Page 27 of Filthy Rich

When Jake Priest releases me, my entire body’s trembling. My hopes are soaring, and my heart is hammering, and my whole body cries out for just one more touch. Which is the most terrifying thing I’ve experienced in more than a decade.

There are some things in this world that just are.

Gravity keeps us all grounded.

The earth rotates around the sun.

And Jake Priest will wind up with some kind of goddess.

I don’t hate myself. I’m an exceptionally talented vocalist. I’m smart, too. But a goddess, I will never be. No surgery, no magical mask, and no amount of makeup will ever make me someone who can walk alongside Jake Priest without causing the entire world to laugh.

Plus, he just lied to protect me.

We haven’t been dating.

He threw me a bone—a charity bone to a pathetic stray. That’s what this kiss was, and I need a nice bucket of ice water, pronto, so I remember that. “I have to go,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Jake’s brow furrows and his mouth dangles open, but Bea catches my eye and nods, and then she practically drags me out like I’m Princess Diana. We’re crashing past crew, actors, and onlookers alike, and then we’re out the door and she’s waving at the driver who brought us.

“Octavia’s sick. We need to go straight back.”

It’s not strictly a lie. I do feel pretty lousy. When we hop in the van, I notice people trailing us—with their phones out.

Bea swears under her breath. “Step on it.” She drops a hand over mine, but she doesn’t say another word.

I’m not sure how she always knows the right thing to do. Maybe it’s a gift from those amazing foster parents she’s always going on about. When we get to our hotel, Bea goes right to the room, points at the bathroom, and says, “Pajamas.”

“It’s barely noon.”

She shrugs.

Once I have the makeup washed off and I’m in pajamas as ordered, Bea’s ready for me. She’s got six pints of ice cream on a tray and her laptop’s perched on the end of the bed.

“We’re watching a movie and having a contest.”

“Contest?”

She quirks her brow. “A taste test?”

I can’t help smiling. “That sounds better than a contest. What flavors did you get?”

“Rocky road, mint chocolate chip, cookies and cream, peaches and cream, strawberry, and fudge ripple.”

“Shoot, you already missed the boat.”

She frowns.

I cross to the freezer in the corner of the room and pull out my secret stash item. “If you’ve never tried gooey butter cake, you’ve never lived.”

Bea straightens so fast she nearly knocks the tray over. “Butter cake?”

“It’s a Southern flavor my dad showed me—Blue Bell ice cream makes it, and it’s hard to find here, but Walgreens will get it if you request it. It’s the best southern ice cream company, and it’s about to change your life.”

“A little like that kiss just did?” She smirks.

My hands wobble, but I don’t drop the ice cream.

She pats the bed. “We don’t have to talk about it.” She scootches over as I get on. But then she whispers, “But I swear, I’ve never seen a kiss on the screen that looked that hot.” She bites her lip and her eyes dance.

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