Page 48 of My Sexy Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 2)
I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean? The actress and the photog take down the director. That’s the happy ending,” I said as if it were obvious. Because, well, wasn’t it?
“No,” Riley said, as if she had a secret up her sleeve. “That’s the ending of a girl-power buddy flick. This movie is going to be a romantic comedy mystery with a twisty, turny plot. It’s going to be about the clever photog and the gorgeous private eye, and how they fall for each other while trying to crash a celebrity wedding. We need a happy ending with the guy.”
“But there is no happy ending with the guy,” I said in a firm voice. After all, William was working for the bad guy. How could there be a happy ending?
Riley sighed. “Jess, call me crazy. But I just have a feeling this guy really was doing what he said he was doing this morning. I don’t know why. But I believe it in my heart. I believe this is the part where the girl thinks the boy screwed her over, but he really didn’t, so she needs to make up with him.”
Julia nodded, flashing a gorgeous smile. “That’s your happy ending.” Then she shifted closer to me, and dropped her hand on top of mine. “And listen, sometimes men just do dumbass things. They don’t think. Or if they do, they think they’re doing something for your best interests. And in the end, you give him a chance to explain and then you forgive him. So long as he’s the real deal,” she said, and the last few words were directed to her husband, who looked at her with such a combination of adoration and lust that I’d never seen before.
Except…maybe…when William looked at me?
I weighed my options as I replayed the last seven days with William. On the one hand, I could conclude that every moment had been a smooth and well-orchestrated ruse. Or I could go with my gut. When I was with him I didn’t feel all work and no play. I felt carefree and light-hearted. I felt wanted and desired. I felt fun and happy. And I felt all those things without spiraling back into my bad habits. William was ice cream and French fries without the guilt. He was something I’d denied myself for years. Something I wanted again.
And just like that, the movie montage began, reel after reel of our times together playing before my eyes. Our first kiss when I surprised him on the boardwalk. His text that night: How do I move that maybe to a yes? The things he said to me in Italian when we made out on his motorcycle. The kiss outside the hospital, the Busy Bee Eatery when I fed him a pineapple, the dinner he made me and how it was exactly what I wanted to eat. Then the couch, oh the couch, the things we did on the couch. The rollercoaster, and after the rollercoaster, and then yesterday at my apartment. My insides melted from the memories, and if I let myself linger on yesterday—yesterday evening to be precise—I was going to start squirming in this chair and then rocket on out of this restaurant on lust alone.
And love. Because damn it. I was in love with him. Present tense. Future tense. All tenses. In every single way. And I hoped to hell he had a reasonable explanation. Somewhere inside, I knew he did. Because I trusted myself and I wouldn’t have felt the way I did for him if he was a jerk. I had to give him the benefit of the doubt, and give him a chance to explain.
I could believe everyone in Hollywood was a bastard. Or I could believe that only some people in Hollywood were, and that the rest were just people. Besides, the one thing I knew to be a cold, hard fact of the movies and of life was this—when someone gives you a chance for a happy ending, you don’t leave the audience hanging. You give them what they want, and what the audience wants often has a funny way of being exactly what you want, too.
“I bet he’s been trying to call you and explain,” Riley said softly.
“Maybe he has,” I said in a small voice, hoping she was right as I took out my phone again and scrolled through my text messages.
HBG: I’m sorry. Please let me explain, but I also want to say I was never playing you. I’m not working for James or Avery anymore, and I told them both exactly what I think of them. And I’m not just falling in love with you. I’m madly in love with you. Let’s be mad together. Can we get to the part in the script where we make up?
