Page 40 of Faking it With the Player Next Door

“Mr. Willis, what happened? Was this not the reaction you were expecting?” A reporter’s voice cut through my daze.

I blinked, suddenly remembering the crowd I had intentionally invited to witness what I thought would be a romantic moment. Oh no, I was an idiot.

“No comment,” I muttered, pushing past the crowd of people and into the cool night air.

As I made my way to my car, my mind raced. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. In my head, I imagined Taylor being surprised and smiling, that smile that always made my heart beat. She would have walked into my arms, and we would have shared a kiss that would put every rom-com to shame.

Instead, I was alone in the parking lot, the echo of her hurried footsteps haunting me.

I slumped into the driver’s seat of my car, resting my forehead against the steering wheel. What now? I had put all my eggs in this one spectacularly broken basket. There was no Plan B.

With a sigh, I started the car. There was no point in staying here. Taylor clearly didn’t want to see me, and I had thoroughly worn out my welcome at the resort. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I caught sight of a few paparazzi hurrying to their cars, no doubt planning to follow me. Great. Just great.

The lonely highway stretched before me, a perfect metaphor for the emptiness I felt inside. I tried to focus on the road, but my mind replayed the moment Taylor’s face changed from surprise to horror. The look in her eyes... it was like I was her worst nightmare come to life.

I need to speak to Hunter.

“Call Hunter.”

The call connected. It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. “Hey, it’s Hunter. I’m busy right now, but I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Please leave a message.”

“Hunter, man, I screwed up,” I said, my voice sounding hollow even to my ears. “Taylor... she... Look, just call me back when you can, okay?”

I ended the call, feeling more alone than ever. The fuel gauge caught my eye, the needle hovering dangerously close to empty. With a sigh, I started looking for signs for the next gas station.

About twenty minutes later, I pulled into a small, 24-hour truck stop. As I filled up the tank, I tried to ignore the curious looks from the few other patrons. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, people recognized me. A young woman approached her phone, already out.

“Excuse me, aren’t you Van Willis? Can I get a selfie?”

I plastered on my best fake smile. “Sure, why not?” It’s not like this night could get any worse.

After she walked away, giggling with her friend, I headed inside to pay and maybe grab something to eat. The convenience store’s fluorescent lights were harsh, making everything look pale and sickly—that’s how I felt.

I wandered the aisles aimlessly, eventually settling on a sad-looking sandwich and coffee. As I waited in line to pay, my eyes fell on a rack of magazines. My face stared back at me from at least three different covers, all touting headlines speculating about my career and love life.

If they only knew.

Back in my car, I unwrapped the sandwich and took a half-hearted bite. It tasted like cardboard, but I forced myself to eat. I needed to think and figure out what to do next. But every time I tried to focus; all I could see was Taylor’s face as she ran from the restaurant.

What had I been thinking? I knew Taylor. I knew she hated being the center of attention and that she valued her privacy. And what had I done? I had turned what should have been a private moment into a media circus.

“You’re an idiot, Van,” I muttered, tossing the half-eaten sandwich back into its wrapper.

I thought back to high school, to all the quiet moments Taylor and I had shared, how she blushed and looked away when I caught her staring at me. The sound of her laugh when I told agrim joke. Experiencing the sensation of her lips on mine during our first kiss.

Those were the moments that mattered. Not some grand, over-the-top gesture designed more for the cameras than for her.

I groaned, letting my head fall back against the headrest. How could I have gotten it so wrong? I had been so caught up in my narrative, in the idea of the perfect romantic moment, that I had forgotten entirely about the actual person I was trying to romance.

Taylor wasn’t some character in a movie. She was real, with genuine feelings and genuine anxieties. And I had steamrolled right over all that in my eagerness to play the romantic lead.

The worst part was, I did not know how to fix it. I couldn’t exactly go back to the resort and try again. Even if I could, what would I say? “Sorry, I ambushed you with a full orchestra and a horde of paparazzi. Want to grab a coffee?”

I fished my phone from my pocket, my heart sinking when I saw no missed calls from Hunter. I scrolled through my contacts, stopping at Taylor’s name. My thumb hovered over the call button for a long moment before I locked the screen and tossed the phone aside. What would I even say?

With a heavy sigh, I started the car. I had a long drive ahead of me, and I was still determining what I was driving towards. My career would be fine—if anything, this debacle would probably boost my public profile. But the thought brought me no comfort. What good was success if I didn’t have anyone to share it with?

As I merged onto the highway, my mind drifted to all the missed opportunities with Taylor over the years. All the times I could have told her how I felt, all the quiet moments I could have turned into something more. Instead, I had waited until it was too late and tried to make up for lost time with a gesture so grand it was bound to backfire. Where do I go from here?

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