Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 92422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Within seconds of Colby dropping down beside me, a waitress arrives to take our drink order and rattle off the house specials. I’m barely paying attention. As nice as these people seem, I just want to get this over with and get out of here.
“So, Britt. Tell us about yourself,” his mom encourages before glancing at her son. Speculation dances in her eyes as if she’s excited by the prospect of him settling down. “Colby hasn’t been very forthcoming regarding the details of your relationship.”
I flick a beseeching look at him, hoping he’ll jump in and rescue me.
I have no idea what to tell her.
It certainly won’t be the truth.
As I mentally fumble for an answer, a middle-aged couple stops by the table. The man’s gaze encompasses all four of us before settling on Gray.
“Hello, Mr. McNichols. I apologize for interrupting your dinner, but I was wondering if we could get an autograph and quick photo. I’m a huge fan. Way back to when you played for Hillsdale University.”
By the expression on Gray’s face, he’d prefer to decline the request. It’s almost a surprise when he rises to his feet with a nod.
“Sure. No problem.” He glances at his wife and his expression softens. “Hillsdale University…that was a long time ago. Wasn’t it, Whit?”
Her lips bow up in response. “Almost another lifetime.”
That interaction lasts for about five minutes as the man launches into a story about his son playing high school hockey. Just as Gray wraps up the conversation, saying goodnight to the man and his wife, someone else wanders over.
And then a few kids who are excited to meet an NHL legend.
I have to hand it to Gray McNichols. He’s patient and kind when talking with fans. I know exactly what it’s like to want to say no.
To enjoy a rare bit of privacy.
Normalcy.
But you can’t do that.
Because then you’re a stuck-up bitch who doesn’t care about her fans or remember where she came from.
Before you know it, someone looking for their fifteen minutes in the spotlight comes out of the woodwork to tell an obscure story that proves exactly what a conceited C U Next Tuesday you are. Most of the time, they’re flat-out lies or some twisted version that no longer resembles the truth.
A few years ago, my childhood neighbors wrote a tell-all book about what it was like to watch me grow up. Not only was it creepy, but a total invasion of privacy. It hurt even more because we’d been close to them.
“Would you mind if I took a group shot?”
Dread coils tight in the pit of my belly as a fresh wave of nerves crashes over me. My chair scrapes against the wood as I shove it away from the table and jerk to my feet. “I’ll be right back. I'm, ah, going to the restroom.”
I walk away before the guy can pull his phone out and snap away. When you’re in the public eye, suddenly there are no boundaries. Even if I said no, he might have taken one anyway.
The backdoor of the restaurant catches my eye on the way to the bathroom. For a second or two, I consider sneaking out and taking off. I’m sure Fallyn or Ava would come to my rescue if I needed them.
Hell, I’ll ride share home, if that’s what it takes.
I shove through the door, grateful to find the small room empty. My hands bite into the smooth porcelain of the sink as I stare back at my reflection. Beneath the bright lights, my skin has been leached of all color.
Even though I tell myself that I’m panicking for no reason, it does nothing to alleviate my concerns.
Deep breath in and then slowly out.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
I study my face in the mirror, looking for similarities.
There are none.
None that are a dead giveaway.
I don’t resemble my alter ego in the slightest.
My hair, makeup, and clothing are different.
Everything has been transformed.
And yet…I’m still living in fear.
It only takes one person to make a comment.
Even as a joke.
When my phone chimes with an incoming message, I slip it from my pocket and glance at the screen.
You okay?
As much as I want to hide out indefinitely, that’s not possible.
I need to get back.
If fans are still snapping pics, I’ll sneak out the back door. Then I’ll shoot Colby a text and tell him that I didn’t feel well.
It’s not a total lie.
It’s just not the truth.
Decision made, I slip from the bathroom only to find the guy who has been a constant on my mind leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
A squeak escapes from me as my heart riots against my ribcage. “What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you didn’t ditch me.”
I snort, unable to believe that he can read me with such ease. It’s disconcerting. “Please. Like I’d do something like that.”