He pulls me along. His palm is warm and strong enveloping mine. And he doesn’t let go for the rest of the walk home.
I hobble out of my bedroom an hour earlier the next day, wanting to get fully caffeinated before I’m tortured by the hottest man alive again. Every muscle in my body hurts from yesterday’s run, but maybe the pain means itty-bitty muscles are being formed, and that’s not such a bad thing. So I’ve heard. Allegedly. As I reach up to grab a coffee cup from the white cabinet, I wince as my body protests the movement. Maybe I should have just stayed in bed. All day.
“What’s wrong with you?”
I turn around, startled. Emma stands behind me, looking calm, cool, collected, and pain-free in her stilettos and pencil skirt. She’s already clutching her giant mug of coffee, and for a brief moment, I kind of hate her.
“Exercise happened. Or, more specifically, running,” I grumble, scooping a generous mound of sugar into my coffee, then topping it with enough milk to turn the drink a nice creamy color. I take a deep sip. Sweet, sweet elixir of the gods.
Daisy saunters into the kitchen.
“What are you doing up so early?” I ask.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she replies with a wide yawn. “Damn birds outside my window.” She slides on a pair of sunglasses. “And the sun. So much sun.”
Emma watches Daisy with narrowed eyes. “Aren’t you the perky one? Isn’t that part of your thing? Fun. Blond. Perky. A little zany.”
Daisy rolls her eyes. “I am perky. But not before eight a.m. I need time to build up to greatness.”
“So what you’re saying is Daisy’s a manic pixie dream girl?” I say to Emma with a snort.
“Well, we are in Hollywood.” Emma gives a shrug. “We’re all playing a part. For example, I’m the overachieving biatch. And I fully embrace the cliché.” She kicks out her stilettos.
“I love a self-aware diva,” Daisy says, filling her coffee cup from the large French press that Marie left on the stove.
“And I am…？” I ask, cringing a little.
“Girl next door,” Emma and Daisy say in unison.
“Huh. I guess the girl next door could be worse.”
“Now that we know what part we’d play in a movie of our lives, I just have to say you’re looking mighty foxy, Miss Olivia, in a sporty way.” Daisy eyes up my terry cloth shorts and V-neck T-shirt.
“Courtesy of Emma.” I do a little twirl. I’m having fun with my new wardrobe, even the workout clothes. It’s making me rethink my former fashion choices. I do miss my writerly Tshirts, though. Those make me happy, so I don’t plan on leaving them behind anytime soon.
Emma shakes her head. “Courtesy of Chase.”
“But you picked it out, right? And put the shopping bag on my bed yesterday.”
“Nope,” Emma says. “That was all Chase. He didn’t do too bad, considering he’s a man. Seems he got the sizes right. He must be very observant.” She grins.
“But he bought me sports bras. Several.” I gulp, mortified at the thought of Chase knowing my sizes. I’m not exactly an extra small like Daisy.
Emma cackles wickedly. “I am surprised.”
“That he bought me sportswear? Me too.”
“No, that he went shopping. He never goes shopping.”
Daisy nods. “He always gets mobbed, so he never goes anywhere.”
“We talked about that a little yesterday after our run,” I say.
“Chase’s fan base is extreme. He went from being unknown to one of the most famous people on the planet overnight. I don’t think he’s ever figured out how to handle it. He’s never really recovered from the experience of all that sudden fame.”
“But other celebrities do, right? They don’t just hide away.”
“Ryder and Sebastian go out,” Daisy says. “All the time.”
“Sebastian doesn’t care about being photographed. He eats it up,” Emma says. “But he’s used to it. He was born famous.”
“What about Ryder?”
“Ryder is good with disguises.” Daisy grins.
“Ryder and his disguises. Bless his hot heart,” Emma says, cracking up.
“He has an entire closet full of decoy outfits. He had some wardrobe consultant put it together when he was in the boy band. He even has prosthetics,” Daisy elaborates.
“So why can’t Chase do something like that? He just seems to have given up on the idea of a regular life.”