Page 44 of The Fake Script
“Absolutely, andwe’re here for work anyway,” I add. “You have a shoot in the morning, so we might as well turn in early.” As if I was planning on getting any sleep with him lying next to me. This One Bed situation is going to be the end of me, I know it.
We dig into our food, and I close my eyes to savor it. I wasn’t lying when I said I preferred fast food. I mean, the juicy burger, the crunch of the lettuce, the toastiness of the bread—what can beat that? Especially when you’re starving.
“Still, it’s frustrating sometimes. Not that I’m complaining,” he quickly adds. “I love my job, and I’m very fortunate to have this career. I know that. But the simplest of things become a whole operation.”
“Yeah.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m sorry about that. But you do get to go out alone and unnoticed sometimes, right? With your not-so-clever disguise?”
He smiles. “I do. In LA, it’s a little easier thanks to the sheer number of celebrities per one-mile radius. Some are harassed more than others. I’m usually okay. I can go grocery shopping without being bothered—that kind of thing.”
“See, that doesn’t make any sense,” I say, dipping a french fry in ketchup. “Why would youwantto go grocery shopping? The girls and I pretty much fight over whose turn it is to go.”
He laughs. “I don’t know. It’s just such a normal thing to do. When you have the chance to do loads of extraordinary things, you suddenly crave the ordinary.”
“That makes sense,” I mutter. Honestly, I feel bad for him. I can tell he loves his job, but why does acting have to come with all this extra stuff? Seems like a burden and a blessing at the same time.
I’m almost done with my burger when a notification lights up my phone. It’s from the girls’ chat. I open it to a picture of them in front of the Eiffel Tower. Underneath is written, “Tu nous manques” and “We miss you.” My heart constricts. I miss them too. More than I thought I would.
“Something wrong?” Auston asks as he’s grabbing a fry.
I show him the picture.
He squints at the screen. “Oh, they just sent you this?”
“Yep,” I sigh, looking at the picture again.
“Isn’t it, like, three a.m. in France?”
I frown. “Good point. They’re probably jet-lagged. I’ll ask.”
“You miss them?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I take a sip of my drink. “Funny, because I was always a loner. Then I met those girls, and it changed everything. You’ve got Hayley, who’s the epitome of strength and reason. Then there’s Alice, the ultimate romantic who always sees the glass half full, no matter the situation. We’re all so different from one another. Yet I can’t imagine life without them.”
“How did you guys meet?” he asks.
I take a bite of my burger. “On Bookstagram.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Bookstagram?”
“It’s the bookish part of Instagram. When you only follow bookish accounts or bookish hashtags, the algorithm serves you related content. It feels like a whole different app.”
“Oh, right. I don’t spend much time on social media. But I love that it brought you together. I’ve heard so many horror stories about social media, so it’s a welcome change.”
“Yeah.” I pop a fry in my mouth. “I wasn’t a fan either. I thought I’d never even make an account. I’m not a very social person,” I joke. “But I wanted a place to share about books, find more titles. And when I did, I found my people. As we say, I came for the books, but I stayed for the friendships.”
“It sounds like a great community.”
A soft smile pulls at my lips. “It really is. So, I guess you and I are similar, in a way. You’re an introverted extrovert. I’m a social loner. I enjoy being alone, but I value the connections I’ve made. I’m hopelessly attached to my friends, and I’d do anything for them.”
“I get it. It’s different with the people you love.”
The way he looks at me when he utters the word “love” sends a shiver through my body.
“Anyway.” I clap my hands. “I’m going to go take a shower and put on my PJs.”
He blinks a few times, nodding. “Okay. I’ll clean this up.”
Snatching my bag, I head to the bathroom. It’s really luxurious with its walk-in shower and large bathtub. Everything is finished in marble, and for a second, I debate taking a long bath with my Kindle. We don’t have a bathtub at home. But then, I remember Auston is literally in the same room.