His fiancée pops her gum and leans into him like she’s physically incapable of standing up on her own. “Waverly! We didn’t know you’d be here.”
I force a smile. “Geofferson. You look exactly the same.” I sweep a glance around the party. “Is your new side piece here too?”
Everyone on the pool deck sucks in a breath.
Oh my god.
I said that. Out loud.
“Snap,” Aspen whispers.
I have no idea what anyone else is thinking, because the only thought in my head right now is that loud roar ofand this is why they’ll repeat tomorrow that you’re a grudge-holding ice queen.
“Turns out I don’t need a side piece when I’m with the right woman.” Geofferson isn’t smiling when he says it though.
Oh. Em. To the gee.
Heischeating again.
Thatfucker.
There are two kinds of people in my world. The kind that lose their way more and more with every dollar that goes into their bank accounts, and the kind that find a way to balance the fame and scrutiny and money with staying true to who they are.
I grew up in this world. I’ve had my slips. Since Geofferson, I’ve been trying to find who I really am, but I still feel like an invader in my own skin more days than not.
And I know I’m not the only one.
So maybe there are three kinds of people in my world, and I fit into the lost group.
Which is exactly where Geofferson’s fiancée will be in a few months.
If I were the bigger person, I’d warn her.
Butshe knewwe were engaged when she started dating him. The entire world knew, and if she was dumb enough to start dating a guy who claimed to be a movie star without googling him—which would’ve brought me up right at the top of her search results—then that’s on her too.
Geofferson jerks his head at Aspen. “This your new little project to find yourself?”
I hate that when I look at him, I still remember the good times.
I hate that when I look at him, part of me still wants him back.
Fuck that part. Fuck all of those parts. I toss my hair back, lift my chest, and look him dead in the eye. “Go find your own spotlight, Geofferson. I’m done letting you use mine.”
Two bodies leap between us. I don’t know who they are. I can’t see straight at the moment.
Conflict?
Ihateit.
I’ve let Aunt Zinnia fight my battles for me for years in order to focus on what I do best, which is write and sing songs, connect with my fans, and smile for cameras.
My stomach gurgles again. Someone here will report this whole encounter to the tabloids and they’ll twist it to make me look like a spiteful bitch instead of a woman trying to stand up for herself against someone who wanted to ruin her night so he could feel like a man.
Aspen grips my hand. “I am extremely glad you’re not with that douche anymore,” she whispers.
She’s right.
I need to date again.
