I rip off the covers and manage to change into a pair of running shorts and a gray tee before popping into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Voices spill from one floor below, mingling with the scent of sizzling bacon. Sounds like Rudy, which isn’t ideal because it’s way too early to put up with him.
Gathering my wits, I head down the staircase and find my agent seated at the kitchen island while Stevie stands at the stove, cooking breakfast.
I should talk to her and apologize for giving her emotional whiplash. But Rudy greets me with a stupid grin, putting the damage-control conversation on hold.
“You look like shit.” His face-eating smile doesn’t waver.
Stevie glances over her shoulder at me, cheeks pink from the stove burners. “Morning,” she says, looking nervous as hell, before returning to her task of scrambling eggs and crisping bacon.
“Morning.” I take a seat beside Rudy, and we share a fist bump. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?”
“How would I know? I’ve only been awake for five seconds.”
“It’s ten o’clock. The rest of the world has been awake far longer and, in that time, has managed to leak some unflattering headlines and accompanying photos on the internet.”
“Awesome.” That’s just perfect. I reach for my cell phone on the island and try to power it on, but it’s dead. It drops from my hand with a clunky clatter. “Do I want to know?”
He sighs. “People saw you two fighting at the party last night. And then they saw you reconciling outside the bathrooms.”
“We weren’t fighting.”
“Pictures tell a different story.” He fishes out his phone and angles the screen in my direction as it glows with viral images posted on Instagram: Stevie, calmingme down from the embarrassing spiral, followed by us making out like two teenagers who couldn’t wait to tear into each other during a prom after-party.
Chewing on my cheek, I glance up at Stevie. She’s faced away from us, her dark hair spilling down her back in freshly blow-dried waves. I’m sure her flush is ten times redder now.
“So?” I clear my throat, slamming my elbows to the marble. “We’re dating. Couples kiss.”
“It’s more the implication that went along with it. Here, check out these pictures.” He scrolls a bit farther, and I manage a disinterested side-eye at the phone. “The photographer caught this picture of you and Willa directly before the make-out session. You’re full of smiles as she kisses your cheek, and then—bam—lovers’ quarrel. Love triangle chatter is running amok.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Doesn’t matter. That’s what it looks like. Your mother has already called me five times.”
I cringe. I’ve been avoiding my meddling mother for weeks, dodging her video calls and ignoring her text messages. All I had to do was listen to ten seconds of a voicemail to know she’s pissed about the Stevie situation.
Avoidance to the rescue.
Stevie spins around with platefuls of food, then deposits them in front of us. Scrambled eggs sprinkled with chopped green onions, perfectly seared bacon, and a bunch of grapes. I catch her eyes for a beat, my lips twitching with a smile, and she ducks her head.
“I’m going to go upstairs and read,” she says, mimicking a light cough. “I’ll let you two talk.”
She’s already on the move before I can speak. My stool legs scrape against the floor as I haul myself up to slow her exit. “Hey.”
Shooting a quick glance at Rudy, she folds her arms and stalls at the base of the stairs. “What’s up?”
My eyebrows arch with aduh.
“It’s okay, Lex. We can talk later.” She’s flustered, anxious. Her fingers press into her upper arms as she avoids my eyes. “You should figure out the Willa thing.”
“There is no Willa thing. That was just two costars having a brief, platonic moment.”
“I know. I get it.” Finally, her eyes lift to mine. She swallows. “But the comments…”
“What comments?”
“On that post. They’re terrible.”
