Page 10 of One More Made Up Love Song
“If that’s true, then you’re dating the wrong guys. They should only want to talk about you, and that shouldn’t be hard because you’re one of the most interesting people I know,” I say, but I can’t fault her. Fame can be isolating, and as close as Ivy is to my life, there’s no way she hasn’t felt the impact of that.
“Thank you,” she says. “And you’re probably right. But I’d still like to give myself a fighting chance.”
Something about her words or maybe the way she’s holding herself, like she won’t let herself take a deep breath, makes me think there’s more to this situation than what she’s telling me. I can’t see her, but I canfeelher next to me, and she’s radiating tension.
I slide my foot over and nudge hers. “Hey,” I say. “It’s just me. You can tell me if there’s more to this. If there’s anything you want me to do differently?—”
“It’s not you,” she says, cutting me off. “I promise it’s not.”
I don’t believe her, but I won’t push her more than I already have. “Okay,” I say instead. “Well, you know I support you. Let me know if there’s anything you need. I’m good at carrying moving boxes.”
She lets out a little chuckle. “Thanks.”
I should go. Let her sleep and try to get some sleep myself, but then Ivy shifts, and I catch the scent of her one more time. I feel a sudden impulse to move closer, but that would be crazy.
This isIvy.My assistant. A woman who just told me she wants to move out because she’d like to date more. There isno reason why I should enjoy being close to her. “So…do I just roll out of this thing?”
She reaches over, her hand landing on my bare chest. Her palm is soft and warm, and it’s all I can do not to suck in a breath at the contact.
“Where’s your hand?” she asks.
I move my hand and press it on top of hers. “Right here.”
She takes my hand and wraps it in hers, then lifts it like she’s bracing herself. “Now roll,” she says. “It’s easier if you have something to stabilize you on the way down.”
I hang on, then slide the curtain back and roll out of her bunk, landing on my bare feet. “What do you hold onto when you get out?”
“Nothing,” she says, “but I’ve got a lot more practice than you.” She reaches for the curtain and closes it, pausing before it covers the last few inches of space and hides her from view. “Good night, Freddie,” she says, then she closes the curtain the rest of the way.
I slowly make my way back to my room, strangely unsettled by the whole conversation. When I close my door and finally collapse into bed for good, I reach up and rub a hand over my chest. There’s a dull ache behind my ribs, the same one that was triggered when I first read Ivy’s text.
I don’t know what it means. And I don’t know if my conversation with Ivy made things better or worse.
I just know I don’t like feeling this way. About my life. About Ivy. About anything. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to fix it.
CHAPTER THREE
Ivy
I glanceup at the glowing red light above the studio door, an indication that the radio show currently interviewing Freddie is live on the air. He’s visible through a large glass window, sitting across from a balding guy in his forties, who the station calls Captain Stan for reasons I haven’t yet figured out.
There’s a set of headphones sitting on the desk next to me, in case I want to listen in, but I’ve heard Freddie answer these questions a million times. After this past year, when two different PR crises threatened his career, he knows better than to go off-script. Not that he ever truly has before.
Both times he wound up in the press with unflattering headlines, he wasn’t at fault.
The first time, he was having dinner with his parents, who were visiting him in New York, and a fan and her daughter wouldn’t leave him alone until Freddie very sternly asked them to back away from his table. The second time, hewas defendingme,when a guy at a bar got a little too handsy, and some idiot took video, editing it just enough to make it look like Freddie was drunk and in an angry bar fight.
Freddie doesn’t drink, and he only punched the guy once.
I still feel a little guilty about that one.
I saw the red flags. I should have backed away from the guy a lot sooner than I did.
I lift my eyes to Freddie, who is smiling at the radio host, green eyes sparkling, and a twist of gratitude makes my heart feel tight.
He might drive me up the wall and push my buttons and do ridiculous things like climb into my bunk uninvited. But he’s still a good man. Maybe the best man I know.
Which is precisely why I need some space. All the touching that happened yesterday made it painfully clear.
