Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Hmm. He has a good point there. “But then again, if he asked directly, it’s not like I’d help.”
“Good,” Banks says, glancing around the empty kitchen before he steps closer. “You deserve someone who appreciates every single thing about you and the place you love.”
My heart spins a little faster. Like it did when someone walked my dog again this morning. Then, my brain blurs into a hazy shade of summer as Banks loops an arm around my waist and drops a long, slow, passionate kiss to my lips.
When he breaks it, my head’s still a little dizzy, so I blame the endorphins for the next thing I say: “Tell me you’re possessive without telling me you’re possessive.”
He smirks. “I believe I just did.”
We take off for Haven’s hotel, so I can hang out with her in her room as she gets ready for her afternoon shoot.
“I’m so sorry,” Haven says as she’s putting lotion on her bare legs. “I know you don’t like your pic being taken.”
I wave a hand as I sit on the bed. “It’s fine.”
Really it is. The picture’s been taken. It’s out there. But one thing nags at me. “You really don’t mind that people are this obsessed with you?”
“It’s not me. It’s all about Chris,” she says, deflecting.
But that’s not entirely true. “Haven. You’re not a nobody. The Dating Games did pretty well. Do I need to remind you?”
She smiles kindly, and I flash back to the night I met Banks at the San Francisco hotel, when that rando guy who looked like a douchey boss in a Christmas rom-com hit on me. He couldn’t quite place her at the time, but he was getting close to her name. That was one of the first times I was confused for her, but I bet it’ll happen more for me soon, and a million times more for her. Which means…the attention’s not at all only about New Chris. It’s about Haven too. “Remember that night in San Francisco when you found out about the film and had to leave early?”
“Of course,” she says as she caps the lotion and sets it down.
“I went to the bar to have a drink and to try to plan everything I’d need to do. To write a to-do list.”
“That’s very you,” she says as she twists her hair up into a knot.
“It is. Anyway, some guy hit on me then. He had this very slick look to him, like he expected women to fall at his feet. Anyway, he said something like Haven’t I seen you in a movie? But he couldn’t figure out what,” I say, then shudder. “He was so sleazy. And that’s only happened to me once. It’s going to happen to you a lot,” I say. It’s a whole new world she’s stepping into with this movie. I worry about her.
“I try not to think about it. And just focus on the work,” she says.
“Right. But you never know what might happen. I mean, that guy at the bar was a creep, but what if I’d run into him in a parking lot? What if you run into a guy like that?”
“Hello! I was raised by Grandma too. I can throw a punch.”
“Me too,” I say, but it’s a little scary to think about—what her life might be like. “Maybe you’ll need more security when you get back to LA. I could talk to Banks about that for you.”
“Maybe. That’s not a bad idea.”
I’m glad she’s open to it, but it’s not just the security issue. It’s the fame issue. “People are going to be obsessed with you.”
She comes over to me, takes my hands. “Which is why I’m so glad I have you and Grandma and our friends from here. Chloe and Bridget. Because at the end of the day, I’m just me. I’m just a girl from Darling Springs.”
“You sound pretty grounded about it.”
“Well, you did make sure I saw a therapist way back when. Years of therapy since then have helped,” she says as she pulls on a tank top over her sports bra. She’ll change into costume on set, she said. They’re shooting outside The Slippery Dipper today.
“Yay, therapy,” I say, upbeat and meaning it, because I’ve gone too. But something else, besides security and fame, keeps sticking in my brain. “For a while I thought maybe you were seeing New Chris.”
Her brow pinches. “And keeping it from you?” She sounds aghast at the suggestion she’d do that.
I shrug, a little embarrassed. “I believed you when you told me you weren’t involved with him, but I did wonder if you were just keeping it close to the vest.”
“I would tell you.”
“I know,” I say, chagrined. “But now that I’ve met him, I can see why you’re not dating him.”
She jerks her gaze back. “What do you mean?”