Page 59 of The Fangirl and the Playboy

Rifling through the bag, I find the clothes I packed for my trip to California, my toothbrush, and my deodorant. Laying it all out on the counter, I hop into the shower and let the warm water spray against my shoulders for a moment.

Finding Willow’s body wash in the shower caddy, I grab it and pop it open, then lift it to my nose, breathing it in. Exhaling on a sigh, I squirt some into my palm and set the bottle aside. Willow’s scent surrounds me as I lather it up and spread it all over my body, and I decide I might switch to this brand so I can smell like her every day.

Once I’m clean and rinsed, I turn off the water and grab a towel from the rack. I get dry and dress in clean clothes, then I brush my teeth and swipe on some deodorant. Popping the cap back on the stick and setting it aside, I run a hand along my bristly jaw. Hopefully, Willow doesn’t mind the scruff. I need to shave, but it will have to wait.

I’m too eager to see my girl this morning.

The thought gives me pause.Isshe my girl?

When we’re together, it feels like she is. But I can always sense a little hesitation in her, like she’s holding back. She refuses to give herself over completely to this…tous.

And I get it. She’s scared. Hell, I’m scared, too.

Shaking off the negativity, I grab my socks and walk into the living room where I left my shoes last night. Pulling them on, I grab my jacket, wallet, and keys before turning the lock on the doorknob, walking outside, and pulling the door closed behind me.

The drive to Moonstone Mystic is short and uneventful, and before I know it, I’m parked in the lot and heading toward the entrance. The bells jingle as I step inside, and my gaze hones in on the beauty behind the counter. A wide smile stretches across her face the second she sees me, and my own expression mirrors hers.

She waves me toward a table, calling out that she’ll be right out. I check my phone for messages while I wait, but there’s nothing from my agent yet. I didn’t really think there would be––it’s too soon. But I had hoped…

I put my phone away as Willow sets a steaming mug in front of me. Sliding into the chair across the table, she sips from her own mug before setting it down.

“Good morning,” she murmurs.

“Good morning,” I parrot back. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” she says, and I can hear what’s left unsaid.

Because you were there with me.

“Same,” I say with a small smile.

“Chuck will be out with our sandwiches in a minute, but I wanted to ask you how the audition went. We didn’t really talk last night.”

“It went well,” I say, hoping she’ll accept the words and leave it at that.

I don’t really want to get into it. I’m working on something that could solve all our problems, but I don’t want to get her hopes up in case it doesn’t pan out. I also don’t want to get my own hopes up, assuming that if itdoeswork, she’ll be game for what I have in mind.

Chuck arrives with our food, saving me from having to elaborate for the moment. We thank him and he stalks back into his kitchen with a frown. I look over at Willow with wide eyes.

“What’s with him?”

Willow shrugs. “Seattle announced they’re trading his favorite player to Green Bay. He’s not happy about it.”

A laugh barks out of me, and she smiles. It seems silly to let something like a traded football player ruin your day, but some people take that shit really seriously. I like the sport, but I’m not that into it. I guess, in my world, it would be tantamount to replacing a favored actor with another on a television show.

And speaking of television shows…

“So, you never told me…what’s the part you auditioned for?” Willow asks casually.

I watch her as she picks up her sandwich and takes a bite. She maysoundcasual, but she’s anything but. I can tell she wants to know, but at the same time, she doesn’t. Like knowing will make it real, and should I get the part, it will be the catalyst that drives us apart once again.

“It’s a T.V. show. AwerewolfT.V. show,” I say, keeping my eyes locked on hers.

“You can’t be serious,” she says after her mouth drops open for a long, silent moment.

I don’t respond. I just watch her reaction as she accepts and digests the news.

“But,” she says finally, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she stiffens and draws her brows down. “I thought you were trying to break out of that kind of typecasting. Why would you audition for that kind of show?”

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