Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(27)

I take a deep breath and say with more conviction than I feel, “I will be.”

“Exactly. We always will be. Eventually. And you know what helps?”

I tilt my head. “What?”

“Time,” she says.

I nod in agreement. I learned that when Nanna died. Time didn’t take away the pain, but it made it more bearable.

“Time and tequila,” Daisy says with a wicked grin.

“No tequila. Besides, I have a drink.” I look down at the glass in my hand and realize with surprise that it’s empty. I was thirstier than I thought.

“You were saying? Come on. Being good at tequila takes practice,” she wheedles.

In the end, she wears down my resolve by reminding me that Nanna would want me to take risks. And knowing Nanna, she would probably approve of tequila.

Daisy skips back to the bar for a few minutes, then appears with two tequila shots rimmed with salt and a wedge of lemon. I eye it warily. The truth is, I rarely do shots. I skipped over the whole turning twenty-one and drinking till I puked part of my youth. I’d had a drink here or there, but my birthday was the first time I’d ever been tipsy or drunk. My mother’s history with alcohol has made me wary of it.

But I screw up the courage to lick the salt, throw back the tequila that burns its way down my throat, and bite the lemon. My face puckers, though it isn’t terrible.

“Yasss, girl!” Daisy encourages. She finishes hers like the pro she is.

A Latin song with a strong beat comes on. Daisy grins, doing a twirl, her skirt flaring out. “And dancing! Dancing helps.”

In spite of my self-consciousness, I sway my hips to the intoxicating rhythm.

My shake and shimmy are hesitant, but they must be somewhat effective because a tall, dark-haired guy standing near me who’d been watching as we did our shots meets my eye and grins. He’s no Chase James, but he’s kind of cute.

I lean into Daisy. “And boys? Do they help?”

She nods. “They’re a very fun start.”

“To fun, fresh starts!” I yell above the music.

She grins. “To smoking-hot, fresh starts!” she screams back.

And then we throw ourselves into the music. The beat pounds through me. The lights swirl. Cute guy moves in, settling his hands around my waist and dancing close. At first, I’m nervous, not wanting him to feel my not-so-flat stomach.

But something unravels in me. Fuck it.

I feel wild and free. I want to let go of my worries and insecurities and live. Starting tonight.





Several hours, a few more tequilas, and many songs later, I’m knee-deep in a fountain in the middle of a long-since-deserted park. This wouldn’t be so alarming, except Daisy is swimming in the shallow fountain. In just her underwear.

Even more alarming? I’m also in the fountain in my bra and panties. I’m not sure how it all happened. One moment, we were giggling and walking arm in arm with a vague plan to hit up another bar, and the next moment, we were in the fountain sans clothes. I blame it on the tequila.

“This! Is! Awesome!” Daisy says, doing another shallow dive, and then drapes her dress over the nude male statue that’s standing watch over us. “You’re not allowed to look,” she scolds the naked statue.

I try to float as best as I can in the water, my long hair streaming around me like seaweed. I look up into the night sky. I revel in the magic of the faint stars and city lights.

Until the police siren breaks through my reverie.

Shit. Cops.

Drunk Olivia is going to ruin my life, one bad decision at a time.

I splash to sit up and cover my ample breasts, clad only in a strapless bra. My wild eyes search the area for my dress, which has somehow gone missing. Flashlights train first on Daisy and then on me.

“What seems to be the problem, Officers?” Daisy asks flirtatiously, looking as enticing as a Botticelli babe.

“Ever hear of trespassing?”

The officer, unlike most men, does not seem at all affected by Daisy’s brilliant smile and fit body. He looks irritated to be dealing with us. I don’t blame him. Dealing with drunk girls swimming in fountains is probably super annoying.

“Or indecency? Or public intoxication?”

My heart is racing now.

“Step out of the fountain,” the guy playing bad cop commands.

I look at the second officer with hope. Maybe he’ll be the good cop who lets us off on good behavior. But his glower causes that hope to crash and burn.

Daisy steps out of the fountain with grace, the water streaming down her shoulders and back, her pale-pink lace underwear nearly translucent. Bad cop tries to play it cool, but I see his eyes widen in admiration, which I imagine is Daisy’s plan. Dazzle and charm them into letting us go.

I stumble out with far less finesse, trying to hide all my body parts. Luckily, the Spanx and bra I’m wearing cover me more than any bikini. It’s still mortifying, though.

“I-I s-seem to have lost my dress,” I stutter.

It’s bad enough I’m about to be arrested. I have to add humiliation to the mix. I flash a pleading look to Daisy, who slips into her dress in one smooth motion.

She makes her eyes big and stares at me, while rummaging her hand into the purse she left on the edge of the fountain. I see her hand land on her phone. She tilts her head toward a nearby tree. I’m getting a little better at this subterfuge thing, and I think she’s trying to tell me to distract the cops so she can call someone.