Page 46 of The Fake Script
“Oh, yeah. I love stickers,” I say, flipping the device so he can see my collection. There’s a “Mood Reader” one. Another says “Bookish Girls are Hot.” And of course, the classic “I Love My Men Fictional.”
He frowns, shaking his head. “Looks like another addiction. A sticker one.”
I laugh, sitting cross-legged on the mattress. “In bookish vocabulary, we say it’s a stickercollection.”
“Ah! I see.” He tilts his chin, gesturing to my feet. “Oh, and I didn’t see the socks. I should shut up now.”
I don’t need to look at my socks to know that they say, “If my book is open, your mouth is shut.”
Weirdly enough, I’m not the least bit bothered by Auston’s interruption. And I’m not ready to contemplate what that means.
“Do you mind if I watch TV? Don’t want to bother you with the sound.”
I shake my head. “Not at all. Go ahead. This book is so captivating, nothing can pull me out of it.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about a movi—ing truck employee,” I say, catching myself just in time. Auston definitely doesn’t need to know I’m reading about a movie star. We’re already sleeping in the same bed. No need to fill that awkward jar more.
He tilts his head. “A moving-truck employee? That’s different.”
“Yeah! Very. He almost runs over a girl, and they fall in love.”
Well, I guess I can rule out “author” as a backup career choice.With all the books you read, that’s the best plot you could come up with?
He breathes out a chuckle. “Okay. That's kind of strange. Who is it by?”
“Oh, someone unknown.” I wave a hand in dismissal. “It’s her debut, actually. A French author writing in English. That’s probably why it’s so weird. Maybe moving truck guys are gods over there. Who knows? Anyway.”
He nods. “Right. I’ll leave you to it.”
I’m trying to control my breathing, but my chest is heaving up and down like crazy. What on earth was that just now?
I focus back on my reading, and after a solid fifteen minutes of glancing at Auston, I’m finally able to get back into the story. Great. Now my reading speed is going to be all messed up.
After a while, he switches the TV off. “Well, I’m going to turn in, but don’t stop reading on my account. It doesn’t bother me. Good night, Emma.”
“I’m going to sleep too, actually,” I say, turning my screen off. “Good night.”
We both get up to pull out the bedsheets and slip beneath them. I lean on my side, facing the wall and not Auston, but my body is buzzing. I can’t lie still, stretching my legs, then bending my knees. And I’m hot.Way too hot.
There’s a zero percent chance I'll get any sleep tonight. Is this place called the Heatwave Hotel or something?
“Because girl. You’re the one that I want,” Auston sings, and I burst into laughter.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re the one that I need. The only—”
“Auston,” I laugh, the tension evaporating.
“What? You forgot the lyrics? Or maybe you only know Bobby’s part.”
I grab my second pillow and hit him with it.
He lets out a loud laugh. “Come on, now. Sing with me. I know you want to.”
He’s right. Now, it’s stuck in my head. I start singing along, and we crank up the volume, singing and laughing in unison.