Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Seriously? Based on something I said ten minutes ago?”
“This is moving at the speed of light. I cannot stress that enough.”
“I can’t . . . wow.” Melody was winded. She didn’t really care about how quickly the internet could turn something into an inside joke but was desperately trying to focus on the phenomenon of it all, because otherwise she would have to acknowledge . . . #MelodyIsABeatSimp. Oh no. Oh God. “So . . . the main draw is . . .”
“At this very moment? Your obvious crush on Beat,” Danielle finished, finally locking her phone. “There is a clip of you circulating from the dressing room. You’re talking about him and . . . it’s obvious there is something there.” Melody started to turn around to look at Beat through fresh eyes, now that she’d been dealt the blow of this humiliating information, but Danielle stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I’m telling you this off camera, because I truly don’t think you’re aware of how you look at him. Or speak about him. And while my job is to grab views, I like you. I’m giving you a heads-up, in case you want to . . . temper yourself.”
“Thank you,” Melody managed, her voice just above a whisper.
It was no longer a mystery why Beat had put up a wall between them. He had been looking at his phone on the ride to the gala, occasionally pressing the speaker to his ear. He’d clearly seen and heard her gushing about him, like a lovesick schoolgirl.
He didn’t feel the same. Obviously. Obviously.
Why would he? Not only was he leaps and bounds out of her league, but he also hadn’t spent the last fourteen years pining over a romanticized version of her. She was the anomaly here, just like she’d always been.
Danielle stepped closer, settling a hand on her arm. “Mel—”
“Thanks for letting me know,” Melody interrupted, stepping back and bumping into something. “Oh! I’m sorry.”
The blond man she’d collided with did a half turn. “It’s—” His gaze widened slightly beneath his mask. “It’s fine. Tight quarters in here, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Mic back on, Mel,” Danielle called.
“Right.” Melody did as she was told, even though her fingers were numb. Was her face visibly boiling? Felt like it. Felt like she’d dipped it in a bowl of melted candle wax. She told herself not to look over at Beat, but she couldn’t help it. Eyebrows drawn, he stared at her over the heads of the milling crowd, as if to ask what Danielle had wanted. What was she going to tell him? Ugh, didn’t he already know?
“They’ve opened the doors,” said the blond man, offering her his arm. “May I escort you in? My date has gotten lost in the wilds of the women’s bathroom.” He winked at her. “Platonic date.”
Melody really didn’t want to link arms with this man. Not after he’d winked and emphasized the word “platonic.” Yuck. But she was also a balloon broken free of its bunch in that moment, and she needed something on which to tie her string. Moreover, she wanted to let Beat off the hook. He was probably dreading having to escort her in himself and she didn’t want to make him do that. Nor did she want to spawn any more hashtags with her embarrassing display of affection for someone she’d met for approximately six minutes as a teenager.
“Sure,” she said quickly, hooking her arm through the stranger’s.
Up ahead, the entrance to the ballroom beckoned, the graceful swell of more stringed instruments reaching out from within. Once again, she tried to avoid making eye contact with Beat, but he was standing in their path and despite the crowd surging around him, he remained still, watching her approach on the man’s arm. Vaguely, she was aware of the camera that was fastened on the proceedings and wondered what the actual hell she’d been thinking saying yes to a live streamed reality show in the first place. Half a day into the process and she’d already exposed herself. Reverted straight back into an awkward teenager.
They drew even with Beat, and Melody craned her neck, as if admiring the shimmering garland framing the ballroom entrance. Just keep walking. Just keep walking—
“Mel,” Beat said, his laugh humorless, his focus far too intent on her face, which had to be the color of a plum tomato. “You ditching me or what?”
Before she could answer, the blond man stuck out his left hand to Beat. “Beat Dawkins. I thought that was you. How have you been, buddy?”
Mel watched in fascination as Beat straightened his shoulders and executed the handshake, his mouth arranging itself into a winning smile. “Can’t complain, Rick. How about you? How is that drive coming along?”
“Mastered it, thanks to my golf pro.” He shook his finger at Beat. “I’ll get you back out on the green one of these days. Come to the club as my guest.”