hair pulling it straighter across the top, but still framing his face softly. He looked good, like a rich boy or a famous guy - exactly what he was, still getting exactly what he wanted.

And then - "Mr. Simpson. You're late, and I'm afraid once it reaches twenty minutes, we give the tables away. It's policy."

He looked like steam would have jetted from his ears had he been any more irritated. Pursing my lips, I put a hand to my mouth to hold back a laugh. It was annoying, sure, that I had to go on this date with this snobby, privileged boy, and bothersome that after all this waiting and getting ready for some appearance with him, our reservation got thrown off. But it was funny, watching this lad who had been handed all he'd ever wanted on a silver platter get a taste of real life for those of us who had to worry about our incomes and our castings.

Turning to face me, Brad was working visibly to keep his calm. "Spencer, I am so sorry. This is not how it should have gone, and it's all my fault." He apologized, and I couldn't keep my eyebrows from bolting up my head as Brad set his hands on my upper arms and held me gently, his face a mixture of dejection, annoyance, and sorrow. 

It was shocking. He was trying hard to maintain his composure, to be respectful to me and the hostess, who was looking a bit nervous that we were still there. It was his super-star training, I knew. He had to be a good little boy and wasn't to throw any public fits until he was older, and so for now it was all about playing the nice guy in public. As soon as we got in the car, he'd be slamming his hands on the steering wheel and speeding to vent his anger.

"Where would you like to eat? I made this call, albeit a lousy one, so you can choose now." Brad offered, letting one arm drop and ushering me gently out of the way of the door so we could talk out of the way.

I shrugged his hand off, crossing my arms as I considered our options. I could pick somewhere I'd never normally afford, anywhere that I could go and sit down rather than carry out. Somewhere special - but that's what Brad wanted. That's what he lived in, a world where he could hop lines because of his name, or order a second bowl of caviar merely because he wanted one or two bites more.

So I smiled and straightened up slightly. "There's a popup fish and chips stand a few blocks out. Let's go." 

Brad looked surprised this time, and opened his mouth to disagree. Remembering what he'd just said, he closed his mouth and nodded instead, and pushed the door open, holding it for me. I passed him, turning right to lead the way to the stand.

"The car's this way," Brad called, sounding nervous and confused. I glanced back at him, my face blank, and raised my eyebrow.

"What, your legs don't work?" I called back, turning to face him and beckoning him after me. Brad looked around him anxiously and then jogged to catch up with me. I'd already turned on my heel and was walking again, and when he caught up with me he slowed to match my pace.

The silence didn't last as long. "So you model?"

I nodded, eyes straight ahead. "So you sing?"

Brad laughed. I pursed my lips. "Yeah, I guess I do. I play guitar too, but I suppose mostly I am known as the front man."

We continued on quietly. "What kind of modelling do you like to do?"

I shrugged.

"Spencer." Brad cut in front of me, facing me and putting his hands out in front of him in case I didn't stop. "Would it kill you to talk to me?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but something cut me off.