Page 42 of Relationship Goals

I stare at the gold-tinted patches under my eyes and wish, for the millionth time, that I could take back everything I said on the red carpet.

“A season everyone will be talking about,” I’d squealed at the interviewer, my eyebrows raised sky-high.

They said it made me look like I was being sarcastic. They said myresponse was an indicator I hated the writing, hated the show, hated my best friend for stealing the spotlight. So much extrapolated from that one expression, from the tone I’d said it in.

Then the coup de grâce, the final blow that had people talking about the show—and me—for weeks afterward, and the comment I regret the most.

If only I’d kept my mouth shut.

“My daughters love this show—they want more than anything to be blood-drinking mermaids when they grow up. So glamorous! What would you say to all the teen girls who are going wild for this show and looking for a boyfriend like Xavier?”

“A boyfriend like Xavier?” I’d barked out a surprised laugh. “I mean, he’s beautiful, but he’s also the worst. You’re talking about the Xavier who cheats on Olivia’s character with mine, right? I’d tell those girls to raise their standards.” I’d laughed again, slightly outraged.

“What do you mean? He’s so dreamy!” The interviewer had said awkwardly.

“Well, yeah, he is, but he’s also a nine-hundred-year-old vampire mermaid. Anyone else would call him a predator! Our characters are in high school.”

The interviewer had blinked, quickly asking me something about what I’m wearing.

And that was all it took. Those words were all I had to say for the producers to claim I was trying to tank the show, for fans to say I was ungrateful and spoiled and woke, for Olivia to stop trusting me, to tell me no friend would have said that about the show that made us both into mainstream actresses and block my number.

It took longer for my ex-boyfriend to realize I’d fumbled my career…at least until the episode whereBlood Sirenskilled me off.

No one wanted to hire me after that.

So I continue my beauty routine, because hopefully a year hasbeen enough time for the press to bury that story, and the least I can do is control how I look.

Since it’s clear controlling everything else, including my runaway mouth, will never happen.

A new lip patch follows, and so does a fresh wave of heat, because I know the reason my lips are chapped is because I made out with an athletic god of a man last night. Well, that and I’m probably dehydrated. I stare pointedly at the bottle of ice water I brought into the bathroom with excellent intentions.

Too late to drink it now. I sigh through my nose, seeing as how my mouth is currently unavailable for breathing, and press play on Jean’s voicemail before I comb some conditioner through my hair.

Wouldn’t it be nice if I could go out in public and not care if anyone saw me? Or took my picture?

That type of thinking is ungrateful, though. So many other actors would kill to be in my position.

Jean’s voice finally starts, and I wrinkle my nose as I drag the brush through my damp locks.

“Abigail, I just saw the pictures of last night. Want to tell me what the plan is here? You know I’m not opposed to stunt dating—”

My skin prickles at the accusation, annoyance rippling through me so hard I miss the next part of her sentence.

“—should have run it by me first. You know I don’t like being caught off guard by some sort of publicity stunt. We could have soft-launched this as a strategy instead of going whole hog right away. We don’t want it to overshadow the film, right?” She sounds annoyed, and I can tell from the blender noise in the background she’s making her usual morning matcha smoothie.

I scowl at myself, and the lip patch starts to slip sideways, a silent reproach at an action that will no doubt leave me with frown lines.

The blender stops, and Jean audibly sighs. “Don’t do anythingstupid. I don’t think we’re in crisis-management mode yet, but you can bet your ass every interview is going to focus on this stunt with this soccer guy now instead of your new film. Let’s have a call this afternoon to discuss what’s going on.”

I don’t want to discuss what’s going on. I don’t want to triage it in Jean’s imaginary PR war room. I don’t want to work with the idiotically named “tiger team” on how to best manipulate the relationship for the media.

I want this thing with Luke and me to be real. I might not have realized that in front of the paparazzi last night, but by the time he left my house, I sure as hell did.

•••

The place Michellechose for lunch is an adorable French bistro in Southeast LA, close to the Aces’ home office and practice facility.

Despite the typical horrendous traffic, the driver I hired got me here only a few minutes late, and sure, I’m slightly shaky from his lane-changing choices, but I am mostly on time.

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