Page 12 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Okay, we’ve got…” Jessie froze mid-step, her sharp blue eyes darting between Myst and George. “Oh. Didn’t realize you still had… company,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

“Good morning to you too, Jessie,” George said, unbothered, flashing her one of those disarming smiles that made Myst want to both roll her eyes and melt on the spot.

“Morning,” Jessie replied curtly, then turned her attention to Myst. “We need to move. You’ve got interviews booked all day and a photoshoot at three. The car will be here in thirty.”

“Right,” Myst said, already feeling the familiar tug of guilt pulling at her chest. She glanced at George, who was now leaning casually against the windowsill, his coffee still in hand, watching the exchange like it amused him.

“Sorry,” she said quietly, stepping closer to him. “I didn’t mean to drag you into my chaos. I’ll be free for dinner, around eight maybe?”

“Sure,” he said, his tone easy and reassuring. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll keep myself entertained. Maybe wander around, see what London’s got to offer.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed, searching his face. “I feel terrible leaving you like this.”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, his sincerity cutting through her worry. “You’ve got stuff to do. I get it. Go do whatever it is rockstars do.”

“That’s very generous of you,” she said dryly, though her lips twitched upward.

“Just don’t make me regret it,” he teased, finishing his coffee and placing the mug in the sink. “Text me if you need me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, her heart giving a small twist as Jessie ushered her toward the door. She looked back once, catching George in the golden light of the kitchen, his tall frame relaxed but his gaze steady on her.

“Go,” he mouthed, grinning. And just like that, she did.

George wandered the busy streets of London aimlessly, slipping easily into the rhythm of the city. The cold nipped at his cheeks, but the bustle of people warmed something in him. He ducked into a café near the Thames for lunch, finding Zoe already waiting for him at a corner table.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said as he slid into the seat across from her. Her bright smile was as sharp as ever, and there was a knowing look in her eye that told him she already had a read on his mood.

“Needed someone to talk me down from whatever mess I’m tangled in,” he admitted with a shrug, running a hand through his hair. He’d sent her a text after leaving Myst’s hotel, hoping she’d still be in London.

“Ah,” Zoe said, leaning forward with interest. “This wouldn’t happen to involve a certain singer-slash-international-sensation, would it?”

“Maybe,” he allowed, smirking half-heartedly.

“Thought so.” Zoe grinned, crossing her arms. “Alright, spill it. What’s eating at you?”

“Honestly?” He hesitated for a moment, glancing out the window at the grey river before meeting her gaze again. “It’s just… weird. Dating someone like Myst. Everything feels bigger with her, like it’s under a microscope. I don’t know how to navigate that.”

“Ah, the joys of fame,” Zoe said, her tone wry but not unkind. “Let me guess, you’re worried about being ‘just another celebrity boyfriend,’ right?”

“Exactly,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice. “I don’t want to be a footnote in her life, you know? But I also don’t want to hold her back. She’s got this whole universe built around her. Where do I fit into that?”

“George,” Zoe said, leaning forward and softening her voice. “You’ll fit because she wants you to fit. It’s not about being a role model or dodging tabloids. It’s about showing up for her, the same way you show up for your team-mates when the whistle goes to start the game. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling slowly. “I just hope I’m enough.”

“Trust me,” Zoe said with a wink. “You’re more than enough.”

And for the first time that day, George felt like maybe, just maybe, she was right.

The low hum of the restaurant wrapped around Myst like a familiar tune, soothing in its simplicity. She glanced across the small table at George, who was studying the menu with the kind of intensity she imagined he reserved for analysing game footage. His brow furrowed slightly, and she had to bite back a smile.

“George,” she teased, her tone lilting, “it’s a pub menu, not a playbook. You don’t have to strategize your order.”

“Hey, this is serious business,” he shot back, his gravelly voice laced with mock indignation. “You can’t just throw a bloke into a new city and expect him to know the difference between steak and ale pie and shepherd’s pie. There are stakes here. Literally.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked, clearly pleased with his pun.

“Terrible,” Myst replied, laughing softly. The sound settled something in her chest, loosening the tension that had wound itself tightly there throughout the day. Her schedule had been relentless, a whirlwind of meetings, interviews, and rehearsals, but now, here, in this dimly lit corner of London, it was as though the world had slowed down just for them.

“Fine,” George said, setting the menu down with a dramatic sigh. “You choose for me, then. Show me what the locals eat.”

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