Page 79 of Lonely for You Only

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” Rachel reaches out and settles her hand over mine on the table. “I’m just going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. I’m sure I’ll practically die of boredom and need you out there to hang out with me.”

Rachel grins. “You really think you’ll get bored with Mr. Sexy Pants?”

“Sexy Pants?” I’m giggling. “Don’t know how much Tate would approve of that nickname. And yes, I think I’ll get bored. This is a work trip for him. Not fun. He’ll be gone all day at the studio, and I’ll be stuck at a house. Alone.”

“You won’t be stuck. You can do whatever you want.”

“I can’t drive.”

“You can take an Uber. Hire a car and driver to be on hand. You’re a freaking Lancaster—you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“I should probably learn how to drive,” I murmur, nibbling on another fried green bean.

“Who’s going to teach you? I suppose you could hire someone.”

“That sounds...”

Awful. I don’t want to hire someone to teach me to drive. I don’t want to hire a car and driver to be on hand at my every whim either, even if that’s what I’m used to. I want this time out in LA to be an adventure. Something new and exciting and just for me—and Tate.

Instead I’m sitting here trying to figure out what to do to fill enough hours in the day to keep me preoccupied. A girl can only shop for so long before she gets bored.

“I’ll just hire a car,” I say with a sigh. “I bet the record label will provide one.”

“Sounds like a tough life.” Rachel smiles at me, and I can see the sympathy shining in her gaze.

She feels sorry for me, and I sort of hate that.

I return the smile, sitting up straighter. Trying to look stronger. “You know it.”

A text notification sounds right as we start laughing, and I glance down to see I have a text from...

My new boyfriend.

Tate: Where are you?

Me: Out to dinner with Rachel.

Tate: ??

Me: My best friend.

Tate: Oh right. I forgot for a minute.

Me: You better not forget her. She’s my very best friend and she might come out to see me when we’re in LA.

Tate: As long as she doesn’t know what’s really going on I’m cool with it.

Guilt slides through me, and I mentally shove it aside. That I told her really shows how much I trust her.

“Who’s texting you?” Rachel asks.

I glance up to find her watching me. “It’s Tate. He’s wondering where I am.”

Pausing, I glance to my left, noticing a girl who looks about our age blatantly staring at me. Like she’s listening to my every word. The moment we make eye contact, she hurriedly looks away, leaning into the girl sitting next to her before they start whispering furiously.

My stomach knots. I think she recognizes me. And I just said his name out loud, which, if she does recognize me, is confirmation of who I am.

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