“As much fun as taking the walk of shame in front of the whole crew would be, and having even more questions to answer, I figured I’d shake things up by not immediately embarrassing myself.”
Christine bristles at my tone, then her brow furrows. “What do you mean, ‘questions to answer’?”
“What do you mean, ‘What do you mean’? Oh, that’s right. America’s sweetheart is too pure for the hot goss. My bad, princess.”
Electricity charges the air in the trailer, and I can’t breathe. The tension in Christine’s coiled muscles seems to pulse through me.
She looks away, shaking her head and muttering, “You really are a piece of work.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
The silence stretches into awkwardness.
“I’ll call my private driver,” Christine says quietly. “Have him pull around this way. If you go now, you can get to the hotel before everyone else. Tell them you went back early to rest. Shouldn’t be any questions that way.”
“How generous,” I bite.
Christine shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”
“Oh, I’m taking it. But don’t think this gets you any brownie points.”
Christine’s glare sends a chill down my spine as she pulls out her phone.
I turn away from her, propping my chin on my knees. Fuck, I’m dizzy, and the trailer being full of her scent isn’t helping. I itch for fresh air, but if someone spots me leaving, I’ll never live it down.
“Shit,” I sigh.
“What?”
“My backpack and everything, my phone and stuff, it’s in the stunt trailer…”
“I’ll get it.”
I scoff. “Yeah, ‘cause that’ll be subtle.”
Christine makes a quiet, frustrated noise, but when I glance over, her ire doesn’t seem to be directed at me.
“What about Bella?” she asks.
Fuck. My forehead settles back onto my knees. I’m either going to have to lie to Bella or risk her disappointment. Still, there’s no one else I trust.
The headache pounds between my temples, radiating down into my injured shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Bella’s good.”
A few minutes later, the trailer door opens. It swings toward me, so I stay out of view. I wouldn’t have the energy to move anyway—fuck, I feel like crap.
Christine and Bella’s low murmurs crack against my ears, overloud.
“He’s just kinda crashing,” Christine says. “Long day. Told him he could hide out here for a quiet spot. My driver’s gonna take him straight back to the hotel.”
“That’s good,” Bella replies. “He hurt his shoulder more than he lets on.”
“I know.” Christine’s voice is barely more than a whisper. “I feel horrible about that. I just—I panicked. It won’t happen again.”
My chest pangs. Christine has every reason to believe that either I can’t hear her or I’m not listening. Maybe she’s telling the truth…
Then my better sense cuts in, sliding the door shut on that possibility. She needs to save face with Bella, and it’s a perfect excuse.
