Blake follows me to classes for the rest of the week as well as my first press interview. He is determined and ridiculously stoic the entire time. The first time Shane saw a photo of us both on a gossip blog, he said the sex would be just as good if Blake covered up his face since he’d probably be frowning all the time.
“Or you can do doggie style. Just make sure he’s a gentleman and helps you finish.”
“Why don’t you sleep with him since you’re putting so much thought into this?”
“I’m saving myself for the hot manager, the hot bodyguard is all yours.”
The hot manager, for his part, has already arranged a couple of photo shoots for Shane and several auditions for commercials. Shane has flirted more in the past week than he has in his entire life, and, though Magnus clearly shares an interest, Shane keeps getting shut down.
The poor guy has never been so frustrated.
Blake turned out to be just as charming as he had the first time we met. On campus, I quickly learned people were more likely to be polite and gentle when he was lurking behind me. A couple of girls came to me in the cafeteria to ask for a selfie, and Blake nearly glared them into oblivion. They could hardly smile when they were taking the picture.
“You could be nicer,” I told him when the girls had scurried off.
“It’s not my job to be nice.”
“No, it’s your job to protect me,” I say. “But those girls hardly looked like serial killers.”
“Serial killers look like everyone else.”
“Is that a warning? Do you have something you want to tell me, Blake?”
I think he’s starting to get used to my deflections and passive-aggressive cheerfulness. He doesn’t look as sour with me as he had when we’d first met. Just kind of… tired and done. Like he’d rather be anywhere else than tagging along to my lecture on Strasberg’s Method or my vocal classes.
On the morning I have to give my first TV interview, I think I’m going to explode with nerves. Shane has an audition which he tried hard to get out of to be here for me, but in the end, the stars had aligned against us.
“I’ll be thinking of you,” he’d said while he’d given me a hug and kiss that morning. “You’re gonna be great!”
Magnus is there, though. He’s got an encouraging smile on his lips as he leans into the plush chairs in my changing room.
Yeah, I get a changing room.
The makeup lady just left, and I’m left sitting in front of the mirror with a soft pink blush on my cheeks and smoky eyes. My outfit is pretty beauty blogger—a cute white dress with silver bracelets and dark rose pumps. My hair is piled up high on my head, and I feel like if I turn it the wrong way, it might start wobbling like a bobble head. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and all I can think is I don’t look anything like myself.
“Is everything okay?” Magnus asks.
I turn in my chair. Beyond Magnus, leaning against the door, Blake is texting. His eyes are downcast, and his hips are leaning against the solid wood displaying the taut lines of his body in a way that makes me want to walk over and lick him from top to bottom.
But I don’t. Because I have self-control, goddammit.
“I don’t really look like myself,” I say to Magnus, trying to distract myself from my stupid libido. I’ve been in a dry spell—that’s all this is. “I mean, it’s cute and all, but it’s not really me?”
Magnus purses his lips. “Why didn’t you say anything when the makeup woman was here?”
“It’s not… it’s not just the makeup,” I say. “It’s… look, I don’t wear heels. I can’t wear heels. I’m worried I’m going to trip and fall on my ass. And this dress is a bit short for a morning show, isn’t it?”
Not that the viewers of the Today show would probably mind if I flash a bit of leg, but most of the time when I’m on YouTube, I’m wearing a cute top and skirt combo, or maybe a nice dress that goes below my knees. My hair is too fussed with, and I’m worried when I perform at the end of the segment, and I’m resolutely not thinking about how nervous that makes me, it’s going to spill forward over my face, and I won’t be able to see my uke.
“Hmm,” Magnus says, frowning and tapping his chin. “I’m sorry, Natalie. If you’d told me sooner, I might have been able to do something about it.”
“You’re right, it’s my fault,” I say. “Could we… maybe just change the hair? I feel like I’ll be more comfortable if I have it out? Please?”
Magnus nods and pushes himself out of the chair leaving me alone with Blake.
I turn away from him and start fiddling with my uke. It’s got a butterfly decal on it, and I quickly tune the strings even though I’ve done it a million times today. Pretty soon a string will snap, and I’ll have a fucking breakdown, but I need to do something with my hands.
“You’re nervous,” Blake says.
I don’t jump. I flinch. Like a fucking lady.
“What gave it away?” I ask, aiming for casual. “The nervous sweats? The general air of blind terror?”
Blake watches me for a moment, then sticks his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small cube, walking across the room and handing it to me. “Play with this before you tear that ukulele in half.”
I stare at the cube, and it takes me a moment to realize what it is. It’s one of those distraction cubes that have clickable buttons and fiddly bits. I’ve seen them advertised on Facebook.
“You carry one of these?” I ask, taking it and clicking the buttons. It gives me something to do with my hands, and I instantly feel grateful.
Blake nods. “One of my friends is PDD-NOS.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a form of autism. When he gets overstimulated, this helps. All of us carry one.”
“That’s cool,” I say.
I keep clicking the buttons feeling slightly calmer though in no way more prepared. I wonder if it might be possible for me to take this into the interview with me, but something tells me it’s not appropriate.
Blake leans against the makeup table and watches me play with the cube for a while, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that accentuates his beautiful biceps. I am once again glad I’ve got the cube—it’s something to focus on so I’m not tempted to reach out and run my finger over his arms.
“When you get out there, pretend it’s a really high-budget collaboration with another YouTuber,” Blake says.
“Won’t help,” I tell him, though I’m grateful he’s at least trying to offer something. It’s the first time he’s ever reached out, and if I weren’t so freaked out, I would be able to appreciate it more. “I’d never collab looking like this.”
“Right, it’s not part of your aesthetic.”
“No, it’s because I can’t move,” I tell him. I don’t take my eyes off the cube, but I kick out one of my pumps. “I hate wearing shoes I can’t run in.”
I don’t see his expression, but I hear the disbelief in his voice. “You think you’re going to be running today?”
“I run every day,” I say. “But that’s not… look, it’s a girl thing, okay? I don’t like wearing shoes that keep me from running away.”
It’s a stupid insecurity, but when I’m already feeling super vulnerable, the idea that I’ll be hampered even more makes me queasy. Some women have mastered the art of running in heels—those women are to be feared and respected—but I am not one of them. And right now, with the straps pinching me, my toes squeezed, and my ankle already trembling even though I haven’t even stood up in them, all I can think about is how hard it will be to get onto the set for the interview much less leave the room when I’m done.
Blake doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, after a beat, he kneels down, and I flinch back again when he grabs my foot.
“What size are you?”
“Ah… an eight.” I have big feet for a girl.
He grunts then leans back and starts taking off his boots—his black, heavy-looking, steel-capped combat boots.
“Seriously?” I ask incredulously.
“I’m a ten. You’ll have to stuff the toes with socks.”
I’m already taking off my pumps because this is perfect. The combination of chic lady and badass is too much to pass up, and I can already imagine what Shane will say when he sees me. If he sees me, since the broadcast probably won’t show below my knees, but I’ll tell him.
Blake gives me his shoes, stuffing his socks into the toes and leaving himself barefoot. With the socks, they actually fit pretty snuggly, and when I stand up, I instantly feel about a million degrees cooler and more confident. I leave the cube on the makeup table and trot over to the full-length mirror to examine my feet. The boots are scuffed and well-worn, but they’re clean, and combined with the white dress and smoky makeup, make me look kind of punk rock.
“Brilliant,” I exclaim, spinning around on the toes and beaming at Blake. “Thank you so much.”
Blake nods. He doesn’t smile, but he looks less frowny than usual as he surveys me from head to toe. “Now, if you feel the need, you’ll be able to run away.”
“You wanna wear my pumps?” I say, waving at the abandoned shoes. “They’ll make your calves look great.”
This time, there is the barest hint of a quirk to his lip. “No, thank you.”
“Your loss,” I reply, spinning back to have another look in the mirror. The hair is still an issue, but Magnus is working on that.
I pull out my phone, snap a picture of my skirt and legs, and tweet it with the caption When your bodyguard wants you to be comfortable in interviews #squadgoals.
Since my YouTube blew up, my Twitter blew up with it, and I’ve got about a million followers now. I try to tweet at least twice a day. Magnus tried to get me to get Instagram, too, but I don’t take very good pictures. With content like this, I don’t need to.
Magnus returns within a few minutes, and when he sees my boots, he smiles. “That’s one way to do it.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’ve got you on Twitter notifications, Natalie.”
Aww!
The makeup girl is nice about the fact she’s being asked to do my hair again, and on a time crunch, too, as I’m supposed to be on in a few minutes. She pulls my hair out of the up-do, and since it’s a bit hard from the hair spray, braids it down my back for a Katniss Everdeen look. I apologize over and over while she’s doing the extra work, and when she’s done, I give her a big hug.
Finally, I’m ready to go on.
It occurs to me as I’m walking down the hall toward the soundstage that I’m not as nervous as I had been. I’ve still got Blake’s cube, and I’m idly playing with it as I walk. My feet are heavy but much more comfortable than they would have been in the pumps. My head doesn’t hurt from where the hair was pulling at it anymore. Overall, I feel pretty good—like I’m going to crush this.
Magnus joins me on the long walk to the soundstage with Blake taking up the rear. When I glance behind, I see him with his arms crossed over his chest and his bare feet make soft pattering noises on the smooth linoleum. He looks kind of cute like that. The bare feet humanize him a bit.
When our eyes meet, I give him another grateful smile. He nods, before quickly looking away and surveying a group of interns who are watching excitedly as our little group passes.
I’ve had a bodyguard for over a week, but this is the first time I’ve felt safe.