Page 16 of My Charming Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 1)
Love always,
Your friend,
Karina Templeton
Anaka had started her uber-popular, completely anonymous blog for fun a year ago, and now it had become a bona fide online hit. In it, she dispensed fashion advice under her pen name, posing as the famous offspring of a now-divorced pair of movie stars—the eight-year-old fashionista Karina Templeton.
“Who knew that little Karina would have so many opinions on berets,” I said as I returned to my chair. The kitchen table at our apartment near campus was littered with fashion magazines, celebrity tabloids, and my science textbooks.
“Karina has an opinion on everything,” Anaka said, as she picked up her glass of wine and swirled it, a faux-haughty look in her eyes as she spoke in character. “Including the fact that you look beautiful even in your simple T-shirt and jeans,” she said, returning to her regular voice. Anaka was always encouraging and I loved that about her.
“And you’re beautiful to me because you rock at being a friend,” I said, shooting her a quick smile.
“Oh stop, stop. You’re embarrassing me,” she said as she took a sip of her wine. “This is delish. Are you going to have some?” She waggled the bottle of white at me.
I shook my head. “Wine makes me sleepy.” I tapped my coffee mug. “I need to be ready at a moment’s notice.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if you’re already working thirty six–hour shifts as a resident.”
“I know. But you have to train early to stay awake for days.”
“All I can say is, thank God I’m a creative writing major. And speaking of, why isn’t anyone making me an offer to turn Karina’s Burn Book into a movie? I had three hundred thousand visitors last month,” she said, then reached for a handful of cherry jelly beans from the glass bowl on the table, popping some into her mouth.
I reminded Anaka of her plight in her quest to snag a movie deal for her blog. “Because no one knows you’re the amazing, all-powerful force behind the blog.”
“But seriously. Do you think Karina’s Burn Book would make a hilarious movie or even a TV show?” she asked, because Anaka dreamed of being a screenwriter, and had even written three original scripts that I personally thought were everything any studio could ever want—she had humor, mystery, romance, and happy endings in all her scripts. But she didn’t want to rely on nepotism, so she wouldn’t show her father, Graham Griffin, any of her screenplays, nor her website that I was sure could somehow be turned into a movie, too—just add plot.
“Yes. Provided you can weave in a story, some peril, and an antagonist.”
“An antagonist?” she said with a snort. “Everyone is an antagonist as far as Karina is concerned. Because nearly everyone commits fashion crimes.”
“There you go. Now all you need is a plot.”
“Karina fends off a dangerous paparazzo,” she said, suggesting a storyline immediately.
I laughed. “Speaking of a dangerous paparazzo, or dangerously attractive ones, I ran into a constitutionally good-looking fellow shooter tonight,” I said as I tapped my pencil against the notebook sheet in front of me that was filled with organic chemistry formulas.
“Constitutionally good-looking? That high up in the ranks?”
“So good-looking his looks would have to be codified and written into all the law books as a special amendment,” I said, then twirled the pencil between my thumb and forefinger, and sighed as I remembered William’s handsomeness.
“I trust you procured pictures?”
“For Karina’s Burn Book?”
“No, for me.” She banged a fist on the table. “Photographic evidence of constitutional hotness must always be shared. It’s the democratic way.”
“No. But I kissed him by the beach.”
Anaka shrieked and nearly spilled her wine. I loved shocking her. “Details, Jess. I want every sordid detail.”
I dropped the pencil on the table, spread out my hands wide as if I were a screenwriter pitching a new script in a producer’s office. Because this—scripting a life like the movies—was the one thing that took the edge off me. “Imagine if you were casting the perfect romantic comedy with a hot British guy. But not a tortured hero. The completely irresistible, charming hero.”
“Why are you talking to me, then? Why are you not making out with him right now?”
That was a good question. That kiss was epic, and I could still feel the aftereffects in my body hours later. All I had to do was close my eyes, replay, and I’d be right back on the beach savoring William’s lips on mine. Of course, I could also rewind to our conversations, to his relaxed and easy way of chatting, whether about food or about the roles we all played. Or to his quick reflexes in saving me from the cyclist.
I wondered if the scratch on his forehead was hurting him. If he needed me to kiss it and make it better.
