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“You fell asleep,” I tell him with a smile.
“Mmm.” He stretches, and his fingers brush my hip.
No sparks. Get it? Got it? Good!
Denial—it’s not just a river in Egypt. It’s the only way I’m going to maintain my sanity while seeing my best friend in a light that gives me tingles.
“You want to head to bed?”
He smirks, and for one moment I let myself pretend that smirk is meant for me and the other meaning of those words. Yowzah.
He blinks, and more awareness fills his gaze.
“Yeah. Sorry, I’m crashing out on you tonight.”
I shrug. “S’okay. Not like I haven’t seen this movie hundreds of times. Here.”
Reaching down, I help hoist him up. My breath catches when his chest brushes against mine.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, drawing me into his arms for a hug.
I must have imagined those heated glances from him. I’d made up the almost kiss in my mind. That’s the only explanation I can come up with.
“Good night, Garrett,” I whisper against his chest.
“Night, Ames.”
He shuffles out of the room, and I sit back down and try to lose myself in the movie. But instead of seeing the love story of the characters play out, I’m caught up in my own fantasy where I’m the heroine and Garrett is my hero.
Industry parties are work. It’s schmoozing and networking, pictures being taken, connections being made. It’s exhausting. Tucker had loved them, and our agent, Roni, had never received an invitation she didn’t accept on my behalf. Normally they exhausted me, and I would beg off as early as I could with a headache.
But I can’t deny that butterflies fill my stomach as I stare at my reflection while I finish my make-up for tonight’s pre-production party.
Tonight’s party is different. Because unlike attention-whore Tucker and manipulative Roni, I’m taking my best friend as my date. As my husband. So, for the first time since the first few I attended when I was younger, I’m looking forward to tonight’s party. Will Garrett wear a suit or a tux? It’s black tie, so I’m guessing a tux. Does he have a tux? I should have asked him earlier. Since he’s getting ready in his bathroom, I guess I’ll find out later.
I’m applying eyeliner when my phone vibrates against the counter, startling me. I jerk and poke myself in the eye with the stick.
“Ouch.” Tears fill my eye, and I squeeze them shut. Blindly, I reach for my phone and blink, trying to clear the burn. “Hello?”
There’s squealing on the other line, followed by Mom’s excited voice. “Well, it’s about time, cutie pie. We’ve only been trying to call you every day for the last week.”
Shit. I’ve been avoiding Mom’s calls since I have no idea how to play this. Are we telling the families that this was a fake marriage? Or pretending for them too?
“Hi, Mom,” I say brightly.
Fake it till you make it and all that.
“Uh-huh. Enough of the small talk. Libby and I are both here, and we want to know why we had to hear about the marriage of our children through some internet article and not directly from them.”
“Hi, Libby.” Garrett’s mom is almost as familiar to me as my own is.
“Hi, sweetie.” It’s all she can get out before my mom interrupts again.
“Amelia Anne, don’t ignore my question.”
“Umm.” My teeth dig into my bottom lip, and I toss the eyeliner pencil on the counter.
Time for reinforcements.
