I feel sick.
“What does it say?” Tegan asks. She pulls it over, then curses. “Ignore it,” she says, trying to stuff it in her bag. “They make this stuff up all the time.”
I snatch it out of her grip and flip back, reading aloud. “Sources say Blake and Lila have been inseparable. ‘The chemistry is crazy between them, it’s obvious to everyone on set that they’re more than just friends.’”
I stare at the photos. Is this why Blake has been hiding our relationship? Because he secretly has feelings for Lila too?
“No,” Tegan says firmly, reading my mind. She yanks the magazine away. “Don’t even think about it. This is just stupid journalists making stuff up to sell copies.”
“But what if it’s true?” I lift my eyes to Tegan, struck with a sudden fear.
All this time, I’ve been so focused on winning Blake over, I never thought for one moment about what would happen after.
What if I won the man of my dreams—only to find he doesn’t really want me after all?
15.
I go crazy trying not to think about the gossip articles, but I don’t hear from Blake for the rest of the day, so I send him an awkward text.
Still good to hang tonight?
I wait anxiously for a reply. I hate that I’ve become this girl: taking ten minutes to compose the perfect casual message, when really I want to walk right up to him and demand “What do I mean to you?”
I flop back on my bed. I can’t resist googling him on my phone—and finding a long list of gossip blogs all cooing breathlessly about him and Lila. I groan. Maybe if I’d had more experience with guys I wouldn’t feel so lost, but Blake was always the only man I wanted experience with. I imagined what it would be like to date him a million times over, but somehow, in my daydreams of us together, I never pictured being tangled up in such a mess of insecurity.
Wanting him so much, but having too much distance between us to really connect.
Seeing glimpses of his warmth and affection, and then him acting like I don’t exist.
Something’s holding him back. He’s sending so many mixed messages, it makes me crazy inside. But I don’t want to be the clingy, needy girlfriend all of a sudden. Tegan’s right: we’ve technically been dating less than a week, and if it was anyone other than Blake, I would be laughing this off. In Paris, I flirted and dated like crazy, keeping guys waiting, showing up late and blowing them off if I felt like an evening in front of the TV instead.
But Blake isn’t any other guy. It’s impossible to separate all the years of our friendship—of me wanting more—from what’s happening now. And if it all goes wrong…
I’m struck with a sudden dread. I’ve been ignoring just how much is on the line here. If he doesn’t want to be with me, then what happens? Will I have to swallow my heartache every time I see him? Not be a part of the Callahan family anymore?
These people mean the world to me. I always knew it was a risk, crossing the line with him, but now the possible consequences shake me to my core. There’s so much more than just our relationship at stake here.
I check my phone again. No reply.
What the hell are you doing, Zoey? A voice scolds me sternly. Waiting around on some guy?
If you want an answer, you have to ask him a question.
If you want more than this, you need to make it clear.
I get up. A sudden surge of determination burns hot in my veins. I don’t want to rush Blake, but if he’s having second thoughts about this, or regrets that it even happened, then I need to know.
I’ve already spent long enough waiting on him. I’m not going to waste any more time.
I pull on a sweater, grab my bag, and drive over to the beach house. Dex answers the door, dressed in his usual uniform of jeans and a vintage band T-shirt. “Hey,” he smiles, looking surprised to see me. “Come on in. You’ve got good timing,” he adds. “Blake’s been stomping around in a temper all evening. Maybe you can cheer him up.”
I blush. Does this mean he knows about us? “Did he see the gossip magazines?” I ask, following Dex into the living area.
“Magazines?” Dex looks blank.
“Oh. Nothing. Just more tabloid stuff,” I quickly say.
He snorts, picking up his guitar. “What are they saying this time? According to some blog, Alicia dumped me for having a threesome with two models, that’s why she’s off in New York and I’m in rehab. You shouldn’t believe a word of it,” he adds darkly.
“I know. Tegan said the same thing.” I look around anxiously. “Is Blake…?”
“In the music room,” Dex nods down the hall. “Tell him I’m going to order pizza, if he’s allowed to eat carbs. I swear, he’s been so vain about prepping for those shirtless scenes, working out at dawn.”
I smile. “If he doesn’t, I’ll eat for the both of us.”
Dex chuckles. “I can always depend on you!”
I head down the hall to the room at the far side of the house. It’s a small, glass-walled conservatory that Dex uses for his song-writing, with a piano and some comfy couches. Now, Blake is pacing the room like a caged animal, talking loudly on his phone.
“…But what does this mean? Do they want to do reshoots? Dammit, Josh, what the fuck have you been telling me all this time?” He pauses, still pacing. “I can’t stay calm! Everything was riding on this, and now you say because of one shitty screening—”