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I shrug. “I hope not.”
“We’ll hang out here.” She motions to my living room. “I’m sure there’s a stack of rom-coms with our names on it.”
“Exactly. I’m going to ignore all the nonsense with Tucker. We’ll watch movies and eat popcorn until we’re ready to explode. Maybe Garrett will come hang out for a few of them.”
I pick up my phone and click on his number. Garrett has been my best friend since I was a six-year-old nicknamed Amy—short for Amelia—and missing my two front teeth.
The phone rings, then goes to voicemail. I haven’t gotten his voicemail in, well…ever. I hang up without leaving a message and text him instead.
MIA: Up for a rom-com marathon? You’re the only one I want to watch Pitch Perfect with. *wink emoji*
A sense of freedom overwhelms me as I set down my phone. I look back up at Evie. “In a few weeks, someone else will be front page news.”
***
“Mia?” Evie’s voice calls over the din of reporters outside. The front door closes sharply.
“In here.”
Even though it’s said quietly, she still manages to find me huddled in the corner of my couch, wrapped in the massive fleece blanket that was a Christmas present last year. With a sympathetic smile, she sits next to me.
“I got here as soon as I could. It’s a mess out there.” She thumbs toward the door, and I wrap the blanket a little tighter around myself.
“It’s been a mess since that stupid video came out,” I complain.
Tucker Winston. Action star. Ex-boyfriend. And a slimy asshole. I have no doubt that he did this for the publicity.
“It’s not you.”
“I know!” I fume. “But the way he makes it sound? They believe him.”
It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of Tucker and a revolving door of girls and speculation about my “broken heart.” It’s safe to say the hype over our breakup won’t die down anytime soon, considering that three days ago, a video clip had “leaked.” And not just any clip.
It’s of Tucker having sex with someone. Someone he claims to be me. But not directly. No, no. That’s too public for him. Instead, he’s made a statement, asking people to respect our privacy, insinuating that I’m the one in the video.
“Any idea who it is?” Evie asks.
“None. It’s not even recent. Based on his hairstyle in the video, it’s about six months old.” I shudder. “Good thing all my tests came back negative.”
After the final straw in Tucker’s long line of cheating, I’d gotten tested. And gone immediately from the doctor’s office to his apartment to break up with him.
“Good riddance. Asshole,” she grits out.
“But nobody else has figured out what a grade A douche-canoe he is?” I ask.
I’m such a hypocrite. It took me two years to finally kick his ass to the curb once and for all. But because I was still human, I’d felt bad for him and agreed to his request to say our breakup was a mutual decision.
“Reporters have been camped at my gate for three days. Three. Days. And I don’t think they’re leaving anytime soon.”
Normally, I wouldn’t be able to hear a few reporters at the gate that’s down my driveway. But it’s more than a few reporters. And to say they’re loud is an understatement. They want this story. Even going so far as to get through the gate and approach my front door.
I was a prisoner in my own home.
“Have Roni’s lawyers been able to get the video down?”
I snort. “Supposedly. But by the time it was taken off the main sites, it was already out there. There’s no hiding it.”
“Why should you have to hide? It’s not you!” she defends. And I love her for it.
