Page 44 of From LA to London, With Love

“So, when we get out of the car, they’ll usher us over to a holding area, where we’ll wait until they tell us. Once we’re on the red carpet, there’ll be heaps of photographers taking photos, people asking for autographs, and the media wanting to do interviews as well. We’ll have to spend some time out there. Hopefully, it won't be too boring for you. If you hate it, let me know, and you can go into the theater ahead of me. Before the film begins, I’ll go on stage with the director and some of my colleagues, but then I’ll come back and sit with you as soon as that’s over. We don’t actually need to stay for the film, so if you hate it, or you think the lead actor is terrible”—I gave her a wink—“we can leave. If the film hasn’t sent you to sleep, there is an afterparty at Glamorama we can go to, but that’s not mandatory either, so let’s just play it by ear.”

My quick rundown hadn't had the desired effect. Sophie was staring at me with wide eyes, a facial expression similar to how Elliot looked when Alfie barked too close to him—terrified.

“You’ll be great,” I said, this time squeezing her hand.

“I hope so.” Sophie managed a weak smile, and then her tone turned playful. “Jenny actually gave me some red carpet posing tips yesterday!” Sophie said, doing an exaggerated pout, sticking her chest out as far as she could, and putting her hands in front of her like a squirrel. “This one is the T-Rex, which Jenny assures me will land me a modeling gig immediately. I’m planning to do a couple of T-Rex’s and an over the shoulder”—she dramatically flung her head back—“then sit back and wait for the offers to start flowing in!”

* * *

Lights flashed, and everyone’s eyes were on me. But this time, instead of panic sweeping through my body, I was calm. I had Sophie next to me.

Despite her jitters and slightly disturbing T-Rex imitation in the car, Sophie was posing like a pro next to me. If she was nervous, it didn’t show. She looked stunning and completely relaxed as she smiled at the cameras, her hand on her hip. I kept fighting the urge to hold her hand or put my arm around her waist.

That’s what you do on the red carpet with women you’re actually dating, Chris, not Sophie.

That reminded me of Sophie’s date, which I’d been trying not to think about. But now, I couldn’t shake the thought. Had they hooked up? Had there been a second, or even third, date by now? My stomach dropped.

Why don’t you just ask her about it? After all, we’re friends, and friends talk about this sort of stuff…right? And that way, you can get it out of your system. The desire to know what had happened became too strong to ignore.

“So, how was your date?” I whispered as we made our way down the red carpet, stopping regularly for photos. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. Sure, friends talked about dating, but maybe now, with the cameras focused on us, wasn’t the best time.

“It went well, but it just didn’t feel right,” she whispered back, a strange look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” But I wasn’t. It annoyed me how happy I was to hear that. Stop being so selfish, you idiot. You should want her to be happy. I did, I just wished it was with me.

A photographer waved at me to pose for her. Before I realized what I was doing, I’d put my hand on the small of Sophie’s back to lead her over. She didn’t flinch, but she did glance up at me, smiling. For a moment, our eyes locked, and my insides turned to goo. Was it my imagination, or did she stand closer to me for the next pose?

After the photographer had finished, Sophie looked at me again, another unfamiliar look in her eyes. “I saw the photos of you and Clare. How are things going with her?” she murmured.

I groaned and rolled my eyes, forgetting the cameras on us. Whoops, hopefully no one captured that. “Nothing’s going on between us. As usual, the tabloids made the whole thing up. Clare’s not my type.”

“Really?” Sophie asked. “She’s stunning. If she isn’t your type, who on earth is? I thought Clare would be everyone’s type!”

“She’s lovely, but we don’t have a lot in common. For example, I don’t know if you noticed at the set visit, but she was going on about private jets, which wasn’t exactly the most exciting topic of conversation. We’re just very different people. My type is…well, someone who has shared interests—like cooking, traveling, hiking—someone I feel comfortable being myself around, who can see past the fame and likes me for me. Someone…well, someone like you. Just not gay, obviously.”

The last few words spilled out of my mouth without thinking.

Shit, shit, shit.

As soon as I muttered them, I wished I hadn’t. I’d just insinuated that I was into her. Would it make things weird? Oh god. Maybe she didn’t hear me over the noise of the crowd. My mind raced, so much so that I almost didn’t process her response.

Sophie looked at me, stunned.

“I’m not gay, Chris. I’m queer. Bi. I like men and women,” she said quietly.

I looked into her big, brown eyes, her crimson lips slightly parted, and felt an electric current run through us. This time, I was sure I wasn’t imagining it. The chemistry was real. And it was mutual.

Oh damn. My heart felt like it might explode. I had the sudden urge to have a “Tom Cruise on Oprah’s couch” moment, to fist pump or do something with the adrenaline that was pouring through my veins. She wasn’t gay. And she was into me.

Cameras flashed and fans yelled for autographs, but for a second, I was oblivious to it all. Oblivious to everyone and everything except Sophie. I wanted to pull her to me there and then and kiss her like I’d been wanting to do for months.

Calm down, Chris. Do you really want to give the media a present like that after what they’ve put you through? The last thing you want is to go in for a kiss, only for her to reject you and have it all captured on camera.

Instead, I tentatively put out my hand.

* * *

SOPHIE