Page 101 of Darlin'

"Ouch! That one hurt!"

"Good!" I grunt, crossing my arms. "Seriously, Mar! What the hell? I thought we said no more secrets!"

Marlow rolls her eyes as she nods at the time on the wall. Dang it. Five minutes. "There's a difference between secrets and surprises, Sav," she says, helping me into the satin evening gown. "And if you're gonna be mad at someone, be mad at your brother; he's the one that told JP to come, not me."

"Sure." I scoff, swapping out bras. "As if you had nothing to do with it. Totally believable."

"Listen." Marlow spins me around and latches her sisterly eyes onto mine. "I love you, Sav, but you are as stubborn as they come, okay? You can try and convince yourself all you want that you don't care about JP and that it was only a fling, but we both know that's a load of bullshit. So instead of standing there pretending to be angry with us, think about what you're going to say to him after you win that fucking crown!"

"I amnotstubborn!" I state, scowling at her. "That is so ru?—"

"Rude? Okay, fine, I'm rude, but I'd rather be rude than let my best friend live the rest of her life wishing she had the balls to tell the man that she loves thatshe's in love with him!"

"Ah!" My jaw drops. "I am not in love?—"

Marlow slams her index finger against my lips. "Enough!" She takes a long, labored breath, mumbling, "God, you and JP belong together. I've never met two people who are more similar in my whole life." With a heavy sigh, she adds, "Let's try this again. What are you going to say to him?"

I glower at her, staying silent as the fear of rejection ripples through my body.

Marlow picks up on my apprehension and drops her hand, tone softening, "Sav, the man rode his bike nonstop from California to Alabama to see you." She pauses, tilting her head. "He used fucking glitter for you." She smiles. "Glitter."

A cheesy grin curls my lips. "Pink glitter."

"Yes, girl." Marlow chuckles. "Pink glitter."

I bite my lip, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "You think he loves me?"

"What's not to love?"

"I—"

"One minute!" The stage manager shouts through the megaphone. Where did she get a megaphone?! "Let's go, ladies! Hustle! Hustle! Hustle!" She looks in my direction. "Alabama! Let's go!"

"Go get that crown!" Marlow whispers, tossing me a wink before she disappears through the doors.

Grabbing my sash, I chaotically stumble into line with Iowa and New York on either side of me. Whimsical music booms through the sound system as we wait backstage for our cue.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Unable to think about anything other than not falling flat on my face, I smile and wave as all fifty contestants make their way onto the stage, the final three leading the way.

"Welcome back," the host says. "For one of our three finalists, a new and exciting chapter will begin, but first, let's give a big round of applause for our reigning queen, Kimber Lee, as she does her final walk as Miss USA?—"

I attempt to focus on Kimber as she takes the runway, but my gaze keeps slipping toward the back of the room, and every time I glance over, I meet his eyes—his beautiful hazel eyes. They stay glued to mine, unwavering, unflinching, undeniably magnetic.

A cheeky smirk clips the corner of his mouth as he wiggles the sign in his hands, and I blush, shaking myhead as I mouth "idiot" at him. He sticks out like a sore thumb. A gorgeous, rugged, and delicious sore thumb. He points a finger at me and mouths back, "your idiot," or at least Ithinkthat's what he says. Either that or "you're an idiot." I prefer the former. It's sweeter. I'll stick with that.

"Thank you, Kimber," the host says as the results are brought up to the stage, and intense, dramatic music circles the room. "The selection committee and the viewers at home have made their final decisions. Ladies, remember, you are all winners up here, and good luck to all of you..."

Iowa squeezes my hand and says, "I hope it's you."

Unable to break eye contact with Jesse, I whisper back, "I hope it's not."

"Second runner up for Miss USA is..." The host pauses. "New York. Congratulations, New York!"

Tisha squeals as she accepts her flowers and steps off to the side, leaving Iowa and me holding hands. It takes all my self-control not to break free of her hand and run into the audience, but I wait, I patiently wait, wishing my name isn't called.

Come on. Come on.

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