By Chance (Accidentally In Luck #1)

7. Bitch Slapped - E

*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.