Page 20 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

I turn the dial on the radio down. “What was that?”

“Aren’t you famous?”

I shrug with an appearance of humble modesty. “Yeah, I am. I get that a—”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” The girl looks right at me before shifting her gaze to Jenna. “I was talking to her.”

Jenna laughs while I try not to let my bruised ego show.

“You’re a famous supermodel!” the passenger says.

“Oh, my gosh!” the driver squeals. “You’re Jenna Lewis. Only, like, the most famous supermodel there is.”

“You’re sooooo pretty,” the other girl whines with adoration.

“Aww, thanks, girls.” Jenna’s smile is genuine. “You two are gorgeous as well. I love your outfit.” She points to the driver. “And your hair is such an amazing color,” she says to the other.

“You are the nicest!” The passenger extends her arm in front of her, holding her phone out. “Do you care if we get a selfie?”

“Not at all.”

We both shift to the camera, smiling, but the girl pauses, looking at me. I think she’s finally recognizing that I’m famous too.

“Hey, do you mind leaning back so you’re not in our shot?”

Wow.

I’ve never felt like a bigger idiot than I do now.

“Sure.” I press my back against the leather seat, getting out of their picture.

The light turns green, and the girls shout their thanks as they speed off.

Thanks to the turned-down radio, Jenna and I drive in absolute silence for a few seconds until I can’t take it any longer.

“Say it.”

“I have nothing to say.” She stifles her smile.

“Say it.”

She shifts in her seat, facing me with an amused expression. “It’s killing you that they recognized me—not you—and wanted a picture with me—not you—isn’t it?”

“Pfft. Like I would care about that.”

“Karma, baby.” Her smile grows. “Now you know how it feels not to be recognized.”

“I have sunglasses on.” I wiggle the frames before pushing them higher on the bridge of my nose. “They would’ve recognized me if my sunglasses were off, just like I would’ve recognized you on the side of the road if you hadn’t been wearing sunglasses.”

“If you say so.” There’s way too much satisfaction in Jenna’s whole demeanor. Smugness is rippling off her like sound waves, but instead of being irritated by her cockiness, I love it—major turn-on.

“Furthermore”—since when did I start using words like furthermore?—“I was farther away than you, so it was easier for those girls to recognize you and not me.”

“Sure.” She rotates so she sits forward again.

“But it’s fine. I’m happy for you that you have adoring fans. Between Julio and now these teenage girls, I just consider myself lucky to even be in your presence.”

She laughs, pressing her head against the back of the seat. With her windblown hair and cute laugh, I’m taken aback. Making Jenna Lewis laugh is easily one of the best things I’ve ever done.

---