It would have made the news.

And that was the last thing I needed.

Better they assume I’m on hard drugs or nursing a broken heart than actually know the truth behind my anxiety and health issues.

“Chapstick,” I blurted. “What kind do you use?”

Her eyes did that adorable little slow blink again as she took a deep breath. “I make it.”

I couldn’t have heard her correctly. “You make it?”

Nerd girl licked the chapstick from her lips with more aggression than necessary which naturally had me staring at them like I’d never seen a sexy pout before. “That’s what I said.”

“I was just making sure.” I really needed to focus on anything but her mouth.

“Because you’re the chapstick police? Or you’re worried I violated some sort of health code by making flavored lip balm in my parents’ basement?”

“You have a basement?”

“What?”

“You just said you have a basement.”

“Where I m-make my lip balm.” She nodded.

Teasing her may become one of my new favorite things, which meant I was procrastinating, because I was in an alleyway with a strange girl, anything to keep from going back to the house. “I’ve never seen one.”

“Lip balm?”

“A basement!” I slapped her on the back. “Keep up.”

“T-trying.” She shivered as the wind picked up. “Okay, well, I think I’ll just go now…”

I grabbed the hood from her sweatshirt and tugged her back. “Where can I get some?”

“S-some?” Her eyes widened like I’d just asked for sex.

“Chapstick, lip balm, whatever you call it.” I clarified with a wink.

“At the store.” She blinked dumbly. “Do you not…go to stores or something?”

I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “Not if I can help it.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Because of the fans?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “They toss condoms in my shopping basket, and it’s pure hell when the sales clerk asks why I have both small and extra large as if I don’t know my own penis size, ergo, no shopping for Zane.”

“Do all celebrities use their name in the third person?”

“Demetri Daniels does.”

“The AD2 singer?”

“The very one.”

“Aren’t you living with him?”

“Ah… So you are a stalker, you’re just a really calm one?”

She clenched her tiny hands into fists at her sides. “Yes. Calm on the outside, doing cartwheels like a cheerleader on the inside, you should see my uniform.”

I placed my hand across my chest. “Oh God, tell me it has a giant Z on it.”

“With chapstick.” She grinned, finally smiling, then tucked her wavy strawberry blonde hair behind her ears. “So, this has officially been the weirdest conversation of my life.” Fallon reached into her pocket and pulled out a tube of chapstick. “It’s on the house.”

“Our first gift exchange.” I teased. “But I didn’t get you anything?”

“Yeah, you did.” She blushed.

“Ah, the kiss?”

“Yup. Consider your debt paid.”

“It wasn’t a hardship.” I took a tentative step toward her, my body already craving more. What the hell was wrong with me?

A dark red color spread over her cheeks, and I fought every urge within myself to reach out and touch her skin, to feel if it was hot to the touch or just a natural reaction to my presence. I was used to girls flashing me, not blushing around me.

Maybe that was why I was still a virgin.

I saw so much tits and ass that it had lost all its effect.

Or maybe I was a scared chicken shit little girl. Too afraid to get my heart broken to risk the thrill of sliding my dick into home base.” “Zane?” Fallon whispered.

“Hmm?”

“You’re shaking.” She pointed to my hands.

I hid them behind my back. “Sorry, I had a lot of caffeine today, and the sugar doesn’t help.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips. Damn it. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

I watched her walk off, and felt a little tug, as if I wanted to keep talking to her. But I had no reason to.

I glanced down at the chapstick in my hand. “Hey, Fallon?”

“Yeah?” She turned around quickly, like she’d expected me to stop her, which had my blood pumping harder, faster. She really was pretty, if you looked past the glasses. Then again that was hard to do, considering they were so big on her face.

I tossed her my phone. “I need my dealer’s number.”

“Dealer?” She barely managed to catch the phone, thank God she did since it was the third one I’d had in two weeks.

I held up the chapstick. “Your number, Fallon. Just in case I run out.”

“Because you don’t go to the store,” she said, eyes narrowing.

“You make home deliveries right?”

“If you buy enough,” she grumbled then typed in her number and tossed it back underhand pitch style. “There you go.”

“How much is enough?” I called out as she turned the corner.

But she didn’t answer.

And when I looked down at the phone, it wasn’t her number, but the one to the local Dominoes. I only knew because I had pizza every Friday, and Seaside had officially one pizza place.