I leaned back against the wall of the trailer, head thunking gently against the flimsy panel. The light buzzed overhead. A muffled voice from the sound stage carried through the door. Someone yelled “cut.”
My phone buzzed again.
Another message from my publicist.
Another article link.
Another picture of her — wide-eyed, flushed, mouth just barely parted as I kissed her like I meant it.
Of course I meant it.
I turned the phone over so I didn’t have to see it. But it didn’t matter. That image was already branded on the backs of my eyelids.
I hadn’t meant to fall for her.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to convince myself I hadn’t.
Now I was in a trailer in a borrowed hoodie, pretending like I could fix it with good press and a few fake smiles.
I dropped my head into my hands and laughed. Soft. Miserable.
“Yeah,” I whispered, to no one in particular. “I’m so fucked.”
My phone rang. I was just going to ignore it. Send it straight to voicemail. But… something told me to turn it over.
JUNE BUG
“Hey!” I’d never answered a call so quickly, my phone almost slipping through my fingers.
“I’ll do it.” Her voice was soft on the other side, almost as if…
God, if I’d made her cryagain.
I sat up straighter. “You will?”
“Don’t make me say it twice.”
I smiled — I couldn’t help it. “You’re going to fake date me?”
A pause. Then, “Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late,” I said, quietly.
Another pause. But I could hear the edge of a smile in her voice too. She sighed. “I don’t want you to think this means anything.”
“It doesn’t,” I lied.
“This is just PR,” she said. “A chance for me to help my childhood idol.”
“Of course.”
“That’s it.”
“I understand.”
“And we’re not actually together.”
“Nope.”
