“Why not?” Jess demands. “He's cute. And he seems normal.”
Sophia nods. “And he lives in the building, easy to run into.”
I chew my lip, embarrassed to even say it out loud. “Because every time I see him, my brain short-circuits. He's a little out of my league.”
“Correction,” Brandon cuts in, his voice steady. “He's not out of your league, sunshine. Your out of his.”
The room falls quiet for a beat. My cheeks heat, and I look away, grabbing a cheese cube like it might save me.
“Stell,” Jess says, incredulous. “You're smart, gorgeous, and kind. A total catch.”
I laugh, but it comes out a little brittle. “You don't get it. I grew up thinking the only way to land a guy was to be perfect. Smile just enough, never eat more than half your entrée, don't be too loud, don't be too quiet. My mom literally has a checklist.”
Natalie groans. “Gross.”
Sophia leans forward, determined. “Then we need to un-checklist you. The right guy is going to like you foryou, not some Stepford version.”
“Newsflash, Rhodes: you're already a catch,” Brandon says. “If some guy can't see that, he's the problem, not you.” His voice is casual, but it cuts right through me.
I glance at him, and something warm stirs in my chest. He's looking at me like it's the most obvious fact in the world. Then, before I can respond, he's up and in my kitchen to make some popcorn like he didn't just pay me one of the best compliments of my life.
Blair clears her throat. “Alright, so, let's talk options. Bars or clubs, volunteering, coffee shops—where are we sending Stella to meet eligible men?”
Ideas start flying. Natalie suggests yoga classes. Sophia brings up a studio premiere. Jess proposes speed dating, to which I immediately say absolutely not. Brandon mutters something about “making sure these guys can string a sentence together.”
Within twenty minutes, Jess has a color-coded calendar on her laptop, with everyone pitching touchpoints where I might naturally cross paths with someone decent.
I exhale, half overwhelmed, half relieved. “Okay. Now all I need are tips on how to be the girl that guys want to date.”
Brandon nudges a wineglass toward me. “Or you could just be yourself and see who's smart enough to notice.”
The words should be reassuring, but instead, they make my stomach twist with familiar anxiety. Be myself. Right. Only myself is the girl who freezes up around attractive men, who overthinks every conversation until it becomes weird, who somehow transforms from competent talent agent to bumbling mess the second romance enters the picture. It's like there aretwo versions of me—the one who can negotiate million-dollar deals without breaking a sweat and the one who can't figure out how to flirt without feeling like I'm performing some role I never learned properly.
I know my friends see the confident version and can't understand why I'm so insecure about dating, but they don't see how I second-guess every word, every outfit, every text message. They don't know that I spend hours wondering if I'm pretty enough, funny enough, interesting enough to hold someone's attention beyond a first date.
“Easy for you to say,” I tell Brandon, forcing a smile. “You don't turn into a completely different person the second you're attracted to someone.”
He gives me a look that I can't decipher and stands to grab another drink. “Noted.”
By the time the conversation winds down, my living room looks a bit like a war room with plates scattered around and sticky notes everywhere. I walk everyone to the door with promises of updates, and when I turn back, Brandon's still inside, gathering stray glasses.
My hands twist together in front of me as I move across the apartment to where he stands in my kitchen. “Can I ask you something?”
He glances over. “Shoot.”
“How do you do it? You always seem to have a girlfriend, or at least someone interested. It's easy for you.”
He leans a hip against the counter, turning fully toward me like he's actually going to take the question seriously. “If I were going to offer a suggestion…”
“Yes?”
“Confidence is sexy, Stella. Even if you're faking it at first.” His tone is matter-of-fact, like he's pointing out the sky is blue. “You have to believe you're worth the attention.”
The words land heavier than I expect, sliding past my practiced smile and straight into the hollow spot I usually ignore.
I fold my arms, more to steady myself than to challenge him. “Easier said than done.”
He studies me for a moment, not with pity but with something steadier, something that makes my chest go tight. Then he gives me that grin—the easy, maddeningly confident one I've seen him use to charm waitresses and casting assistants alike. Only, this time, it feels like it's just for me.
