Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Her face says busted, and I honestly don’t mind. “Like I said, you care,” Olivia says. “And I was right, which pleases me to no end. Now, tell me, why do you want him to be affected by you?”
I don’t need to ponder her question as we leave my room. One day after that fierce, angry kiss in the back of a limo, I’ve got the answer. “Because he still does it for me,” I admit.
And that’s very good for our fake boyfriend theater and very bad for my heart.
When we exit the subway and head into the zoo of Times Square, Olivia tells me she’s going to run ahead because Amelia has demanded she come backstage.
“Did she use those exact words? Come backstage?”
“Yes, but she added pretty please.”
“Did you meet your soul mate in Amelia Stone or what?”
“Manners get me in the mood every time,” she says.
“Which would explain why you’re taking off for the theater right now,” I say.
She waves then flies through the crowd, determined to get some, it seems. I don’t rush, though, because I’m not going to show up sweaty and disheveled for the cameras. Or for TJ. But as I weave through the Eighth Avenue foot traffic, I text him that I’m on my way.
Jude: Almost there. I’ve been running lines in my head all day for when I see you. We don’t want to fuck this one up for Daddy. How’s this for a greeting? “Hey there.”
TJ: Brilliant. But who’s giving the cheek and who’s giving the kiss? Details, or Daddy will have a fit.
Jude: If you’re as late as you were at the restaurant, I’ll have to kiss your cheek when you finally saunter in.
TJ: That was a trick question. One, I can be trained, ergo I’m here already at the St. James. Two, you’re the star. Therefore, you offer the cheek, and I kiss it.
I do like his logic. It’s sort of sweet, as if he wants to play the role of the man behind the scenes. As I turn onto Forty-Fourth Street, the shimmering marquee of the St. James beckoning against the March sky, I write back.
Jude: Are you being cheeky?
TJ: LOL!
Jude: Stop the presses. You use Internet abbreviations?
TJ: Take the compliment, Jude.
Jude: Taken. :) I’ll be there in five.
TJ: I’ll be waiting.
My chest flutters at those three words. They’re a little romantic, a little poignant.
Or maybe he’s simply playing his part.
Ugh. I wish I knew what was fake and what was real with him. But I know this—I’d do well to avoid another obsession with him, so I should stop analyzing.
As I near the theater, my phone rings. William’s name flashes on the screen, and I debate whether to pick it up.
12
WHEN WE WERE GOOD, WE WERE REALLY GOOD
Jude
I don’t really have the time for a call, but I have to answer, considering the state William was in when I last saw him. What if I don’t and something happens? Or he breaks more than a hotel room? I step away from the crowds, darting into the doorway of a shuttered store. “Hey, mate. How’s it going?”
I brace myself for the usual lies—everything is great. I swear, I’m fine. I just miss all my friends.
But what I get instead is a deep breath. “Hey. I’m good. Really good. Listen, I wanted to say I’ve been thinking about what you said last time I saw you. When you took me home from the Luxe.”
Hope rises in me. “Yeah?”
“About making changes and whatnot,” he adds as if I don’t recall every word.
“And what are you thinking?” Rehab. Please say rehab.
He’s quiet, but New York’s not. Cabs lurch by, and crowds jabber. Somewhere nearby, a siren wails.
“I’m definitely thinking,” he finally says.
But if he can’t even say the word rehab, he might not be ready to quit drinking. “How’s it going this week? Have you been back at yoga?”
“Oh!” There’s sunny excitement in his voice. “I didn’t tell you?” I wince. Those words rarely mean good news with alcoholics.
“Tell me what?”
“I have been going on the reg. My new yoga teacher is fine as fuck, and we went out last night for a smoothie.”
“Is that code for something?”
“No, it was legit a smoothie. Tonight, we’re going to . . . a bonfire on the beach.”
Bonfires on the beach usually involve bottles. I check the time. “William, I need to take off. I’m due at the theater any minute. But be careful, okay?”
“At the beach? Don’t you worry. I’ll fight off all the sharks.”
“You know what I mean,” I say. Why the fuck won’t anyone else tell him the truth? Why won’t his family, his agent, his other friends? “I want you to think seriously about getting help,” I say, and tough love hurts. It’s gut-wrenching.
“I know you do, Jude. And like I said, I’m thinking about it. I’ll talk to Damian about it.”