Page 40 of Burn the Script

For days, I’ve been riding the high of being affectionate with Miguel in public. Every time I reach for my phone to text him about it, I’m reminded he has my number blocked. With Carmen’s help, I have a plan in motion to change that.

Staring out the car’s passenger window, I’m thinking over tomorrow’s shooting schedule when Maisy lets out long-suffering sigh. Filming wrapped early today, so we’re visiting Walford, Texas, her hometown an hour from Austin. She hates coming here but hasn’t explained why.

Walford is a quintessential small town with brick shops along Main Street and school colors decorating every home and business. With a population of three thousand, it’s quiet and remote, and the landscape is similar to the one back home, though the hills are smaller. Miguel would love it here. He’s never seemed to have any real affection for city life. Too many people.

A bell above the door jingles when Maisy and I walk into The Drip. Vintage furniture and overstuffed bookshelves create a cozy atmosphere in the only coffee shop in town. Our arrival earns us a few looks, but the other customers return to their books, conversations, and lattes without a second glance.

Tatum flags us down, waving from a gold velvet loveseat in the corner. Maisy takes one look at her and curses before heading for the counter to order drinks.

Smoothing my hair back with a hand, I plop down next to Tatum and smile. “Good afternoon, gorgeous. You look comfortable.”

Anywhere else, a world-famous pop star couldn’t get away with wearing fleece pajamas with music notes on them in public. And calling her bun messy would be an understatement. The knots have knots.

A sweet and spicy aroma wafts from her chai when she brings it to her lips. “I just woke up. Jake’s out of town, and I’m not trying to impress anyone else.”

She recently got back together with her high school sweetheart. I played a major, albeit uncredited, role in their reunion. They haven’t had much time to reconnect, though. Jake travels for work often, and Tatum can’t go anywhere because she’s in hiding.

A few months ago, her attempts to escape the losses from her past took a bad turn. Her performances became increasingly disastrous, and a nipple slip while humping a mic stand at Madison Square Garden landed her at rock bottom.

Her record label and manager dropped her, setting off a media frenzy and a hunt for her whereabouts. After ninety days in a recovery facility, Tatum fled to Walford, where she’s staying with her aunt while deciding what comes next for her music career.

Maisy settles in a wingback chair across from us and smirks at Tatum. “You owe me twenty bucks, so I put our drinks on your tab.”

“Why does she owe you money?” I ask.

“We bet on how soon you’d show your ass to Miguel and make a fool of yourself. I won.”

Slinking lower in my seat, I cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t show my ass, which is a gift to humanity, by the way. No body double required.”

I starred in one movie where I bared my backside, and it remains a fan favorite. Since then, I’ve been propositioned more than once for underwear ad campaigns, but I’m not interested in showing my front side to anyone outside my trust circle.

Lydia, The Drip’s owner, stops by and sets two mugs on the battered table. Her spiky bleached hair and blinding white smile are as legendary as her coffee beans.

“What else can I get you kids?” she asks.

Maisy picks up her hot chocolate while eyeing the mess on Tatum’s head. “Scissors.”

“We’re all good, thanks,” I say, returning Lydia’s smile before sniffing my black coffee. I moan, because the brew here smells strong and delicious.

Tatum digs in her bun, searching for the hair tie. After she returned to Walford, she dyed her hair its natural shade of light brown. It’s strange seeing her like this when I’ve known her only as a blonde.

“Give us the latest with Miguel,” she says.

While she weaves her long hair into a messy braid, I fill them in on all the finer details of speed dating and, more importantly, what happened afterward at the sushi restaurant. Tears of joy are shed, and some are mine.

“I’m trying to be chill and supportive about his dating life⁠—”

“But it kills you inside?” Tatum steals the words right out of my mouth.

It kills me to know Miguel has been seeing other men, which is why I’ve volunteered as a tribute in his dating game. If there’s even a remote possibility that someone else could win his heart from me, I deserve the fighting chance to keep it.

Maisy blows on her hot chocolate and says, “We have five more weeks of filming. Let him have his fun.”

Nodding, I set my mug on the table. “That’s what I told him I’d do. I won’t go back on my word, but it would be helpful if I could teleport. Travel eats into what little time I get to spend with him.”

“I have a solution for that,” Tatum says. Sitting crisscross, she spins to face me head-on, and a deep, serious ridge forms between her eyebrows. “Since I’m stuck here forever, you’re welcome to use my plane.”

I bark a laugh. “You can’t be serious. It’s a jet and costs real money every time you travel. A lot of money.”