Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Poor Rachel’s endured some death threats recently, so she’s here with her devoted and stoic bodyguard Frank Farmer—former Secret Services detail for the President of the United States.”
There’s a tittering in the crowd. People are starting to get it.
I look at Kat and my heart squeezes. “Babe,” I say. “Please don’t leap to conclusions. It’s not what you think. Just enjoy the poker chip.”
“Under Frank’s watchful eye, Rachel’s agreed to sing her signature song for us. A heartfelt rendition that’s sure to make you weep.”
The place is going crazy all around us.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. You already sold your house. You didn’t want me to know you were moving here?”
“So let’s hear it for Rachel Marron everyone!”
Everyone in the bar hoots and screams.
“You’re not excited to live in the same city with me? To see each other every day? You don’t wanna go to the dry cleaners and the fish market?”
“Looks like she’s feeling shy, folks. Let’s get her up here, huh? To perform her classic hit, ‘I Will Always Love You!’”
The place explodes with excitement.
But Kat looks like a wounded deer in headlights right now.
My heart is breaking. What have I done?
“Babe, you’re totally misunderstanding the situation,” I say. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now it’s poker chip time. Enjoy it. This is your biggest fantasy.”
“Come on, Rachel!” the DJ calls. “Come on up here with your bodyguard!”
Kat looks down at the poker chip in her palm, a pained look in her eyes, and it’s abundantly clear acting out her bodyguard fantasy is the last thing on her mind.
I pull the scarf out of my pants and hold it up, trying to make her smile. My heart is beating a mile a minute. I’ve fucked up. Oh, fuck me, I’ve royally fucked up. I’ve got to get control of the situation. Make it better. I’ve got to charm her back to being Happy Kat.
“Remember the last scene of the movie—when Whitney wears the scarf on her head?” I coo. “I brought the scarf for you, babe. So you could look just like her.”
Kat’s dumbstruck. She looks at the poker chip in her hand again, tears filling her eyes.
“Kat, come on—be my Whitney, baby. I’ve got it all planned. We’re doing the song here and then I rented an entire laser tag place for the six of us. It’ll be everyone else against you and me, baby, all night long—I’ll protect you. I’ll be your bodyguard.”
“Rachel?” the DJ says. “Are you coming or not? Your fans are waiting. Last chance.”
“Sing here, then laser tag, and then I’ll take you home and let my feelings override my stoic sense of duty.” I smile, trying my damnedest to charm her.
“Rachel? Last call.”
She abruptly snatches the scarf out of my hand, wraps it around her head a la Whitney, and marches in a huff toward the stage, determined.
Thank God. She’s playing along. This is gonna be okay. That’s my girl. She’ll understand when I explain it to her. She’ll totally understand. I let out a huge sigh of relief, slide my sunglasses on, and follow my beautiful Whitney to the stage, my heart pounding in my ears.
38
KAT
Everyone in the place is cheering and banging on their tables. But I’m in a daze. I can’t think straight. Josh is moving to Seattle? That’s incredibly awesome news. I’m ecstatic about it. But why didn’t he tell me about it? Was he planning to surprise me—the way he burst into his bathroom wearing a ski mask?
Josh places a chair at center stage for me—and I position myself onto it exactly the way Whitney sits on a chair in the snow in the music video—and then Josh fusses with the scarf around my head, making it Whitney-with-a-broken-heart-on-the-private-airplane-perfect, and everyone in the place laughs and hoots, totally loving the set-up. When he’s done with me, Josh turns to the audience and makes a big point of sweeping the crowd for snipers and wackjobs—and everyone slurps him up like a tray of Jell-O shots.
The music starts.
I’m in automatic pilot. I’ve heard this song ten million times. I don’t even need to think to sing it.
There’s got to be a logical explanation why Josh didn’t tell me about his move that has nothing to do with him intending to break up with me when he moves here. He had to have his reasons. Good reasons. The fact that he didn’t tell me doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be with me. There’s got to be another logical reason. But I can’t think what it could be. What other reason could there possibly be except that Josh doesn’t want to be with me when he moves to Seattle?
Tears fill my eyes. Why doesn’t he want to be with me? I want to be with him more than anything. More than I want literally anything else. I think it’s fair to say I want to be with Josh more than I want to breathe.