Page 25 of The Fangirl and the Playboy

My apartment is usually a sanctuary for me, but I’m on edge tonight as my mind replays my conversation with Gavin over and over again. He seemed sincere when he told his side of what happened between us all those years ago, but I still refused to relent and take any responsibility for my part after he finished. I just threw his playboy reputation in his face and stayed rigid in my anger until he finally left with a mumbled apology and a tortured expression.

But now that I’m alone without work to keep me distracted? I feel miserable.

Was he telling the truth? Was the whole thing between him and Julia fabricated?

If it was, the demise of our relationship was at least fifty percentmy fault. I’ve been righteous in my belief that he lied, led me on, and shattered my heart all those years ago as some kind of game. But now that I’ve heard his side, knowing he came to me that night to explain everything, and I kicked him out without letting him speak his truth…

“No,” I whisper.

No. He could’ve tried again. How hard would it have been to send me a text explaining everything before the farce went public? I would’ve been prepared for it. Not so devastated that I couldn’t bring myself to hear him out. If he’d told me about the kiss and what would happen before addressing the press, I would’ve believed him and helped him come up with a plan to navigate their fake relationship while we still managed to be together in some capacity.

Maybe.

I was an emotional teenager back then, so who knows? I might’ve still lost my shit and demanded he end the farce.

I know I’m rationalizing my rash decisions, but what’s the alternative? Admit that if I hadn’t been so quick to send him away, we could’ve ended up together? That we’d still be together after all this time? No. The mere thought is ridiculous.

We were stupid teenagers and that thing we had never would’ve lasted. Especially not long-distance.

Plus, he never came back for me after he and Julia “split.” I know when it happened. It was all over the gossip sites and social media posts. It was right before my nineteenth birthday. I was an adult, and we could’ve patched things up and tried to make it work.

But instead, he flitted from one Hollywood starlet to the next, engaging in heated short-term affairs without ever settling down. I saw it all play out online, my heart breaking a little more with each eye-catching photo and derogatory headline.

I tried to move on, myself. I’ve had boyfriends, but nothing ever lasted because no one ever made me feel the way Gavin did. Hell, I gave up my V-card on my nineteenth birthday to a guy I barely even liked just to get rid of it. To end the daydreams of losing it with the one man I truly wanted. I was broken, unable to fall in love again, so I eventually gave up, throwing myself into my business and never looking back.

And now that I know the truth, that he didn’t mean to hurt me and was roped into something to help a friend and coworker, where does that leave me now?

Feeling even more broken than I did before.

But there is one single truth I cannot deny, at least not to myself…I’ve missed him. Even when the hurt and anger were fresh and tormenting, I missed him.

We weren’t just in a romantic relationship. We were friends.Bestfriends.

And now that I’ve really allowed myself to work through the pain, I realize I miss that friendship just as much––if not more––than I miss the other stuff.

We could be friends again, right? Get to know each other all over again and see if we can find that connection we had before our first kiss? Friendships can survive long distances better than romantic relationships can, so when he leaves Evening Shade to head back home, we could stay in touch.

No regrets. No hard feelings.

That decision feels right, so I pluck my phone from the couch cushion beside me and pull up our text thread. Inhaling deeply, I tap on his contact info and erase the “FP” before typing in his actual name. Navigating back to our thread, I type out a message.

Me:Thank you for explaining everything. I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided we should try to mend fences and start over.

The text shows as “read” a couple of seconds later, then a dot bubble pops up, making my heart race as I wait for his reply.

Gavin:Thank you, Willow. You don’t know how much this means to me.

Me: I want to be friends again.

Gavin: Friends. Right.

My head rears back as I read his response a second time. Did he think I was offering to start something romantic again? Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I’m hurting him by giving him a fraction of what he really wants. But I can’t go there again.

I won’t.

My phone chimes with another message.

Gavin:Of course, I want to be friends. I’ve missed our friendship more than you know, and having you in my life in any capacity is better than not having you at all.

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