I pinch my brows together. “I did, but that’s—”
“And now you hate me.”
“What? No, that’s . . . I don’t hate you.” I shake my head back and forth. She looks so sad right now. So small.
“My gosh, it was a stupid moment caught on film,” she says, holding her hands up toward the ceiling, a pleading look on her face. “I’ve never lost it like that. I’ve always kept my cool. But no one seems to care. Everyone is just waiting for you to mess up. That’s all they care about.”
“Presley,” I say. “I don’t care about that video.”
“Yes, you do,” she says. “You must.”
I rub the back of my neck with my hand. “It’s not that. I just think that it’s probably not a good idea for us to hang out when you have a boyfriend.”
“A . . . boyfriend?” She looks at me like I have two heads.
“Yeah, Declan Stone?”
“What?” She shakes her head. “Declan’s not my boyfriend.”
“Really?” The word comes out more accusatory than I intended.
She looks to the side, then back at me. “Wait, you thought I had a boyfriend? That’s why you’re annoyed? This isn’t about that stupid video?”
“Well, don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“Wait . . . I kissed you, and you thought . . . Oh my gosh, Briggs. I’m so sorry.” She lifts her hands and presses them against her cheeks.
“So, are you saying he’s not your boyfriend? But the internet . . .”
“Haven’t you heard not to believe everything on the internet?” She removes her hands from her face and lets them hang at her sides.
“There are pictures. A lot of them,” I say.
She bobbles her head back and forth. “Declan and I are . . . I don’t know what we are. We were sort of dating in the past, but that’s been over for a couple of years at least.”
“So then why does it seem like you’re together? At least online.”
“We have the same publicist and we get buzz every time we’re seen together, so she tends to put us . . . together. That’s it. It’s just a facade, really.”
“But . . . you’re not dating.”
She shakes her head in slow movements. “No, we are not.”
I rub my temples with my fingers. “I’m an idiot,” I finally say.
She shakes her head. “You’re not. How would you know? I could have warned you, but I wasn’t really thinking about Declan when I saw you last.”
The corner of her lips pulls up in a very adorable way. I can’t help the return smile that spreads across my face.
“Okay, so now that you know I’m not cheating on Declan Stone, and I did come all the way here, risking getting seen . . . Will you hang out with me tonight?”
Presley
“Favorite book?” I ask Briggs as we sit together on the couch in his regally decorated apartment, the movie we were watching abandoned before it even really got started. Now it’s just background noise.
It was Notting Hill. I wanted him to watch it, but apparently Briggs already had. He admitted to it just before Julia Roberts comes back for her bags in the movie. I don’t know why he didn’t tell me when I suggested watching it. It’s kind of cute that he watched it on his own.
Briggs looks up at the ceiling as he thinks. He’s reclined on the couch, his back sinking into the lower cushion, legs stretched out before him, his fingers intertwined and resting on his stomach. He looks like the epitome of relaxation, with not a care in the world, and I aspire to be him. He’s also two cushions’ worth of couch away from me.
Not that I’m keeping track of that.
Except, I totally am. Presley James, what is wrong with you? I can’t help that it feels like he’s a mile away. I’m not sure if he still doesn’t believe me about Declan, or if he’s just trying to be a gentleman. But he could sit a little closer.
I have hateful feelings toward my publicist right now. The are-they-aren’t-they thing with Declan is so old. We are most certainly not. No way. And definitely not now after everything . . .
Nope. Not going there.
I didn’t come here tonight with the expectation of more kissing, even though the one outside his door keeps replaying in my head and I wouldn’t mind engaging in more of it because I am only human, after all. But I did apologize for it, and I meant it. It was really presumptuous of me. Honestly, I’m doing all kinds of idiotic things lately. What if he has a girlfriend? Somehow, I doubt it. Not with how he reacted about the Declan thing. And not with how he kissed me back.
It doesn’t matter, because it’s for the best that we stay on our separate ends of the couch—me on my end and he on his. I’m here for the summer to hopefully fix my life, not complicate it more. I don’t think Briggs wants to get caught up with a disgraced actress anyway. Even if the video didn’t seem to bother him. Which is . . . odd. And also lovely.
We can just be friends. Friends who never see each other again since I must go back to my resort prison and stay put this time for real. I can’t leave again.
I don’t know what compelled me to leave this time. I’d made it nearly two days by myself. It might have been the lack of fresh air since I couldn’t go out on the veranda, or the fact that even though I’m loving the Sunny Palmer book, I just can’t focus. But just as the sun started setting, I couldn’t take it anymore. I borrowed a bike from the hotel and flew over here, a woman on a mission.
Sitting here with Briggs, I feel like I should have regrets, or at least be mentally punishing myself right now for once again not being able to stay put, and yet . . . I can’t even bring myself to feel regretful.
