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He lifts his hand to tick off the reasons. “Model-turned-host works only if it’s a fashion competition, I’m too young, I’ve got a not-totally-unearned reputation for partying, I don’t have the right experience, and…”
I turn onto my side to look at him. My cheek is on the soft cotton of his T-shirt, and it smells like man and spice and everything nice. He remains in profile. “And?”
“I’m a second-stringer, even in my own family. My sister was the true star. This is just an attempt by my manager-slash-father to reclaim some of her glory, and”—he takes a deep breath before continuing—“and I know I have to get used to haters if I’m going to continue in this business, because they’re part of the deal, but sometimes they hit really low.”
My heart immediately hurts for him. I want to tell him he’s a star no matter what happens with America Rocks. I want to ask about his sister, but I don’t think that’s what he needs right now. God, it sucks being picked apart like you don’t have any feelings and judged unworthy. I know firsthand, and I never want to go through the ordeal again. But when it happened to me, the thing I appreciated most was a change of subject.
“So, I ate fried chicken and waffles this week and I didn’t think anything could beat a New York City hot dog, but oh my God, was it good.”
He rolls onto his side, props his head in his hand. His smile is crooked and raises goosebumps on my arms. “You went to Roscoe’s.”
“I did. And guess what else?”
“What?”
“I got a side of gravy to go with it.”
His green-eyed gaze stops my breath for a second. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?”
“I don’t know. Like you’d miss me if I walked away.”
“I will.”
Will. Not would. Because we both know my stay is temporary. I roll back onto my back, my head nicely cushioned thanks to him. “I’m sorry about the stupid story.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you go to college?” I ask out of the blue. I mean, I did just graduate, and I’m scheduled to start again in September so it’s a valid conversation topic.
“I enrolled for a semester, but I started getting more bookings around the same time. Between shoots and travel, it was impossible.”
“I imagine that’s a cool education itself.”
He’s still on his side, still staring at me. I hope he doesn’t notice the quick rise and fall of my chest as I continue to stare at the sky. “Yeah.”
We’re quiet once again. Out of my periphery, I notice him yawn. I’m about to tell him good night when he says, “Do you think if you could redo your bad days, it would make you a different person?”
His question makes me feel like I’ve been pushed out of an airplane without a parachute. I take a few freefalling seconds to contemplate what’s he’s asked. What I wouldn’t give to erase the worst day of my life. To have Mason back. But am I changed because of it? I’ve felt shame and regret, and on some days my feelings have shredded my insides. Yet who I am is the same, I think.
I roll my head to make eye contact, but his are closed. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Me either.”
“I should get Snowflake back.” At the sound of her name, she perks up.
“All right. See you later.”
“Should we walk you to your door first?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Nah. I’ll get up in a minute. I’m good to make it inside.”
“Thank you for the shirt.” I kiss his cheek.
That gets his eyes to open. And once again it’s like he can see right inside me. I hurry to my feet, picking up Snow’s leash. “Happy almost-birthday.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I speed-walk away, feeling his attention on my backside. When I get to my room, I change into my pajamas, crawl into bed, and fall asleep with flutters in my stomach.
