“This issue with Ana. How much will it take to keep you quiet?”
“I wasn’t planning on telling anyone.”
“But you could, and I can’t risk that happening.”
“I’m not going to tell Morgan. I doubt I’ll even see her again. Isn’t she going overseas to shoot a movie soon?”
“That’s not for a few months. And if I’m lucky, I’ll be going with her.”
“You’re going on the shoot with her? Does that mean you guys are serious?”
“This isn’t about our relationship. It’s about a role. I’m waiting to hear if I’ll be asked to audition.”
“So that’s why you’re dating her.” The microwave beeps, and I take the plate out. “You want a part in the movie.”
“That isnotwhy I’m dating her. Ana is just a fling. Morgan is the woman I hope to marry.”
“Are you going to cheat on her after you’re married?” I ask, popping a chicken nugget in my mouth.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Just tell me what it’ll take.”
I chew on my nugget as I consider it. “No curfew.”
He sighs. “Fine, but I still expect you to be home at a reasonable hour.”
“I’m not done.” I grab another nugget. “I also want to see Axl.”
“Who’s Axl?”
“My boyfriend. I want you to fly me to New York next weekend to see him.”
“After the first week of classes? No. You need to be home studying.”
“Then no deal. I’ll go call Liv. She can tell her mom.” I walk off.
“Rumor!” Brock barks as he steps in front of me. He takes a deep breath. “What if he comes here instead? I’ll cover his travel costs.”
I hadn’t considered that, but I like it. Axl will be able to see where I live, and we can hang out by the pool all weekend.
“Deal,” I say. “I want him here Friday and he’s not leaving until Monday morning.”
I walk away. Brock doesn’t stop me, so I assume that means he’s good with it. He has to be, or I’ll tell his famous Hollywood girlfriend his dirty little secret.
* * *
The next morning, I wake up to find I’m alone in the house. I wonder if Braden and Trystan even came home last night. Shayla won’t be here until noon, so I sneak down to Jackson’s house, hoping he’ll give me a driving lesson.
As I’m about to ring the bell, the door opens. Kristen’s standing there, looking beautiful as always, her blond hair pulled up in a messy bun, her perfect body covered in black yoga pants and a cropped white t-shirt.
“Hey,” I say, smiling at her.
She doesn’t smile back. “What do you want?”
“I want to ask Jackson something.”
“What do you need to ask him?” She folds her skinny arms over her large chest.
“Is he home?” I ask, trying to look behind her into the house.
