Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(89)

I’m weak.

“I don’t hate you,” I whisper. I’m confused, confounded, hurt, angry, but there’s no hate. “I just wish you trusted me more earlier.”

“I never meant for it to go this far. I came to San Francisco to make sure you were okay. When you ghosted me—”

“But I didn’t!” I interrupt.

“You disappeared and didn’t answer my calls or texts. I was worried. I didn’t know if you were hurt, lying in a hospital bed”—a frown cuts deep grooves into his otherwise perfect complexion—“or worse.”

I flinch. “I kind of was. In a hospital, I mean.”

His head whips up. “What do you mean, you were in the hospital?”

“I was fine,” I soothe. “It wasn’t a big deal. But my phone was damaged when I kinda got run over by a bike messenger in the street. I hit my head, blacked out for a minute, and my phone was smashed in the road. I realized I didn’t have your number written anywhere else.”

“You were hurt, and I had no idea.” He looks stricken. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Well, to be fair, I had no idea when I met Chase James that he might be interested in my little concussion story. I’m fine. I just spent a few nights in the hospital. It was my phone that had the most collateral damage, though maybe I should thank that bike messenger and the car. It brought you looking for me.” At that admission, I hold my breath.

“Does that mean you forgive me?”

I can’t cave this easily. I just can’t.

“You saw I was okay after the first café visit. Why’d you come back?” I ask.

Now is my time for answers, and I intend on collecting each one.

“I shouldn’t have.” He slants me a look. “At least, that’s what I told myself. Look at what happened when we were photographed together.”

I have to acknowledge he has a point. His fears are real.

He leans closer and caresses a lock of my hair.

“I wanted to see you one more time and swore it would be the last. Then Daisy called and asked me to pick her up from the police station, and there you were. Then you showed up at my hotel room when I was sick. I felt guilty as hell, but at that point, I just couldn’t keep pushing you away. I wanted to be near you, even if I knew it was for a short time.”

“But you did push me away. If it hadn’t been for the tabloids and the fire, would you have ever told me who you really were? Were you just going to resume texting me when I got my phone back? Even after those nights in your hotel suite?” My voice gains heat.

He looks away. “If I were being honorable, yes. It would be the safest, best thing for you. But as much as I’d like to think I’d do the right thing—”

“That’s not the right thing. You’re making a decision for both of us and not giving me a choice.”

“That’s because you can’t understand. You can’t know unless you’ve truly lived it.”

“I’ve seen enough. Fans and trolls have been calling me liar, slut, whore, ugly—”

“Fuck, Olivia. Don’t you see? I can’t live with it, knowing that you’re dragged into that toxic underworld just because you’re with me. You’re proving my point.”

“It’s my choice too,” I say stubbornly. And then something else occurs to me. It bubbles up from that insecure place where all my doubts reside. “But maybe you’re just using that as an excuse. I don’t fit in. My favorite thing is to stay home and read. I’m a total nerd. Hell, I’m a virgin. I’m not like the other girls you’ve dated.”

“Hey.” He touches my chin, tilting my face up to his. I open my eyes, and I’m transfixed by how close he is. “I love that you nerd out on books and movies, because I do too. I love that your favorite thing is staying in, because it’s mine too. And I certainly love that no other man has touched you like I have, like I want to. I love everything about you, whether you’re Olivia Evans or Typewriter Girl.”

My stomach flips. “As a friend,” I say softly, more to myself than him.

“As everything,” he growls, then dives into a deep, drugging kiss.





I’m not sure what finally does it.

Was it learning the many facets of Chase and what each version of him means to me?

Was it knowing how perfect it feels to be held in his arms all night?

Was it his infuriating but sweet concern for my safety and happiness?

Was it knowing that it was Chase who stayed up all night texting with me every night for a week after Nanna died?

Whatever it was that dealt the final blow, it’s happened. I’ve fallen in love with him.

I wish I could say this is a happy realization. It isn’t, even while I’m being kissed silly by the object of my adoration.

It has heartbreak typed all over it.

We’re both panting as he pulls back, as if gauging my reaction.

“I’ve told you the truth now,” he says in a velvet whisper.

“And you said once you told me the truth, you’d very agreeably fuck me like I asked,” I say archly. My vagina, damn traitor, is already all on board.

“Make love,” he corrects. “If you still want me.”