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Chapter Five

"Hi, would you be interested in a free romance by first-time author F.W. C.T. Blake? There's no catch, but we'd appreciate if you could fill out and return the postage-paid survey in the back of the book when you're done."

"Hi, would you be interested--"

"Good Morning, would you be interested--"

Within a half hour, my tongue feels swollen from the repetition of my spiel. I'm annoyed at rambling the stupid author's names made up of random initials and completely sick of the crowd of girls assembled for the show. I'm positive that they could care less about my book offer, but at the word 'free' and the phrase 'no catch,' I'm sure they would take vials of herpes if pressed upon their hyped-up groupie selves. If I was a betting person, which I'm not, I would wager that we'd be lucky to see even five surveys out of the two hundred and fifty books that Ron was requiring us to pass out.

"--he's single again. I feel so sorry for him. Nick's so gorgeous and the women treat him so lousy. Now if he were with me--"

I snorted. It was a common conversation that was floating through the crowds and it was taking all of my willpower not to stop and give these girls a reality check on what life with Nick Carter was like. He was a moody, demanding, egotistical, messy--"

"Muffin?"

I almost screamed as a box almost as big as the one I was lugging around connected with my own and sent me staggering a couple paces back. Of course, even if I had screamed it would have been nothing compared to the banshee-like shrieks that erupted around me. A large, thick arm steadied me and I reasoned the owner of the appendage was security detail from the head to toe black the guy was sporting.

"Penny!"

Shit, shit, and double shit. Nick's face broke into a grin that probably stopped every single girl's heart around me. My heart, on the other hand, continued to beat on just fine. I turned around, but the damage was done. He jiggled the box, seemingly oblivious to the fifty hands that were trying to grab at him and break through the security-orb that was surrounding him. "Want a muffin before the show?"

"What the hell are you doing passing out muffins?" I snapped. It was bad enough I had been forced to step foot in Central Park. I was sure that with the thousands of estrogen-fueled women here that there would be no way he'd find me.

I was wrong.

"I'm being nice," he said looking confused. He shook the box again. "We heard lots of these people have been waiting here since last night."

"Nice?" I repeated. "You don't do nice."

"No, you've got that wrong," he frowned. "I do nice and naug--"

Before he could finish, something hit my shoulder, thrown from some overzealous fan behind me. I reached out and plucked, with absolutely horror, a pair of thong panties from my blazer. The level of bat-shit crazy intensified. Before Nick could finish (or say anything else), he was whisked away. A tidal wave of 'No!' spread through the crowd, but I let out one slow, quiet, "Yes" and smiled in relief. I shook the offending garment from my fingers and got myself out of the line of fire determined to find Clo and just dump the rest of the books behind a tree if necessary.

I found Clo smoking behind a tree, less than a foot from a 'No Smoking' sign. She gave me a little smirk as she threw the thing down on the ground and smothered out the light with her shoe.

"These chicks are nuts," she declared. "Someone thought I was one of those guy's wives. Do I look like I could be married to one of," she jerked her thumb behind her shoulder. "them?"

I laughed. "Well-"

"--special guest here today to get the crowd warmed up. This chick kicked ass opening on my Now or Never tour back in '03. Any of you guys remember that?"

Fuck. I grabbed Clo's arm. "Let's go," I said.

"You read my mind," she said. "But what about the rest of your bo--"

"C'mon guys, let's hear it for Penny Lange!"

"Now!" I hissed.

"What?" Clo said, her face wrinkling in confusion. "But--"

Before I could either dig a giant hole to live in for the rest of my life or dive under a nearby car that looked like it had just been recently abandoned by a homeless guy, I was barraged by a big ass honking camera.

"Penny--"

"C'mon!" Nick was shouting. I knew it was Nick. What other dickhead would do this to me? I stumbled back. Maybe I could fake a heart attack to get out of this. Maybe--

"Penny Lange? You?" Clo asked. "Your last name's Buford!"

"Long story!" I called out even as I was flanked with security. My throat was closing up faster and faster every second. How could he does this? I hadn't performed since the label dropped me, about six months before I decided to use some common sense and go to college instead of chasing the 'rock star' dream. Right around the time Nick and I broke up. Well the next to last time we broke up. Or the next next to last time...

We had broken up way too many times to count.

Somehow, my body was moving and the space between me and Clo was widening. In no time at all I found myself stage side, the GMA logo everywhere, wanting to die. Nick's grinning face loomed above me. He pulled his mic away from his face and covered it.

"We got a little time before we're actually on. Want to entertain me?"

"You're dead." I scowled

"Well, I am a little stiff come to think of it." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Forget it," I growled. I turned and smacked right into a solid wall of muscle. The guard smiled down at me. I was trapped. The crowd was shouting my name, probably at the prompting of Nick. He had more cult-like pull than Charles Manson.

"Fine," I snapped. I turned. Sure enough, Nick was jumping up and down and screaming my name. Catching my eye he stopped, kneeling back down to offer his hand to pull me on stage.

"Get the lady a mic!" he called out.

"I hate you," I whispered. He leaned towards me, his lips brushing my ear.

"Well, at least your feelings are still strong."