Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“And Adrian?”
“Heard something about a party at Teegan’s … or was that last night? My mom might be home, if you wanna—”
The news van slowly rounds the corner just as I poke my head above the Mustang to see if the coast is clear. It is definitely not. Even if I ran now, I’d be followed. And if there’s anyone on this isle I don’t want to piss off, it’s the cranky, sailor-mouthed firecracker that is Skipper, Kent, and Adrian’s mom: Eden. Something tells me she wouldn’t appreciate me leading a mob of crazies to her front door.
“Need us to lead them away?” asks Skip.
I look at him. “Really?”
“Yeah. We can throw them off the scent. Then you can head to my mom’s. Should be safe. Is this about the whole island lover thing, by the way?”
“What the fuck is that?” I blurt out, now having heard it twice. “Island lover??”
“Something about a celebrity who’s hiding out here in Dreamwood, found himself an island lover, I dunno, didn’t really read the whole thing.”
I knew it. The worst happened.
I’m on the internet. Pasted across the pages.
My name has to be out there, too. Face as well, since random people at the beach recognized me.
Everyone knows now …
“Why’re you breathing funny?” asks Skipper. “You’re acting like it’s you or something.”
“Dude!” cries out one of his friends, poking a finger at his phone, then turning his wide eyes to me. “Dude!”
Skipper gives his friend’s phone half a second of his attention before steeling himself, asking nothing further, and nudging his friends—who appear to understand him perfectly through dude-telepathy, I guess.
The group of skaters head out toward the street. “Hey, miss!” one of his pals shouts.
“I saw him!” shouts another of his friends.
“Yeah!” chimes in the next from the curb. “He went that way, the dude you’re looking for in the—” He checks. “—the bright-ass gay hoodie! Down that street, toward the causeway!”
“Took off running barefoot!”
“Yeah, lady! Can’t miss him!”
“Probably running off the island as fast as he can!” agrees his other friend. “Fuckin’ crazy guy!”
A moment passes. The rumble of the van fading down the street.
Then Skip nods at me. “Now’s your shot, man.”
“I owe you,” I tell him before taking off on my poor, screaming feet, rounding the corner and making my way.
I only make it a block when a hand darts out of the shadows, hooks my elbow, and—before I can even shout a word of protest—yanks me off the sidewalk and in through the side door of El Amado.
Chapter 17 - River
The noise is growing louder outside the bungalow.
Two news vans. Or is that a third one across the street? Crowd of onlookers with their phones out like they’re front row at a concert. Each time I move toward the window, I swear I see cameras stir and flash even in broad daylight.
Hope they’re catching my pretty side.
“No, that doesn’t help me or my client at all,” snaps Anya on the phone, pacing the hallway. “Get me Elijah. Get me Kumar. Did you hear me before? I sent the link and article to both of you. Yes, CC’ed to Diana. Oh, really? Is that how incompetent they’re pretending to be today? Then get me her number and I’ll do it my damned self.”
She’s taking a note from Cissy Sees, from the sound of it. I should give that show a fair chance when I’m right in the head. I was serious that that actor is primed to explode the industry apart come the awards season.
And I don’t mean exploding in the way I am right now.
For every wrong reason in the damned book.
“Wait, say that again?” Anya listens intently. Then she turns my way for half a second, eyes wide, before darting over to her tablet at the table. She sighs. “Fuck me …”
I come to the archway between the living room and the kitchen, arms crossed. “What? They dig up my high school senior portrait? Those braces did me no favors …”
“Finn Hopewell,” she reads, then looks at me, her eyes hardening. “Your ‘island lover’.”
My stomach plummets through the floor. I rush to the tablet, side-by-side with Anya.
Actor River Wolfe Escapes to Texas Beach Town for Island Lover Amid Hollywood Scandal.
First thing below the headline: the familiar pic of Finn leaving the bungalow, squished next to a totally new shot of us at that secluded beach, him straddling me, the side of my face visible as it’s emerging from underneath his shirt.
It was such an intimate, beautiful moment between us.
And now it’s ripped out of the privacy of Cottonwood Cove and pasted over the front page of this filthy article.
For everyone to fucking see.
“Riv?” prompts Anya, worried.
I rush to the kitchen sink and immediately un-eat every bit of my breakfast. Then every bit of my lunch. Until I’m sure there is nothing left inside of me but heartache. And as far as I know, there’s no way to un-eat your heart.