Page 32 of Love Felt Like This

To my surprise, she laughs, walking over to the open suitcase and sitting down beside it. “The look on Beau’s face after you said that was worth it.” She traces her fingers over Bernie Bird, stroking feather by feather. “If this goes viral, it’s gonna drive him crazy. I bet he even gets messages from home. He’d love that.”

There’s sarcasm. She’s feisty. She may as well be playing with a knot in my chest with how much it tightens.

“It will,” I say. “Go viral, I mean.”

“I figured. That tends to be our trend together.”

She’s taking this in stride better than I thought she would.

I hop up onto the empty kitchen counter and lean forward with my forearms on my thighs as I link my fingers together.

“What happened there?” I ask. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“With Beau?”

“Yeah.”

She sighs, her shoulders rising to her ears. “Typical breakup. Nothing huge.”

I have a feeling that’s not entirely the truth. I heard his ex was his high school sweetheart. Beau’s answer confirmed they at least knew each other then. Beverly’s confirms their romantic history. Two halves of the same truth.

“I can push my manager to get those photos taken down,” I say. “If you’re worried it’ll bother him.”

She sniffs, toying with the feathers. “No, let it.”

“Let it?”

“Let people believe whatever they want.” A small smile rises onto her cheeks. It’s mischievous. It’s weird how quickly new nerves bounce through me, from my heart down to my fingertips to the point where I need to flex them out.

I chuckle. “You’re serious?”

“Unless it bothers you? To have people think you’re dating me?”

I’ve never had a fake girlfriend before. In fact, I’ve avoided those publicity stunts like the plague whenever Jimmy’s tried to pitch them. But I’ll happily keep this charade going if it keeps her smiling like that.

“No,” I answer. “Doesn’t bother me at all.”

She hums to herself. Beverly seems so gentle in this moment, even though her own thoughts churn on a loud wheel. I can tell by how her lips twitch. Her eyes suddenly narrow, like an unpleasant thought made its way in. I wonder what she might be remembering.

Maybe the way I spoke before thinking.

Maybe how she gripped my forearm.

Beverly doesn’t know me. I get irritated by the press, sure. I’m definitely testy. But that doesn’t mean I’m irrational. Hurtful. I’d never swing.

“I wasn’t going to punch the camera guy, by the way,” I murmur. “Or push or…if that’s what you thought.”

Her eyes whip to mine, darting over my face. I stiffen under her gaze. What does she see? The way my skin feels like it’s crawling inside itself? My bandmates and how they can’t find work because of me? Does she see Robin? Ava?

But Beverly simply nods. “Okay. I believe you.”

And that’s that.

No arguments of Then why did you seem like you were going to hit him?

Just a simple Okay.

The weight of my forearms presses into my knees. My beating heart pounds down to my fingertips.