Page 32 of Fame and Obsession

“Men suck,” I grumble.

His eyes widen. “Hey, I’m sitting right here, you know.”

Releasing an entire night of stress and confusion on an unsuspecting party isn’t fair. Fancy Pants is hot and extremely fuckable, but he’s also the guy who made out with a complete stranger and then proceeded to stalk them. In addition, he’s gone to great lengths to track down my carefully guarded identity, all while keeping his own anonymity and a side piece of blonde ass.

Nope. Go directly to hell. Do not pass Go, do not collect Phoebe’s vagina.

I wince. “Don’t mind me. You just have the misfortune of having lunch with a single woman with issues.”

Nate’s cheeks flame, his fists clenching on the table. “Maybe I’m not the right person for you to be telling this stuff to, Phoebe.”

Wait, what’s this weird aggression? Did I blink and miss some sort of signal?

As quickly as the thought enters my mind, I reject it. Nate’s my friend, and he knows it. All this? This is simply paranoia courtesy of Fancy Pants and his batshit bouquet.

“Sorry,” I mutter, retrieving my chopstick and stirring my rice. “I’ve got too much going on to worry about guys, anyway.”

His jaw tightens. “So, it is someone?”

“You could say that,” I muse, poking at my sushi.

It’s driving me insane to hold it inside, so against my better judgment, I tell him about the flowers, along with the full details of what happened at the club involving Heath Vaughn and Fancy Pants. As I explain, he cocks an eyebrow and lifts his chin in thought.

After regurgitating everything, I wait as he contemplates my revelations.

“Well, it is unconventional,” he admits.

“Unconventional? Nate, the guy is stalking me!” I slump into my chair. “Do you know how dangerous a stalker can be? And he has a girlfriend. What’s his angle?”

“It looks like his angle is you,” he says, staring holes into me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lifting my soda, I bite the straw in frustration.

Nate is quiet for a moment, then stands up and pushes his chair under the table. “It means he’s already in your head.”

I stare at him, my mouth open, as he disappears into the crowd.

Ten

Julian

Everyone had been antsy to get ready for the press conference, so Ty suggested we break for a few hours and then meet back at the venue half an hour early for a final run-through.

I’d stayed behind to look over the posters from the publicity shots taken a few weeks ago. I needed some time to myself. Besides, somebody had to decide which one of these damn things to sell at the merchandise table.

Twenty minutes later, I have it narrow it down to the final three posters, when the door opens and a familiar face rounds the corner.

“You doing all right?” I call out.

“We, uh...” Zane clears his throat. “We didn’t know where you were.”

Guilt eats at me. “I know.”

“It’s time to wake your ass up and do something, Jag. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” He adjusts the brim of his baseball hat. “You don’t deserve it, regardless of what you think.”

I roll the poster in my hands. “They don’t deserve to get dragged down in my bullshit again, either.” I hold his stare, needing his forgiveness. “I’m sorry, man. You know, for what I said—for lots of things.”

Zane dips his chin in a slight nod. Guys don’t need long apologies. He nodded. We were cool.

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