Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
My heart races with optimism.
“There’s a picture.”
A picture? “Of what?”
“You and Noah. Him.”
“Okay…” Finally, I lean back slowly in my ungodly uncomfortable chair, crossing my arms, ready to listen. “Explain.”
“In the tabloids.”
“What tabloids?”
“All of them.”
Huh? “That makes no sense whatsoever. No one saw us out.”
Well…that’s not entirely true. I think about the men and women who were at Mason’s last night, slyly taking photos of us. The man who approached our table for an autograph, the one Noah politely snubbed. The young woman in the bathroom with me who clearly wanted to ask me questions, but was too afraid to actually do so.
Leaving early. Sneaking out with our leftovers. Ducking into the car as a few cameramen stood across the street waiting for a rare shot of Noah Harding on a date.
He explained that to me after we got into the car—how someone inside must have called the press, or paps, and probably got paid for the tip, which happens too often. More so if he’s caught out with a woman, which almost never happens.
“I haven’t been on a date.”
“Since when?” I asked.
“Since ever.”
“You’ve never been on a date? Ever?”
“No.” His eyes were glued to the road, listening for the navigation system’s directions, fingers clenching the wheel.
“But you’ve been out with women before.”
“Sure. When I go out, there are almost always women.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I assumed he meant groupies, though neither of us spoke the words.
He glanced over at me then. “They just show up. I don’t date them.”
“You just…” Sleep with them? I didn’t have the courage to ask—but then I didn’t have to, because he nodded.
“Yes, but I’m not… I don’t like it.”
“You don’t like sex?”
He shook his head. “I like sex, I just don’t like how women act.” His grip on the wheel got tighter.
“How do women act?”
His wide shoulders shrugged. “Like…I don’t know. They don’t want relationships. They just want what they can get from me. Or not.”
He sounded sad and jaded and lost.
It made me think he’s only been used because of his career, and my heart broke a bit listening to what he wasn’t saying, my arm reaching across the space so my hand could slide across the smooth plane of his deltoids and brush the hairline at the nape of his neck.
“So do you want a relationship?” Is that what he’d been saying? I wondered.
“I…” He tightened his lips, pressing them together, the small scar on his jawline turning rather white against his tan skin. “I…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
I didn’t want to press him—it was only our first date and it was none of my business.
“Someone must have seen you out, because there’s a not-so-nice write-up on some trashy blog, with a picture—you look gorg, by the way, love that dress—”
“Aww, thank you!”
“Focus, Miranda—this is not about the dress.”
“Sorry.” Jeez.
“And it’s not the picture that’s terrible because it’s you and him, but it’s the caption and I don’t want you to see it yet. So please just don’t go searching hashtags or looking for it.”
“But—”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay, but wouldn’t you want to see it if it were you?”
My best friend pauses. “Look, I’m trying to do you a favor and maybe now is a good time to hire me as your publicist.”
Publicist?
The thing is, she sounds dead serious. “Are you high?” What the hell do I need a publicist for?
“Of course I’m not high! I want to make this go away for you!”
“Make what go away?! You won’t let me look at the internet!”
“Because it will make you sick!” She practically yells it into the phone. “God I want to crush somebody’s balls for this—that’s what I want to do!”
Drama queen.
“Oh come on, how bad could it be? So they published a picture of us—so what?” I do my best to come off as blasé, though that excited flutter that was growing in my stomach earlier is starting a slow spiral of dread.
Claire is incensed. “Did you not hear what I said? I said the picture is fine—you both look adorable, all cutesy-giggling at each other.” She makes a gagging sound in her throat. “It’s the captions and the story that go along with it that I don’t want you to see.”
This gives me pause. “Do you think Noah has seen it?”
“I guarantee you he has.” She scoffs. “Please, that dude has people working for him whose job it is to keep up with this shit.”
“Then…” I glance out the window to my right, out at the red brick building across the street, the one with the bright blue door. “Why hasn’t he called me? Because I haven’t heard from him since this morning when he left.”
“Maybe he’s waiting.”
“For what?”
Claire is quiet. “I don’t know.”
“How bad is it, dramatics and hysterics aside?” I need to know because I’m going to look and nothing she can say will stop me, but I do want to be prepared.