“Why would I see you tomorrow?” She looks confused.
“I’m Sophia’s plus-one for thePink Slippremiere. I assume you’re going?” I hold my breath while I wait for her to respond. If she says yes, I hope Sophia hasn’t already asked someone else to join her. I had managed to keep Blair out of sight and out of mind for so long. But now that I've seen her again, I can't go back to pretending she doesn't exist.
five
. . .
BLAIR
I thinkI’m having a panic attack. I can’t believe he showed up here. And why the fuck did he ask me about ice cream? I knew he would be here. Don’t ask me how. The minute Stella caught me obsessing over his pics and set up a meeting with Sophia, something in my gut told me he was nearby.
He’s taller, over six feet now. And the man knows how to wear a suit. His face has matured, but those eyes. I mentally bite my fist. His eyes are framed with the darkest lashes I’ve ever seen. I used to be jealous of those lashes.
I’m pacing in the parking lot, eyes shifting to Sophia’s trailer because I’m terrified Wyatt may walk out and see me. I pull out my phone and immediately FaceTime my best friend, Jess, hoping she’s not in some meeting. I need to see her now.
“Hey, babe. What’s up? You ok?”
Praise be. She answered.
“Um, hey. So, do you remember me talking about Wyatt in college?” I ask.
“Wyatt. Let me think. Was he the hot lay that got away?”
“Something like that,” I mumble. “I just saw him. He’s Sophia Ford’s brother.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I see her prop her phone up somewhere on her desk, and then she grabs her laptop and starts typing to find more info on him.
Jess is a reporter and podcaster for one of the hottest subscription entertainment pubs, and she’s been my best friend since college. She’s LA-born and bred and looks the part, too. Golden tan skin, light brown hair that morphs into golden blonde from spending so much time in the sun. Perfect skin with just a whisper of freckles–enough to disguise any blemish, assuming she even gets blemishes. She barely wears makeup but always looks runway ready. WhenThe Beach BoyssangCalifornia Girlsthey were talking about her. We met when she approached me in line at freshman orientation and asked to see my schedule. She’s incredibly nosy and has built the perfect career around her thirst to know everything about everybody all the time. It’s a sickness, really.
She knows the complete story about Wyatt. How crushed I was when he started dating Holly because I thought he and I had connected instantly. How we finally got together after he and Holly broke up. How he took my virginity and then ripped my heart out when he got back together with Holly shortly after we slept together.
She also had a front-row seat while I did my best to get over it—by getting under another guy—in college. It didn’t go well, but Jess insists the guy was just supposed to be a rebound and nothing more. I tried to date a few others, but at best, it would end in more of a one-night-stand situation, and at worst, I wouldn’t make it past the first five minutes without finding an excuse to ditch. Maybe my standards were too high, but I never felt the tingles people talked about—like the flips my stomach made every time I saw Wyatt.
“He wasn’t wearing a ring,” I say, “and he looks even better than I remember.”
I don’t have to say anything else. She stops typing and stares at me for a minute, her mouth slightly open. One thing I love about Jess is her ability to read minds—and that she knows me well enough to know I’m totally freaking out.
“I’ll meet you at my apartment in fifteen minutes,” she says.
Jess hands me a glass of chardonnay the minute I walk in the door. I love coming to her place because it’s full of color and has the feeling of a soft landing. I head straight for the cloud couch and sink in while Jess heads back to the kitchen to grab some popcorn and Twizzlers.
“So, I made a few calls,” Jess says. “The headline is never been married and definitely single. At least nothing that would be considered a relationship.”
“His sister said he hasn’t had a girlfriend since high school.”
“Interesting. He works for his father, too,” she says.
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“When I was prepping for Sophia, I saw some photos of them together. I went down the rabbit hole,” I confess.
“My sources tell me he’s well respected and very influential.”
“That tracks. I would expect nothing less than perfect for Wyatt Bradford.” I can’t help the bitterness coming out. Wyatt was my first love—in every sense of the meaning—and I foolishly thought he would be my only love. I can’t believe how wrong I was about him. It was silly of me to think that all the time we spent together meant something. Instead, he was just playing the long game to get into my pants. He basically used me for sex and then got right back together with Holly—my best friend, although, by that time, we weren’t really friends anymore.
Wyatt never promised me anything, but we talked about staying close after we graduated. Even though I was headed to Boston College, I thought about applying to Stanford or maybe even UCLA. If I couldn’t get in for my freshman year, maybe I could at least transfer by sophomore year.
