Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
The actress wasn’t serious, they went to one movie premiere together, big deal.
And a social media influencer with, like, millions of followers.
My stomach is in knots.
None of these women are “normal” people like me—they are all famous.
“Comparison is the thief of joy,” I remind myself, telling myself in the mirror, repeating it several times. Then I say it again, the words not resonating in my brain or my heart.
I’m wallowing.
Ten minutes ago you were happy, Harlow.
I was. Until Danny pointed out the obvious, that Landon is out of my league and has never dated a girl like me.
You are amazing, stop doubting yourself!
Honestly, being at that restaurant this evening wasn’t easy, but at least I knew a little bit about what to expect. I was semieducated about who Andy is. I was armed with some information. I knew that things could get crazy, but they didn’t. For the most part people respected our space, if you don’t count the photo taken with a wide-angle lens.
Andy is a big deal.
And now my friends know, my father knows, everyone on the internet who follows professional sports knows.
My phone pings.
Then it pings again.
Two friends whom I haven’t spoken to in months have messaged me. Then a third, all of them with the same text:
Landon Burke!?!?!?!??!?!?!
I don’t respond.
I am not a model.
Far from it.
I have literally walked around in front of him with sex hair and did not care. I walked around that hotel room in the worst pajamas Ever—that’s how far from being a model I am!
“Of course he dated women who were also famous. So what?” I’m staring at myself in the mirror again, talking to myself. “He’s single, and it doesn’t say anything about infidelity in any of these stories online.”
Still.
A model? And not just any model, but Paisley Blue. She walks in the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show on television, for God’s sake. There are photos of her online decked out in bright blue and yellow, his team colors. Another of her with his number painted on her bare chest. She was on the cover of a sports magazine, floating in the ocean.
How am I supposed to compete with that?
Chapter 27
Andy
“You need to calm down. They broke up five months ago. Some people move on after five days.”
Is Harlow in the bathroom talking about me?
I press my ear to the door, guilt plaguing my gut. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, and I hadn’t planned on listening, but her friends’ voices carried through the door, and curiosity got the best of me, and here I am . . .
Listening.
“Can you get over an ex in that amount of time?” Harlow’s distinct voice asks.
“You are not competing with that. They are not together,” another voice chimes in loudly. She must be on speakerphone with her friends. “Get off the goddamn internet, and put your phone down, and go back out there.”
Sage advice.
I like this friend of hers already.
“And don’t you dare go back in that room and say anything about her. Do not say her name, do you hear me? You’ll sound insecure.”
Her?
Yeah. They’re definitely talking about Paisley.
“But I am insecure!” Harlow squeaks.
“No, you’re not. You’re freaking out! This whole situation has messed with your head.”
“And no one blames you,” a male voice consoles. “No one. Let’s not worry about the picture of you that’s circulating the internet. It’s great PR for Kissmet, honey.”
Kevin looks up at me from his spot next to me on the floor, and I can tell by his shifty gaze that he’s desperate to get my attention—but now is not the time for his doe eyes or his begging. I do not have time to play.
“I would never use this story as PR for the app,” I hear Harlow hiss. “I’m the idiot for thinking I could go on a date with a football player in a football town and have it go unnoticed. I’m such a moron.”
I can’t take it anymore. I knock on the door—and get met with silence.
“Babe. Everything all right?” I love saying that word: babe. I could babe her all day long and never get sick of it. I can’t keep that word out of my mouth.
I hear hushed whispering before she ekes out a quiet “Um. Yeah?”
My body relaxes.
Good. Nothing terrible has happened. She hasn’t fallen and can’t get up; she hasn’t fainted.
She’s trying so desperately to sound normal.
“I’m comin’ in.” Testing out the doorknob by turning it, I’m mildly surprised when it turns, half expecting it to be locked.
I inch it open a crack, not knowing what I’m going to lock eyes on when I look inside. Stick my face through the gap.
My eyes do a quick scan of the room, taking note of the white shower curtain, the white rug spread on the floor, the white tile floor, and the white towels. It’s bright and simple and classic—the windows have frosted glass for privacy from the neighbors.