Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Hell no. After threatening to make me sleep outside, she finally offered me the couch—which is too short for me. My legs are all cramped up today.”
“You’ll live,” Veronica said cheerfully. “Try to see things from her perspective. She was probably trying to escape from being a celebrity and just be a regular person for a couple weeks.”
“But you don’t get to be a regular person if you want to be famous,” I insisted. “Why is that so hard to understand?”
“It’s not hard to understand, but it might be hard to live that way,” Veronica said gently. “Imagine being surrounded by tons of people all the time who want a piece of you, but who don’t really care. That has to be strange and lonely.”
“Stop taking her side,” I complained, even as my heart tugged a little in Kelly’s direction. “She’s mean to me.”
Veronica laughed. “Poor Xander. But lots of people are mean to her too. Adelaide and I were looking at her Instagram earlier, and some people are just flat-out rude in the comments.”
“She’s not supposed to be posting on social media anyway,” I said gruffly. “But she pays no attention to anything I say. And she tried to ditch me this morning.”
“She did?”
“Yes! Took off in her car when I was in the bathroom.”
Veronica laughed again. “How far did she get?”
“Not far at all—a Starbucks up the road. That’s where the photo you saw was taken. She got recognized inside the place, so someone probably followed us out and snapped it.”
“Well, I’d love to meet her,” said Veronica. “Why don’t you bring her over this weekend?”
“Because we’re not friends, Roni. She’s just a job.” I said the words, but somehow they rang a little false. I sort of liked her.
And dammit, I wanted her to like me.
“Well, if you change your mind, we’re planning to throw some stuff on the grill around four tomorrow, and you’re both more than welcome. Adelaide would lose her mind if she got to meet Pixie Hart. And at least here you know she’d be safe and maybe even stay off social media.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, eyeballing the front door again. “Thanks for the help at the bar. I owe you.”
After we hung up, I immediately opened Instagram and looked at Pixie Hart’s most recent post. It was a photo she must have taken shortly after arriving here yesterday. I groaned—the house was right behind her, the numbers above the door slightly blurry but definitely visible above her head. Her face was tilted toward the sun, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed, her lips curved into a smile. She looked natural and radiant and happy.
At first, I didn’t see anything rude in the comments at all.
U r so pretty!!!
OMG I love ur top!
ILYSM!!!
ILYSM? What the fuck did that mean? I scrolled further.
Then I saw what Veronica meant. There were terrible comments about not only her music but her body, her face, her clothes, her former relationship with Duke Pruitt. I clicked on a few more photos in her feed and saw more of the same—mostly love and praise, but also a fuck ton of rudeness. My jaw tightened and my body temperature began to rise.
Why did people think they had the right? How did these assholes get through a day without being punched in the face? What made a person think it was okay to be openly cruel like that?
And if you knew people were going to act like this, why would you continue to put yourself out there? Why open yourself up to bored, miserable jackasses who had nothing better to do than spew their hate? Was her skin thick enough to withstand it day after day?
I looked again at the photo—no makeup, no stage lights, no sequins or glitter, her freckles clearly visible—and felt sorry for her. Beneath the fame and glittery façade, she was a human being like anyone else. Was Veronica right? Was she lonely? My chest tightened.
Deciding it was my protective instincts kicking up a notch, I navigated away from her account and did a quick search for #pixiehart and #hartthrob. Sure enough, the barista from this morning had posted the selfie immediately, along with the location. I frowned as I scanned the comments.
OMG where is this exactly?
WHATTTTTT she’s here???
Not me getting in my car and driving 8hrs just to meet her.
A text arrived from Veronica—the link to the photo of Kelly and me in the coffee shop parking lot. It wasn’t on a fan’s social media account like I thought it might be, but a tabloid website called Splash that boasted the “Latest Celebrity News, Pictures, and Gossip.”
Great. Now I was gossip.
Actually, I wasn’t identified in the photo, but despite Kelly’s big sunglasses, she was totally recognizable. To make things worse, the shot had been taken from an angle that showed the back of the minivan . . . and her license plates. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “Could she make finding her any easier?”