Page 96 of Merry Me
He didn’t glance at the screen first. Just turned the phone over like it didn’t matter. Like it was routine.
I didn’t mean to look.
I really didn’t.
But I did.
And my stomach dropped, a slow, sinking spiral of nausea that felt like it started in my heart and dragged all the way down.
It was a photo. A nude one, so to speak. Of her.
Vanessa Blake.
Easton’s costar. Hollywood’s latest obsession.
All glossy lips and effortless curves and a sultry voice that probably came with its own theme music. Golden skin andbedroom lighting and the kind of confidence that only came from knowing exactly what your body did to men. Knowing they’d look. Knowing they’d want.
And she wasn’t just his costar. She was the one he’d been filming with for weeks now. The one who’d been interviewed beside him at those press junkets. The one who looked up at him with stars in her eyes and fingers on his arm in every single photo.
The one whose name had been linked to his ineverydamn headline since production started.
“Hollywood’s hottest new pairing?”
“Behind-the-scenes sparks—are Maddox and Blake heating up offscreen?”
“On-set lovers or real-life romance?”
I’d seen them.
Of course, I’d seen them.
Every link. Every photo. Every blinking, buzz-worthy reminder of why getting over Easton Maddox was not as simple as putting away an old hoodie or deleting a number from my phone.
And now, here she was.
Onhisphone.
Naked. Glowing. Posed like she was meant to be framed.
“Fuck,” Easton hissed, his whole body tensing. He went immediately to erase the picture, but it was too late.
I looked away, my chest squeezing so tight it was a miracle I could still breathe.
“I didn’t ask for that,” he said quickly.
I laughed, short and brittle. “You don’t have to explain it. It’s not like we’re…anything,” I added, waving my hand like I was erasing the last few days from existence. “We’re just hooking up for the week, remember? And it’s not like we have to do that.”
He growled, low and sharp, like he couldn’t stand the words even coming out of my mouth. “Natalie.”
“It’s fine,” I said, standing too quickly and absolutelyloathing the weird mix of hurt and agony I was experiencing at that moment. My legs didn’t feel steady anymore. “She’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous. It’s not surprising.”
“That’s not the point,” he said, stepping toward me.
“No, the point is, she’s clearly comfortable enough to send you that, which probably means she thinks there’s a chance you'll appreciate it.”
“I don’t,” he said flatly, his tone carved from stone.
I forced a smile. “I’m not mad. Honestly. It’s…whatever.”
