“One man,” Bekah repeats. “Onesingleman?”
This is where my humiliation will become complete. “Yeah, about that…” I tell Bekah about the first night at the pub, my plans, my target, his reticence, then discovering his identity. She isappropriately shocked and disturbed by his response, feeding my vindication.
“Who knew your bucket list was going to be so easy? Youhaveto kiss him now.”
I fall back on the bed, looking at the wooden ceiling. “Were you listening?”
“He must be wounded,” she says. “No one is that cheerful, Callie. Not unless they’re hiding some deep, painful past.”
“Or maybe he’s an unbothered guy who doesn’t let things penetrate his emotions. Maybe he doesn’t really have emotions. Those people exist too.”
“In the Scottish Highlands in a gorgeous house? A hot-blooded, capable man who seems financially set and is still single for no reason? No way. There’s a reason he’s not married. He’s been hurt somehow. Perfectly healthy single men don’t turn down a perfectly good make out session in a back alley with you.”
“It wasn’t a back alley. It was a well-lit sidewalk directly in front of my hotel.” Besides, Bekah is exceptionally biased. We met freshman year of college at a karaoke night, when I overheard her wanting to sing “What Is This Feeling” fromWickedand none of her friends would do it with her. Me and my friends were sitting in the booth next to hers, so I volunteered to be her Galinda, and we totally hit it off.
You don’t spend over five years as someone’s closest friend without developing an over-appreciation for their virtues and a blindness to their faults.
“So he could see you very clearly, you mean?” she says. “You’re not helping your case here.”
“You’re biased.”
“I’m honest, and you’re hot. Are you sure he’s single?”
“No. I don’t really know him.” My eyes squeeze shut. Do I really want to share more of the shame of his ultimate rejection?How he’s selective about who he chooses to kiss? Gavin’s problem could be an overabundance of perfectionism. Except for the disaster he made of the kitchen while cooking, and the unavoidable dust in his work vehicle, everything about him and his house and his car has been spotless and orderly. Maybe Gavin takes his selective nature to the extreme when it comes to women, too.
I can talk to her. If I can be that vulnerable with anyone, it would be Bekah. We’ve gone through the ups and downs of college, her depression, and multiple break ups. She won’t judge me.
Bekah doesn’t give me time to decide whether I want to open that particular door, because she barrels ahead. “I bet he’s seeing someone.”
“Or about to,” I hedge.
“Can’t blame him, then.”
“No, you really can’t.” I sit up slowly. “How were the tryouts?”
Bekah blows a raspberry through the phone. “I’m not getting a callback. Nothing sets me apart, Callie. I’m no different from every other girl on that stage singing ‘Popular’ and flipping my hair.”
“Well, you’re not blonde and you still have all your own teeth. That’s saying something for LA.”
She growls. “It means nothing if I never break through the first round of auditions.”
“There’s always?—”
“Don’t say reality TV. I won’t do it.”
“Fine, I won’t say the thing that could possibly put you on the radar of important TV people. Look at Carrie Underwood. Kelly Clarkson. Harry Styles. Benson Boone.”
“If I wanted to be a musician, that would mean something,” she says.
“They all started in reality TV. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I know you mean well.” Bekah yawns. “Now I’m going to bed. Update me when you know more about your host’s deep wound. I need to know why the man is insane.”
Laughter tears from my chest in a sudden burst. It’s only been a few days since I’ve seen Bekah, but I miss her so much. “He made amazing mushroom scampi for dinner last night, by the way. So not totally insane.”
“Really? Vegetarian?”
“Yes.” My smile is growing because I can feel how on-the-hook she is.
