“Hello, McFly. Have you looked at your roommate? He’s an eleven on a scale of one to ten. Maybe a twelve.”
I make a face at her. “Have you forgotten that you’re engaged to my brother?”
“I may be engaged, but I’m not blind. And neither are you. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that you haven’t tried to sneak a peek when he’s in the shower.”
“Um, no. That’s super stalker-y. And totally inappropriate. Besides, we’re more like two ships passing,” I lie. “Connor’s place is so big, we could go weeks without seeing each other.”
We could. But we don’t. Not that I’m admitting that to Ainsley.
At some point, we’ll have to come clean with her and Jake. Maybe. But today is not that point. I’m not having that discussion with her until I’ve had one with Connor.
I toss my T-shirt over my shoulder and stand. “If we want to make happy hour, we’d better quit yakking and hit the showers.”
She stands with me, pulling out her ponytail and shaking out her shoulder-length blond hair. “Fine. But don’t think I’m done grilling you about Connor.”
I roll my eyes and slam my locker shut. “Heaven forbid.”
We shower, change, and make it to the bar in time to order a round before happy hour ends. Ainsley goes for something fruity and frothy with a cherry on top and one of those paper drink umbrellas. I stick to one of the craft beers on tap. No cherry. No umbrella.
We find a table in the corner, under the watchful gaze of a taxidermy deer head—Ainsley likes to describe this place as a cross between a bordello and a hunting cabin—and I slide into the red-velvet-covered booth. Ainsley slides in across from me.
“Jake and I have a bet.” She takes the umbrella from her drink and twirls it between her fingers.
“What kind of bet?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.
“He thinks you and Connor are at each other’s throats. And I say you’re in each other’s pants.”
It takes every ounce of self-control I’ve got not to pluck the stupid umbrella right out of her hand and stab her with it. “We are done talking about me and Connor.”
“Ah ha.” Ainsley jabs the pointy end of the umbrella at me. I knew I should have taken it from her when I had the chance. The girl is lethal with sharp objects. “So you’re admitting there’s a you and Connor.”
“I admit nothing.”
I’m at least temporarily spared from Ainsley’s version of the Spanish Inquisition by my phone, which chimes from somewhere deep inside my purse. I’m expecting a text with my call time for tomorrow, so I fish it out and check the screen.
Unfortunately, it’s not from Drew, the second A.D who’s responsible for doing the call sheet. It’s an alert from my credit card company, reminding me that my payment is due.
I delete the message and leave the phone face up on the table, where I can see it when Drew finally texts. If my call time is before eight, I’m going to have to cut this short. I don’t want to show up on set late, or even worse, hung over.
“All right, if Connor’s off limits, how about we talk about my wedding?” Ainsley puts the umbrella down and takes a sip of her drink. “I’ve been trying to get you to go dress shopping with me for weeks.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy filming.”And totally tapping your fiancé’s—my brother’s—best friend.“But I promise, my next day off I’m all yours.”
My phone chimes again, but this time it’s a call, not a text. And it’s not from Drew, it’s from Connor. His name flashes across the screen, along with the photo I saved as his contact picture. A selfie I took of us snuggling on the couch, watching yet another one of the Marvel movies in my quest to get into butt-kicking character.
At the time, it seemed harmless. Innocent. But looking at it now, it screams intimacy. The way my head is resting on his shoulder. His arm around me, hand casually brushing the curve of my breast.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
I scramble to silence my phone and flip it over so it’s face down on the table, but not before Ainsley sees the picture and snorts.
“Two ships passing, huh?” She sits back smugly and crosses her arms. “You two sure seem pretty cozy to me.”
“It’s not what it looks like,” I hedge.
But Ainsley’s not buying it for a second. She points a finger at me. Bet she wishes she was still holding that stupid umbrella. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. I know two people in love when I see it.”
I almost choke on my beer. “Who said anything about love?”
