Page 84 of Holly Freakin' Hughes

Witha smile, he said, “Well, duh. All I ask is for some sort of credit when youguys finally get back together.”

Ifwe get back together.

***

Icould still hear Liz’s protests when I insisted on takingOl’Rusty into the Big Apple with me that Saturday, and Lord did I wish I hadlistened as the thing puttered along. It wheezed a little more with everypassing mile, and as I entered the Midtown Tunnel, I prayed it wouldn’t decideto break down in one-way traffic surrounded by water. Out of the tunnel, itcould do anything it pleased.

Withmy guardian angel sitting on my shoulder, I did make it, and I was surroundedby towering buildings that never ceased to make me realize how small I really was.With a gulp of anxious anticipation, I fished my phone from my bag and hitStephen’s number, putting him on speakerphone.

“Heyhon,” he said after only one ring. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Witha deep exhale, I said, “Hey, um, I’m just letting you know that I might have tocrash at your place tonight. Depending on how things go, I mean.”

“Youbetter be spilling some details right now,” he demanded, and I quickly ran himthrough my reason for the city excursion as I slowly navigated my way throughtraffic and carefree pedestrians. “Oh, my God, this issoromantic!”Stephen squealed in a way I could never remember him doing during the time wewere together. “Don’t worry. If this all falls through, our guest room andbooze are all yours.”

“Muchappreciated,” I laughed, and said my goodbyes.

Thevenue for the party was a few blocks over from Times Square, an area I had onceupon a time spent a great deal of my life. It felt like a lifetime ago, when inactuality it had only been seven months, and my heart pulsed a bittersweetsadness driving past the familiar stores and sights. I hadn’t realized how muchI missed it all until I was being reminded, but there wasn’t time for that, andI forced myself to focus.

Withthe parking garage found and my spot paid for, I ran as fast as I could in myheels to the roped off building. I was stopped in my tracks by the sheer amountof activity surrounding the area. Black limos, cars, and SUVS lined up, waitingtheir turn to drop off their inhabitants. Cameramen flashed countless pictures.Members of the media stood against the roped barricade, reaching over withmicrophones to grab the attention of anyone. Further down the street was acontained mass of screaming people with phones in hand, waiting for autographs,pictures, or anything they could get their hands on.

Hollyfreakin’ Hughes. Out of herfreakin’element.

Igulped, wiping my hands on the dress I wore—the same dress I thought I would beengaged to Stephen in—and I approached the nearest security guard on unsteadylegs.

“E-excuseme,” I said in the tiniest voice I could manage. I was obviously auditioningfor a spot in the nextChipmunksmovie. The large, burly man turned atthe tap on his shoulder, and looked down at me with a menacing look in his heavy-seteyes. “Is this the anniversary party for Bran—uh, B. Davis?”

Acurt nod. “Yes. Do you have an invitation?” With hands trembling, I reachedinto my bag, but he firmly grabbed my arm. “Don’t take it out here. Come, I’lltake you to the entrance.” With the hand still gripping my arm, he pulled methrough the intense crowd to a short man with a clipboard. “Hank, she’s got aninvitation.”

Hankwas clearly skeptical, eyeing me over the plastic board in his hands. “And youwalked?”

“I,uh, I drove in, but I … parked my car,” I said meekly.

Iam not cut out for this shit.

“Hmm,”he said, cocking an eyebrow. “I see.” He flipped an open palm at me.“Invitation please.” I fished the piece of paper out of my bag and handed it tothe man no more than an inch or two taller than me. He inspected it carefully,and nodded. “All right, then. What’s your name?”

Helowered his eyes to address the clipboard in his hand as I gave him my name.Quickly scanning, he shook his head. “There’s nobody with that name on the list,”he replied with a flash of suspicion and anger before raising a hand. Before Icould open my mouth and protest, he bellowed, “Paul!”

Thebig security guard was at my back again. “Yeah?”

“Noton the list,” Hank sneered, glaring at me.

“Okay,out of here,” Paul said flatly, gently tugging at my arm.

“Wait!”I shouted with an attempt to pull from his grasp. “Brandon knows me! I have hisnumber in my phone! I can call him right now and get him to let me in!” Theyboth eyed me suspiciously, but the tugging had ceased. “Oryoucan callhim. Or, um, his, uh, agent. God, what’s hisfreakin’name … The, uh, skinny guy with the beak-nose … Nick! Call Nick!” Thank God Ihad remembered reading about his best friend also being his agent.

Hankand Paul exchanged a look before Hank waved unceremoniously with his hand. “Fine.Give Nick a call, Paul. But if he says you’re not invited, you’re beingescorted out of here, understand?”

Inodded and thanked him before stepping to the side with Paul. He pulled aWalkie Talkie from his belt, and held it up to his mouth, eyeing me with everymove.

“Incase he asks, how do you know Brandon?” he asked, in a much softer voice than Ianticipated.

“We’re,um, friends,” I said, shamefully tempted to say that we had slept together.

Nodding,he said into the Walkie Talkie, “Hey Nick, you there?”

Amoment later. “Yep. What’s up, Paul? Everything good out there?”

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