Page 7 of The Fangirl and the Playboy

I nod and swallow against the emotion clogging my throat. He’s right. He will be back soon, and when that movie wraps up, they’ll film the third almost immediately. The filmmakers decided to shoot all three back-to-back before even releasing the first film so the actors wouldn’t age too much in the process and so they could do a rapid release of the films every six months.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, hugging me again.

“I’ll miss you, too, Gavin,” I say, leaning into the embrace while pretending.

While pretending he isn’t just saying goodbye to hisfriend. Pretending we’re so much more.

And that Gavin Reese feels the same way about me as I feel about him.

ChapterFour

Gavin

I’m kind of getting sick of these walls. I’ve been hiding in this rental since the convention ended, waiting for the masses of CursedCubs to trickle out of town. And now it’s Friday, meaning a whole new batch of weekend tourists are flooding in.

I could go out. Go get some dinner. Interact with actual people.

But that would mean setting myself up to be mobbed by fans looking for pictures and autographs. I don’t mind all that, usually. But I still feel physically and mentally drained from last weekend.

So here I am, sitting on the couch alone and scrolling BingBang. I’m watching the videos Pressley and Keegan have been making for Planter’s Vodka, and I have to admit, they’re good. The two women look like they’re actually having fun. There’s no scripting or acting involved. Just two girlfriends mixing drinks and getting tipsy while dancing around in their pajamas.

And I don’t know how I’m going to fit into that scenario.

My agent worked a deal for me to make a guest appearance in a few of their videos when I told her I was going to be staying in Evening Shade for a while after the convention ended. I told her I needed a mental health break, and she worked out the deal with Planter’s as a compromise to keep me relevant in the meantime.

I blow out a choppy breath. When was the last time I feltrelevant? It’s been years.

While I’m forever grateful to the Cursed trilogy for making me a star, the phenomenon also had a downside. I was instantly typecast, pigeonholed into only winning roles in paranormal romance movies. Most of which tanked at the box office. And now that I’m thirty, most of those roles have dried up. Some actors my age can pull off the teenager vibe and look, but I just can’t. And I keep auditioning for more serious adult roles, but nothing has panned out.

And I’m fuckingtired.

Shaking my head, I refocus on the BingBang videos. Keegan and Pressley really do look like they’re having a lot of fun. Maybe doing this will be a good thing. I could use a little fun in my life right now.

Hell, when was the last time I laughed like that? I try to remember, but nothing comes to mind. At least, not in the last decade.

Not since Willow.

* * *

Eleven Years Ago…

We’re in the middle of filming Phase, and the storyline takes place during the winter. It’s much colder here than in L.A., and today, it’s snowing. We took advantage of it by filming several scenes that require a snowy backdrop so production wouldn’t have to make the stuff. I’m tired as hell, but I have plans to hang out with Willow tonight. The thought gives me a second wind as I finish drying off after my shower and pull on some warm clothes.

It’s Willow’s birthday, and she invited me to her party.

I walk to Wolfsbane Tavern, which is closed to the public tonight to host Willow’s seventeenth birthday bash. I sneak in and stand off to the side, watching as she greets her guests. She looks gorgeous in a dark green sweater and skinny jeans. She looks…grown up.

I shake my head to clear the dangerous thought. She’s not grown up, and she’s still off-limits. We’re friends. Nothing more.

When I look back over at her, our eyes meet, and her smile lights up this whole damn place. She rushes forward and leaps into my arms. I catch her against me and hug her tightly, seeing her Grandpa frowning at us as I look over her shoulder. Panicking, I quickly set her back on her feet, and she grins while we perform the silly secret handshake she insisted we create over the summer.

Then she takes my hand and drags me over to her gaggle of friends. They flirt with me outrageously, and I try not to laugh as Willow crosses her eyes and makes funny faces behind their backs. I roll my eyes back at her when the girls look away, and Willow chuckles before I claim starvation and escape to the bar where a buffet of snacks has been set up.

While I’m perusing my options, Willow’s Grandpa makes a beeline for me, cornering me with no escape.

“What’s the deal between you and my granddaughter?” he asks without preamble while wearing a deep frown.

“We’re really good friends, sir,” I say politely.

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