So, I just don’t look at him at all. Except for now, when he’s standing above us with the other Cobras, wearing nothing but jeans, a god damn crop top, and what I’m assuming are new, dark tattoos inked down his arms.
The second his eyes connect with mine, something in me wants to melt. Desperate to go crawling back to him on my hands and knees and beg him to love me. To hold me. To forgive me for not forgiving him. To just turn back time to when we were kids with no adult responsibilities, no sense of urgency. To those moments on the beach with the wind in our hair.
But I’m stronger than that.
I’ve never been one to roll over and take it, and I’ve neverbeen one to forgive easily. And Cooper Henry is someone I don’t think I’ll ever forgive for as long as I live.
I finally tear my gaze away when Owen waves over to me. I raise my drink in return, shooting him a polite smile that I hope doesn’t screamplease don’t call meover too obviously.
The other Cobra boys are okay. I like them because they’re dating my friends, but I’ve always worried that they don’t like me. Mostly because of my commitment to not being around them for large amounts of time, and mostly because being around Cooper makes me want to pull my hair out.
I don’t know how much they know, but judging by how little my friends know, I’m assuming the answer to that is, well, nothing. As it should be.
The idea of having to deal with the past makes me want to die inside. Having to answer for why I never told them about him in the first place—not when I read the news to find Notre Dame’s golden boy drafted by the Cobras, my blood running cold, and certainly not the first time we all hung out and I had to look him in the eyes.
Everything after felt too late. It didn’t matter how anxious and uncomfortable I was; it felt like, at that point, I just couldn’t say anything. Even in the beginning. It all felttoo late.It was misery of my own making, though. I know they would have been supportive. And I know that’s why I didn’t.
How do I explain that?
“You okay?” Mila asks, handing me another drink. I look down, realizing the first drink, still in my right hand, is completely empty, my fist gripping the plastic cup like a lifeline.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just nervous, is all.”
She takes a huge gulp of her pink, fruity drink. “Don’t be. This is huge. You’re going to find love! Love before me! That’s amazing!”
Something about her tone makes me think she doesn’t think it’s as amazing as she says.
I got the call a few days ago to start the casting process for the reality show. I’m not sure why they fast-tracked me, but after giving them my whole background, I was swiftly passed through all the necessary levels.
When I was asked if I wanted someone to run my socials, I quickly elected Mila, who was more than happy to take on the responsibility as long as she could hurl insults at someone if they were mean to me.
I promptly deleted my account’s search history, then went to recentlydeletedand made sure it was also deleted there. I don’t need her to see just how many times I’ve stalked Cooper’s account.
With Zara’s lawyering help, we solidified the contract to include exactly what Mila wanted. Insults and all. It turns out, the people who make reality showsreallylove drama.
I knew this, of course. I’ve watched my fair share of reality television. My mama and I would regularly watch our telenovelas over coffee in the morning. I had gotten hooked on the trashiest of reality TV by a friend one night at a sleepover, and while I knew that my mama would love it, I had to ease her into it. I continued to gingerly sprinkle some reality TV into our routine until one day, she started requesting it.
A love for reality television aside, it’s one thing to love them. It’s entirely another to be on one.
And mama, well, she certainly thought I wason one.
All of that aside, though, I’m excited. It’s a new start, and although I’m not quite sure I’m ever going to find love on the show, it’s something to do. If nothing else, it’s exposure, right? I mean, half the people on reality TV these days are on it for fame. The last thing I want to do is become an influencer.
But if it helped bring in new opportunities for my business, I wouldn’t be heartbroken. It would just be a, well, a silver lining of sorts.
Sure, I have to basically fake marry a man on nationaltelevision. Sure, they have control over whether I’m seen in a good light or not. But it’s something ballsy. Something…unsafe.
I’m tired of playing everything safe. I’ve jumped from job to job until I was able to do what I do now, but that doesn’t mean that every move wasn’t carefully calculated.
The need to dive headfirst into something unknown feels suffocating and thrilling at the same time.
“There’s Briar!” Mila shouts over the music, waving her over. I turn, watching her blonde head bob through the room of people before reaching us. Her hair is perfect, as always, and although she’s wearing ripped jeans and a plain white t-shirt, she looks, as usual, like one of the most stunning women in the room.
“Sorry I’m late. Elara wouldn’t settle down at all with the babysitter.”
“That’s okay,” Mila says as she grabs her hand. “But it sounds like you need a drink.”
The two head off, leaving me at the table. Part of me wants to follow them. Part of me wants to sit here and people-watch.
