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“I really am sorry.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Me too.” I hang up and take stock of what I need to do next.
Practice? When my whole life is falling apart like a line of badly stacked dominos? My stomach churns. How could I have been so blind? All those sweet moments we shared, the stolen kisses, the late-night talks—they were all part of her plan to make me look bad. I should've known she was just using me, just like she did in her first article.
I clench my fists, anger boiling inside. She's been out to get me from the start, and I fell right into her trap. I’ve been so stupid. I knew I’d never find true love through the show, not when all those women were attracted to my money and fame.
I shoot off a message to Cool. I made a mistake, choosing Trina.
She’s no different from all the others. She found a way to use me. I should’ve known changing her mind was a pointless exercise the night I told her the truth about Lindsay.
The bedroom door opens, and Trina’s light steps whisper down the hallway. I continue scrolling on my phone. Videos pop up like gophers. They’re everywhere.
Most are about Trina being a reporter. They’re calling her the “Undercover Lover.”
“Hey.” Her voice is sweet and soft. She stands in the center of the room, looking almost uncertain. “When can we go shopping for my finale dress? We should color coordinate.”
I freeze in place, body ice cold. “We won’t be going anywhere.” I spin the phone around to let her see. “We won’t be doing anything together anymore.”
She reaches for my phone, but I snatch it back. “I don’t understand.”
“I do now.” I stand and pace back and forth across the kitchen floor. “I should’ve known. Youwere looking fora story that night. Why else would you be there?”
Trina grabs her phone and types. Her face pales.
“No wonder you didn’t fight any harder when I chose you. I’d just handed you your career on a platter.” I tunnel both hands through my hair and continue pacing. Standing still is unbearable.
“I didn’t do this.” She waves at the phone. “It wasn’t me.”
“No?” I ask with a caustic laugh. “Excuse me for not believing you. Not when you refused to admit the truth about my cousin. Or even wrote the article in the first place.”
I head toward the front door. I can’t do this. The cameras watch our every move, they hear our every word. The last thing I want is more attention. And Trina’s can of worms will bring its own crazy frenzy, even without the goodies the show producers reveal later.
“Liam, wait.” Trina follows me.
“I need you to be gone by the time I get back from practice.” I grab my gym bag and heave it over my shoulder.
Are those tears on Trina’s lashes? I yank the front door open and storm out. Stupid wishful thinking. Trina doesn’t care about me.
She tried to tell me. Over and over again.
All those kisses. My cheeks burn. Though she kissed me like she might love me—not real.
I tug a baseball cap low over my forehead and tuck my chin against my chest. The media isn’t always lying in wait for me, but I’ve learned to err on the side of caution. I sneak around the corner and dart to the back of the building.
Shameless reporters cluster around my car.
Cool pulls up as I’m jogging across the parking lot, weaving between cars. He throws a hand out the window and waves for me to hurry. I kick into a run and dive into his car at the same time the reporters roar. They’ve caught sight of me.
Cool punches the gas. The Camaro’s engine revs, and the tires squeal. We shoot out into the road fast enough that I hang onto the door while trying to click the seatbelt and shove my bag into the floorboard.
“Thanks.” I finally get the belt to click and relax my death grip on the door.
Cool shoots me a smile. “I said we’d be there for you. Didn’t expect to get to pull out my Fast and Furious moves though.” He pats the steering wheel. “Always wanted to have a reason to do that.”
I ease my head back against the headrest and remove the ball cap.
“You want to talk about it?” Cool asks. He glances at me every now and then, his expression curious but not demanding anything from me.
