Page 58 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

Yesterday was a break-up, not a break. I hope you and Brad are happy together.

For half a second before I send the text, I wonder if I should try to sound less snarky. Obviously, I don’t care if Carly and Brad are happy. In fact, I hope they’re miserable. I hope guilt is eating them up like a goat at a garbage dump. At least for a little while.

But I don’t want Carly to think I care what happens to her and Brad at all. So I erase everything afternot a break,then hit send.

I don’t want to waste time finding the perfect response for Carly when there’s another person I’d rather talk to right now.

My second voice text is for Georgia.

Call me when you’re awake so I know if you’re okay.

Chapter 23

Georgia

I wake up to my phone pinging with a text and no idea where I’ve set it down. Zach is missing too, but I don’t hear him anywhere, so he must have gone home. I sit up, but as soon as I start to stand, my ankle reminds me that it’s still angry.

My phone pings again. The sound comes from my kitchen, so I hop-limp my way there, wincing every time I put too much pressure on my foot. When I get to the counter, my phone is plugged in next to the coffee maker, which is all set to brew me a fresh cup with the push of a button. There’s a mug already in place under the spout.

Zach must have done it all. Plugged in my phone, programmed the Keurig, and let me sleep off a nasty hangover. With a glance at my phone, I see he’s already texted to check up on me too.

I fill my coffee mug and hobble my way to the kitchen table, then call Zach.

“Hey,” he answers on the first ring. “How’s the ankle?”

“Not great.” I take a sip of my coffee and wish I’d put some cream and sugar in it. But there’s no way I’m getting up for any now.

“Still swollen?”

I stretch out my leg and rest my foot on the chair closest to me. “Oh, yeah.” I stare at the baseball-sized lump that just a few hours ago was my ankle joint.

“Can you walk?” He sounds worried.

Or maybe that’s me projecting, because my being immobile could slow down our shooting schedule.

“I’ll be able to by tomorrow, I’m sure.” If I tell myself that, I’ll make it happen.

“Georgia…” There’s a warning in Zach’s voice.

I flex my foot to prove I’ll be back to normal within the next eighteen-or-so hours, but I don’t get far before I have to suck in my breath to keep from yelping. “I’ll be fine, Zach.” I push the words past my gritted teeth.

“Maybe. I doubt it. But you’re not wearing heels, that’s for sure.” The matter-of-fact way he says it makes me want to prove him wrong.

“I’m not going on camera without heels on. They’re my trademark.” No matter how much I regret that fact at the moment.

“No one will care if you go a few days without them. You’re going to really hurt yourself if you try wearing them before your ankle is better.” The concern in his voice only strengthens my resolve.

“They will care. More importantly, I’ll care. That’s like asking me not to wear lipstick. I feel as naked without heels as I do without lipstick.” I know how weird that must sound to Zach when I never wore either before moving to LA. I was as far from being a girlie-girl as he ever was from being single.

“Naked? You don’t look naked without them. You just look like Georgia.” The genuine way he says those words pricks my conscience with an awareness I’d rather not unbury.

“And you know what I look like naked?” I make my voice husky and seductive. If I turn this conversation into a joke, I don’t have to wrestle with the idea that I might be turning into more of a persona than a person.

“I know you’re as pretty without lipstick and heels as you are with them.” His seriousness catches me off-guard. I expected him to joke back, not pay me a compliment.

“You think I’m pretty?” The words come out before I can stop them. He’s told me that before, but the compliment never rang true. But something in his voice makes me want to believe him this time.

“I mean, yeah. I’ve always thought that.” His voice staggers with hesitation, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s embarrassed for saying what he said or because he’s sorry he exaggerated the truth.

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