Page 76 of The Fangirl and the Grump

After a couple of beats, he meets my gaze. I snarl at him, warning him off without words, but he just dips his chin and whispers something to the woman under his arm. She nods, and they move out onto the makeshift dance floor as a pop song starts to play. The crowd swarms around them almost immediately, and I lose sight of the little prick.

“What was that all about?”

I turn back to face Bram, who posed the question, and shake my head.

“Hell, I don’t know. But I’mgoingto find out.”

ChapterThirty-Five

Keegan

“Oh, my God, I still can’t believe we met Gavin Reese!”

With that exclamation, Pressley tilts backward, falling to the couch with a fake faint. I hum in response as I snack on the bag of cheese puffs I snagged from the kitchen as soon as we got home. Pressley sits up, turning to face my end of the couch with a frown.

“What?” I ask defensively. “It was fun.”

“Okay, that’s it. I can’t take this anymore,” she growls, and I tense up.

“Why are you angry?”

“Why am I angry?” she repeats, though her tone is dripping with sarcasm. “You should be over the moon! Planter’s Vodka set up a private meet and greet after offering Gavin-fucking-Reese a contract to be in one of our BingBang videos. We get to hang out and drink with your fucking teenage heartthrob crush,theLucas Lumin, and you think it’sfun,” she says, using air quotes on that last word.

“Pressley, don’t,” I groan, knowing exactly where this is going.

“No. I’m not going to let you wallow anymore. You’re obviously still pining over Trace. You need to go fucking get him. Kiss and make up. Whatever you need to do. Fix it.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I murmur, slumping further back into the couch.

“He’s just as miserable as you are, Keegs,” she says, her tone and volume much softer.

“You don’t know that,” I say.

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” I ask, feeling my hackles raise. “Then why hasn’t he made a move? Why is he still keeping his distance?”

Feeding off my own burgeoning ire, she shouts, “Because he thinks you’re leaving, and he’s just trying to protect himself!” Then she rears back with a horrified expression, saying, “Oops.”

“Wait, what?” I ask, sitting upright and leaning toward her.

“Shit,” she grits out, then shoots me a pleading look. “Forget I said that?”

“Oh, no,” I say, drawing out the syllables. “Spill. Now.”

Pressley slumps back, looking defeated. She holds my stare for a long moment, then sighs.

“I’ve been texting with Bram. He’s told me things––in confidence––that I can’t repeat. Please don’t ask me to break his trust any more than I already have.”

I nod in agreement even though everything inside me is screaming to demand more details. To discuss and pick over every word Bram has said about Trace. But Pressley is my friend, and friends don’t put friends in tight spots like that. Madison and Sloan wouldn’t hesitate to drag it out of her, and I want to be better. I want usbothto be better, and that means letting her keep Bram’s secrets without guilt or recrimination.

Could she be right, though? Could the reason Trace acted the way he did and broke things off with me have anything to do with my leaving?

AmI leaving?

Of course, I am. I’ve only rented the lodge through this weekend. After that, I’ll be just as homeless here as I am back in Seattle. Myhome.

But is it, though? My home?

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