Page 24 of Falling Like Stars

The reminder is a cold shower. “Look, you’ve still got a lot of shit going on with Eva, right? And I’m…sort of seeing someone, so maybe now isn’t the time for us to be having moments.”

Zach’s smile collapses, and I feel like I defaced a work of art. “You’re right. I know you’re right but…I don’t want to stop knowing you.”

The words whack me right in the chest and sink in.

Zach climbs out of the tub. He dries his hands, picks up his phone, and begins scrolling.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking up the crew contact list,” Zach says. “There you are.”

In another minute, my phone buzzes on vibrate and lights up with a text. A hand-waving emoji.

“That’s my number,” Zach says. “Not my publicist’s, not my agent’s. My personal number.”

“Great. I’ll sell it on eBay and retire.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Then what am I supposed to do with it?”

What are we doing?

Zach dries himself off. “Well, I’m hoping you’ll use it. Maybe say hi now and then. If you want.”

Suddenly, he doesn’t resemble a movie star with twenty million Instagram followers but a guy—a good guy—just giving a girl his number.

I hesitate.

“Or not,” he says, his smile gentle. “No pressure. But it’s been nice, Rowan. Like…a break from a lot of noise and chaos. So, if it was just tonight, I’ll take it.”

He’s dressed now and gathering his stuff, and still, I can’t find a damn thing to say. Words stick in my throat because I’m scared they’re going to be words that tell him to stay.

Zach shoulders his bag. “Can you get home okay? Lots of moths out there.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

His answering smile is something I could get used to.

But it’s not for me. He deserves someone as good as he is.

“Goodnight, Rowan.”

“Goodnight, Zach.”

He melts into the night and I’m alone. My phone buzzes again.

Yooooo. I’m at Gerry’s. Get your hot ass over here.

It occurs to me there is no better antidote to Zachary Butler than another roll in the hay with Clay Davis. That kind of degradation is something I understand. Not these unsettled feelings that are waking up in me, whispering that I should demand something better for myself.

“Not going to happen,” I mutter. “You don’t go from gas station sushi to Nobu. Not with my track record.”

My thumbs fly. But Zach must’ve broken something in me because instead of telling Clay I’ll be right over, I type: I’m moving to China. Thanks for the laughs. Have a nice life.

And before he can reply, I block his number.

Chapter Six

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