Page 153 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
“Yes, make it amazing. Like everything you write.”
“I don’t think I’m allowed to just change a song.”
Wyatt motions at his phone on the couch. “Call Portia and get her take on it.”
My stomach somersaults. I’d rather walk on nails than chit-chat with the popstar.
I scoop the lyrics off the floor. “Why don’t we try rewriting it first? Then we’ll know whether we should bother Portia with the question.”
Glee fills Wyatt’s expression. “You’ll do it?”
I inhale a large breath, hoping to boost my bravery. “I’ll do it.”
Twenty-Three
We stayed up way too late, working on the song. It was fun writing with pen and paper again, since I’ve grown so attached to typing on my laptop. Hubert supplied us with more sheets of paper as our work got underway. I crouched by the coffee table, scribbling away, and Wyatt sat on the couch, strumming, and singing the new hooks we came up with.
I actually feel a little hungover from all the brainpower used. I squint my eyes open, and my smile grows when Wyatt shifts beside me. He rolls onto his side, flings an arm across my middle, and attacks me with butterfly kisses up and down my face.
I squeal and giggle, half pulling away from the sickly sweet blitz.
“Ah, last night was amazing,” he mumbles, flopping his head back down on his pillow. “It reminded me of the times we’d spend in yourtreehouse. Me playing my guitar, and you writing these wild stories.”
I roll onto my side, blinking the last sleep from my eyes so I can take in his beautiful face. “It really was. I’ve held all those moments, just you and me alone and being creative, so near to my heart. Ah, I’m so happy we got to recreate it.”
He lifts his head. “But it won’t stop there, will it?”
My heart bounces to a blissful beat. “I’ll always be on the other end of a video chat whenever you want to brainstorm lyrics.” I lift my head and peck his lips. “Or anything else for that matter.”
He brushes back my curls. “Thanks, Josie. You’re one in a million.”
It didn’t take much convincing, after we dragged ourselves off the couch last night, to say yes when Wyatt asked me to sleep in his bed. Once he rolled on his side, I was out like a light. But waking up next to him is the cherry on top. This could very well be the last time we’re together, and I want to soak up every second with him.
Wyatt sits on the edge of the bed and hisses a breath, rubbing the side of his head.
I get onto my knees and rub a tight circle on his back. “The headaches?”
Wyatt exhales slowly. “Not as bad as usual,” he mutters. “Just a dull ache.”
“You’d better take your pain meds anyway.”
“Hubert will have them ready.” Wyatt stands from the bed. “Man, I’m gonna miss that guy.”
“He was always around when we needed him.” I get off the bed and move toward the bedroom door. “I guess I’d better get my bags ready.”
Wyatt kisses my cheek as I pass him by. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
I leave Wyatt’s bedroom for mine, feeling lighter than expected. I’m beyond relieved I’m flying to Ferndale with him, or packing my bags would be torture. At least I won’t unpack again, and the bags will be ready for my last flight home. Then the only excruciating part will befinally saying goodbye to Wyatt.
After a shower, styling my curls, and brushing on a fresh face of makeup, I dress in one of my new boutique outfits. I grab my carry-on luggage by the straps, and take one last look around the room. With mixed emotions, I move out into the hallway.
“Ready, cutie?” Wyatt asks, running a hand through his hair as he smiles at me.
The way his arm crooks, the sleeve of his T-shirt rides up, and reveals his tattoo.
I’m a pile of goo as I gaze at him. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Allow me, miss,” Hubert says, meeting me in the hall and taking my bag. “A porter will take all the luggage downstairs.”
