Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Fyfe—”
I crashed my mouth over hers, swallowing her words, my hand sliding around the nape of her neck to hold her where I wanted her. She tasted of champagne and something that was all Eilidh. Her whimper made my blood flush even hotter as I turned and pressed her up against the building, pushing my body into hers.
Her tongue licked at mine, her arms around my back, fingers curling into my shirt as she moaned and arched her hips against me. I pulled at the silk of her dress, trying to get under it. To feel her wet heat, to sink inside her.
Aye.
Fuck. Aye. I needed that. I wanted it so badly, my heart felt like it was about to explode.
“Eilidh!” The young female voice cut through the haze in my head. “Eilidh!”
Then Eilidh was pushing at my chest.
I forced myself to release her, stumbling back. She stared up at me in shock, lips swollen from my kisses. “That’s Mor,” she whispered.
Shit.
Oh my fucking … what the hell was I doing?
“Eilidh …” Her name came out thick and hoarse as I shoved a hand through my hair and stumbled back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve had too much to drink. That won’t happen again.”
Hurt tightened her features. “Really? You’re pulling the ‘I’m drunk’ card again.”
“Eils—”
“No. You know what? Fuck you, Fyfe Moray.” She pushed off the wall, her heels clicking on the cobbles as she hurried away.
Panic suffused me. “Eilidh!”
I moved to go after her but then saw Mor appear at the end of the lane. Halting, I watched as Eilidh reached her, put an arm around her sister, and pulled her away before she could see me.
“Fuck!” I collapsed against the wall, scrubbing a hand down my face.
In that messed-up moment, something became very clear.
For Eilidh’s sake, I needed to stay the hell away from her.
Fourteen
EILIDH
Present day
Last week the cast and crew of Young Adult held a wrap party at a London hotel. I hadn’t wanted to attend because I didn’t feel welcome by the cast, but the showrunner insisted I celebrate my part in making the show successful.
It was a mistake. Not all the cast were arseholes to me. In fact, most of them weren’t. They understood that I wasn’t just giving up the show. I was giving up my career, and if I was doing that, then this is what I needed. I was grateful to them.
I was devastated that Jasper wasn’t one of them. That my friend who had experienced the craziness of obscurity to instant fame right along with me was acting like a spoiled, entitled, petulant stranger.
He wouldn’t look at me at the party, wouldn’t talk to or acknowledge me. It had been like this on set, but luckily the antagonism had translated well to the screen.
The night before last, I’d returned to my flat to find the door already open and Jasper lounging drunkenly on my sofa.
“What are you doing here?” I’d asked, wary of that nasty look in his eyes.
He’d stood up, wobbling unsteadily as he threw keys at me. I ducked just before they hit my face. “What the fuck?” I cried angrily.
“Just returning your keysh,” he slurred. “Don’t need them no more.”
“Fine. Get out.”
“I protected you!” Jasper yelled, tears filling his eyes. “Anytime you needed me, I protected you and thish is how you repays me?” He swayed, somehow managing to glare and blink rapidly at the same time. “I have nothing without thish show. Wesht End. Thatsh all the offers I’m getting. Fucking Wesht End.”
“Then you should take the offers,” I replied. “Those are good offers. And the other jobs will come in. It just takes time. But I won’t apologize again for choosing to leave. If you were any friend, you’d understand that.”
“I undershtand shit.” He spat at me as he stumbled past. “I undershtand that the pershon I need to get through all thish shit is abandoning me.”
“Jasper, I will never abandon you. I’m always here.”
“Fuck that. You’re already gone.” He slammed out of my flat before I could stop him.
Diana and I spoke about Jasper’s reaction. She’d made me see the narcissism in his response. Deciding I didn’t need anyone making me feel bad about myself when I’d been working so hard for the past nine months to love myself again, I hadn’t gone after him. Maybe it was selfish. But I comforted myself with the knowledge that Jasper was acting even more selfishly.
It was March. I had no jobs lined up. Last month, I’d announced my retirement on social media. Or at least my team had. I didn’t look at the comments. My team would take care of my socials until Young Adult aired and then I could delete myself from all those platforms. The thought filled me with overwhelming relief. Yes, there was this deep-seated fear that I’d never reach the same success in life again (the pressure of having reached the pinnacle of success in my early twenties was not lost on me), but I felt mostly relief. I knew I wouldn’t automatically become some anonymous person. Yet over time, I had hope that most people would forget me. That I could walk down the street without being recognized or stalked by paparazzi.