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his
list,” Benji says. “How is there anyone left in the world who
doesn’t know who I am by now?”
    Nat shifts his eyes toward me and then looks
back at Benji. I hate to tell Mr. Priss but the main reason his
brother wants to hang out with me is because I’m one of the few
girls not screaming in his face. I’m sure it gets old, even
if you’re thankful for the fans.
    “You know, if I have to deal with this shit –
all the special rules and regulations from management – the least
these assholes could do is let me in the VIP section,” Benji
says.
    Nat rests his head on Benji’s shoulder. “I’ll
let you in my VIP section,” he says.
    Benji nudges Nat away and mumbles something
about him not having a VIP section. I’m impressed with Nat’s
unwavering attempts. I wonder if he considers himself to be a
Saturnite. Tank tells Benji to enjoy himself tonight and leaves the
table. He interrupts Noah’s hang out session with some fans and
directs him back to us. Then the Cuban bodyguard makes his way to
the dance floor alone. Big Tony follows Noah back to our table.
    “How are the fangirls?” Nat asks. He pushes
Benji with his arm, and Benji moves around the table enough to give
Noah some room to slide in.
    “They’re fans,” Noah corrects his brother.
“They are fans of the music.”
    “Oh please,” Nat says, holding up a hand to
stop anything else Noah might say. “Fans say things like, ‘Hey, I
loved your last album,’ and talk about their favorite songs.
Fangirls scream, ‘Oh my gahhhh,’ and grab your arm in a flailing
panic. Trust me. I know how it works.”
    I shift my eyes to the door while Nat and
Noah argue over fan wording. Chloe and Milo have made their way
inside, but they stop to talk with Aralie and Jules instead of
joining us.
    “Will you just shut up?” Noah snaps.
    “I’m trying to prove a point,” Nat says. “I
mean, if I was just some normal guy and I saw Benji Baccarini on
the street, I wouldn’t tell him I loved his album. I’d completely
flip out and attack him like a crazed stalker. Tank would have to
pry me off. That’s the difference.”
    Neither Noah nor Benji respond. I doubt this
is the first time they’ve heard something like this out of Nat’s
mouth. Big Tony offers to buy drinks once the Branson sisters,
their boyfriends, and Jules’s bodyguard Cannon arrive at the table.
Noah uses this opportunity to leave my clutch in Milo’s possession
and drag me to the dance floor with him.
    “It was getting a bit crowded,” he says,
pulling me close to him so no one else can hear him. “Plus, Benji’s
about to get drunk, and I don’t want to be responsible for carrying
him out of here.”
    He takes my hand, spins me around, and pulls
me up against him. The music vibrates through the floor. Strobe
lights swirl around us, creating a colorful burst of lightning
across the club. I really don’t care if Benji’s getting drunk or
Milo steals my debit card because Noah’s eyes are too green to want
to look at anything else in this room.

Chapter Six
    Forty-five minutes later, Aralie is on the
dance floor with Nat and Tank, and Milo is signing autographs and
taking selfies around the room. Chloe and Jules seem miserable to
be here, and Benji is way too talkative at our crowded back corner
table.
    “How drunk do you think he is?” Noah asks
before we reach the others. “He’ll end up dancing with my brother
tonight. Just watch. Once he gets drunk enough, he gets pissed
about management’s rules, and all bets are off.”
    I think it’s incredibly sad that Benji has
his own set of rules. I thought after Justin Bieber and One
Direction, management teams would loosen the reins on their
superstars. I don’t see anyone saying that Harry Styles can’t have
a girlfriend, and if I know Harry Styles’s name, then you
know he’s more famous than Benji. I mean, really, what year is it
again? Give the boy some freedom.
    “And Tank told me to enjoy myself,” Benji
mutters