Page 33 of The Fangirl and the Playboy

I walk her to the door, and she pauses before it, turning to face me. She leans forward, then pulls back, holding out a hand for me to shake. Ignoring that offering, I lean in and give her a friendly, yet somewhat awkward hug. She stiffens at first, then relaxes into it, hugging me back. Then we separate, and I grip the back of my neck with one hand as I open the door with the other.

Willow steps out onto the porch, then turns an shoots me a bright smile. “Good night, Gavin.”

“Good night, Willow,” I reply, then watch as she turns and jogs down the steps before striding toward her car.

That green hatchback holds memories for us, too, but I’m not going to rehash them tonight. No, tonight was about getting reacquainted. Finding out if we can be friends again.

And as far as I’m concerned, it was a good start.

Areallygood start.

ChapterSeventeen

Willow

After a full day of vegging on the couch––itisSunday, after all, and isn’t that what Sundays are for?––I get a text from Keegan inviting me over to her and Trace’s place. Planter’s Vodka sent Pressley a special request for a targeted BingBang video featuring their newest vodka, so Pressley drove down from Seattle late yesterday, and they’re hosting a filming party tonight.

Gavin will be there, too.

Last time, I made up an excuse to skip it. But that was before Gavin and I talked things through and decided to be friends again.

I don’t have to avoid seeing him anymore, and watching Keegan and Pressley get tipsy and dance around in their pajamas is high entertainment, so I quickly text back that I’ll be there. Peeling myself off the sofa, I head to my bedroom to shower and change.

My steps slow as memories from Friday night filter through my mind for the bajillionth time. Gavin, opening the door and staring at me like he did when we were teenagers. Me, rushing over to the couch and digging into the pizza to break the tension, only to have my heart flutter when I see it’s topped with my favorites, and I’m not sure if it’s a coincidence or if he actually remembered.

Then that whole deal with the root beer. I couldn’t hide the way it startled me, that he’d remembered such a small detail as my preferred soda choice.

Normally those small details wouldn’t have such a huge impact. Friends remember things about each other, especially when they were inseparable for months at a time like Gavin and I were.

But I just spent the last ten or eleven years convinced I was nothing to him. A distraction he could toy with while stuck in this tiny, boring-to-most town while he started arealrelationship with his co-star.

And while I now know that wasn’t true, having him deliver these little snippets of proof that he did care, and cared enough to remember the smallest details, is playing hell with my equilibrium.

Pushing the thoughts aside, I head into the bathroom and pin up my hair before hopping into the shower. After getting clean, shaving, and rinsing off, I walk naked through my bedroom to my closet in search of something to wear.

On Friday, I dressed down on purpose. My outfit was meant to reinforce the status of ourfriendship. Friends don’t dress up to hang out and watch movies together. Right?

But the way Gavin stared at me when he opened the door…

Shaking my head to clear the image, I grab a maxi-dress and a light sweater to wear over it since even though it’s still warm outside, the nights are getting cooler. I head over to my dresser to grab some underwear, but I skip the bra since the dress has a built-in shelf bra that gives my breasts plenty of support.

Once I’m dressed, I head back into the bathroom, unpin my hair, and run a brush through the long locks. I decide to skip the makeup and simply swipe on some tinted lip balm, then I’m ready to go.

I whisper constantly to myself as I drive over to the house, words of encouragement and warning to be cool. Act normal. Don’t be nervous because we’re all friends here. Even Gavin.

When I get to the house and park in the drive, I climb out and skip up the front porch steps. Pausing to take a deep, cleansing breath, I open the door and walk in. There’s no point in knocking or ringing the bell. The music from inside thumps against my skin, and I know they’d never hear me over it, anyway.

“Willow!” Keegan shouts with a wave when she sees me, making the others look my way.

I hear the hellos, but my gaze is focused on Gavin, who’s smiling like he’s seeing the sun for the first time in months. My heart flutters against my breastbone, and I silently scold myself for the fantastical thought.

It’s just a smile. It doesn’t mean anything.

I stand next to Trace as the girls make their video, and though he wasn’t slated to actually be in it, Pressley ends up pulling Gavin into the shot so he can try the cocktail they created with the new vodka flavor.

I can’t take my eyes off him. He laughs and has fun with the unexpected, forced cameo, and I can see why the cameras––and millions of fans all over the world––love him.

He’s just…real.

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