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“And you’ll be the one photographing him with his paying fans. From nine to five. Each day.” She attempted to right herself and be serious for a minute. “Told you you’d thank me later.”
I felt all the heat drain from my face. I got off the bed and headed to my own room to console my brain that was currently short circuiting.
“Thanks for the head’s up,” I muttered to my empty room. I closed the door and proceeded to get ready for bed.
It would’ve been an easier task if my heart wasn’t acting like a damn fool.
After my chagrin, I was glad that E was gone by the time I woke up on Sunday.
I had big plans.
Like wallowing in cold sweats thinking about a sexy guy that I made a fool of myself in front of.
Everyone has to pee, alright?
But the scene kept playing out in my head over and over like a cruel joke of my own creation.
And then because I was nothing but respectable, I watched the first movie,Koil: Fight for Earth. It was action-y and there was humor placed throughout. I liked it. But I didn’t love it.
However, the stunts were impressive. I found myself waking up the next day in a clammy puddle of drool against my cheek after dreaming about the way Koil looked.
The other part of my plan was to get this all out of my system before I flew out Wednesday morning. I would secretly fangirl my way through the next two days and be right as rain.
AndwhenI ran into Jake, I’d be the picture of cool sophistication, just with a little more knowledge of Koil.
And when I say ‘cool sophistication’, I’d be referring back to exhibit A: cold sweats. Who the hell was I kidding?
I was so screwed.
Chapter 6
Lucy
Portland
I was anadult and even though I may not have had all my ducks in a row, the one thing I managed to do was talk myself out of a total coo-coo’s nest situation.
Two days of convincing myself that the thing I was drawn to about Jake was completely conjured in my head. I didn’t know him from the next guy, so how could I be obsessing over someone whose personality I shaped and molded to my own personal devices?
I swept it under the rug and already felt better.
The Uber driver had dropped me at the airport an hour ago.
Glancing at the time on my phone screen, it turned out I had plenty of time to get myself a snack. Scratch that—I had enough time to treat myself to a sit-down meal.
Only, I wasn’t that hungry—which was an odd thing for me. Eventually I settled on a little café.
I ordered a citrus tea and took it to my table. The sweet notes hit me in a comforting way, the steam coming out of the top of the mug like a misty fog.
Being a girl with a sweet tooth, I always doctored my tea with honey. A cheerful bear was sitting in the center of the table amongst a ceramic container of sweetener alternatives, stir sticks and napkins.
Going after the honey bear, I wasn’t surprised to find it sticky; nobody had the decency to wipe it after a dribble, and this one was no different.
What was different though, was the air that had been trapped inside. Upon opening the cap, a globule of the amber colored goo burst out like a punctured soda can.
And it landed on my shirt. My new-ish white slouchy one. That was perfect for traveling because of its comfort.
“Shit,” I exclaimed to no one but myself, but an older couple sitting next to me turned their attention my way.
