Page 34 of The Fangirl and the Playboy

When they get all the footage they need, Bram mixes drinks for the rest of us before we crowd into the living room. Keegan plops into Trace’s lap in one of the chairs while Bram, Pressley, and I crowd onto the couch. Gavin takes the last seat, a chair situated next to my end of the couch.

Bram breaks out his guitar and starts to strum, warming up his fingers before launching into a popular ballad. Pressley starts to sway as she watches him with a dreamy expression, and I end up swaying with her.

When Bram starts to sing, Gavin leans over to speak to me in low tones.

“He reallyisgood, isn’t he?”

“He’d go viral in a minute if he’d let Pressley post a video of him, but he’s being stubborn,” I whisper back. “He could be famous.”

Gavin goes quiet but doesn’t move back to his previous position. When I look away from Bram to meet his eyes, I can see a deep sadness banked in their dark depths.

“Being famous isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be,” he says, and a crack slivers through my chest.

He’s talking about us. His being famous had a big hand in pulling us apart.

But it’s also the reason we met in the first place.

“Oh, dinner is here,” Keegan shouts as the sound of the doorbell echoes through the room.

Hopping up, she runs for it, and Trace follows behind her, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. The smell of Chinese food wafts through the room as they carry a few bulky plastic bags into the kitchen. Bram puts his guitar away, then stands and holds out his hands for Pressley and me to take. As we each grip one, he hauls us up off the couch with a little too much force, making us laugh.

I stumble forward with the momentum, and strong arms catch me in an instant. My lungs seize up as Gavin steadies me, asking if I’m okay as I bob my head in some weird combination of a nod and a shake.

He releases me the second I’m steady on my feet, and Bram chuckles out an apology for almost making me fall as I spin and rush into the kitchen. I need to get myself under control and stop being such a freak.

Alcohol. I need more.

Heading for the fridge, I find a box of spiked seltzers and pull one out. Popping the tab, I take a long pull before joining the others at the counter. We fill plates with rice, sweet and spicy meats, noodles, and cream cheese wontons. Then we carry our plates into the dining room and take our seats at the table.

Gavin slides into the chair next to me, and I take another long pull from my seltzer. The alcohol warms my blood, and slowly, I start to relax as fun, lighthearted conversation surrounds me.

We eat. We drink. We make merry like it’s the holidays.

By the time we finish the meal, I’m stuffed and quite lightheaded from the booze. I’ve always been a lightweight, and as I sway in Gavin’s direction, he gently grasps my shoulder and guides me back into an upright position.

“Oh, Willow’s drunk!” Keegan cheers, and I give her an exaggerated pout.

“You’redrunk.”

“True,” she says with a wide grin. “But I live here, and I don’t have to drive. And since you can’t, you’re staying in your old room tonight.”

“I can drive her home,” Gavin offers, but I’m shaking my head before he even finishes.

“No, she’s right. I should just stay in my old room.”

No way am I allowing myself to be alone with Gavin right now. My drunk ass is already imagining doing the stupidest of stupid things, like inviting him in and stripping off this dress to show him I’m not wearing a bra beneath it.

See?Stupid.

“I need to go to sleep,” I mumble as I try to stand, only to fall back into the chair with a thud.

“Let me help you,” Gavin says, pushing his chair back and out of the way so he can help me to my feet.

As I accept his assistance, I catch Trace giving Gavin a dark glare, and I panic, a little. But Keegan swoops in to save the day, again, by declaring she wants herWolf Daddyto take her to bed. Trace is immediately fully focused on her, and she shoots me a secret wink before facing him and falling into his arms.

I hear Bram and Pressley saying their goodbyes, and Bram offering to drive Pressley back to the tiny house behind the inn where she’s staying. Then, Gavin loops an arm around my waist, and all the chatter turns into white noise.

We don’t speak as we head up the stairs, and Gavin leads me unerringly to my old room. He knows the way. He spent months filming here, and my room was slated as “Aria’s.”

---