Page 57 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
“I didn't see you there.” I re-bury my face in the couch. Why couldn't I have been born an ostrich?
“Rough day?”
“Anders kissed me again. On set this time, in front of Immy and everyone. Everyone.”
I sense Mercer sitting up. “No way.”
I blink one eye open to gauge her reaction. “I assure you, he did. I would know. The man can kiss.”
“So… what’s the big deal? He’s a fox. I say go for it.”
My voice is muffled by the couch when I tell her, “First of all, Oliver threatened me with financial ruin if I mess with Anders. My job, your job, Anders’ job, everyone’s job is on the line here.” He’s like the Anti-Oprah, handing out threats. There’s one for everyone. I can’t imagine the end of Nizhóní, our family legacy and the last thing left of my father, all boiling down to the fact that I can’t get my crap together around a handsome man.
“Pfft. Oliver talks a big game, but what can he really do?”
I sit up and kick my feet onto our coffee table. “According to the documents I signed, a lot. Besides, I really don’t want to mess with Anders’ career. This role is a big deal for him, and I’m a distraction. They’ll finish shooting, he’ll go on to his next thing, and I’ll be left here feeling like one of your dirty socks.” Used, discarded, forgotten under the coffee table. Womp womp.
“No,” Mercer snaps. “My strong, kind, gorgeous friend is not a dirty sock and never will be. Stop that talk right now. Anders doesn’t even deserve you.”
That comment gives me pause. I think about the guy I’ve been spending my nights and trading texts with. I see a dad who doesn’t know how to enforce a bedtime, and a man who likes to goof around and bend rules. If he’s a womanizer, that means I’m the one being womanized. Does it feel like he’s doing that? I’ll have to think about this. Kissing me like that in front of Immy before we even know what we are is incriminating evidence.
But I also see a guy who is so thoughtful, he paid someone to drive his Jeep hundreds of miles just so I could have fun. And speaking of fun, he makes me laugh. I’ve never laughed so hard and sooften. Throw in the fact that he’s ridiculously handsome and talented, and I don’t know how I’m going to survive a weekend away with him. At least we’ll be staying in separate locations.
“Geez, you are so far gone.” Mercer taunts, breaking my runaway train of thought.
“I’m just thinking about the trip. How am I supposed to keep it together when we are in such close proximity? And on a plane—I can’t handle this. This isn’t me. I just want to get some cats from the animal shelter, watch some knitting tutorials on YouTube, and retire.”
Mercer groans. “Do you hear yourself? You’re not ninety years old. You’re young. Give yourself the chance to live. Make mistakes. Do something crazy.”
“And ruin my life, Imogen’s life, and Anders’ career in the process? No thanks.”
“Taking a trip with a hot guy isn’t going to ruin anything. You’re not doing anything wrong, and you won’t. You’re too smart for that.”
I’m not sure about that. My face goes warm, thinking about the few illegal kisses I’ve shared with Anders, plus all of the boneheaded things I’ve done since I met the man. The combination of his lethal charm, his single dimple, and his quick wit make all logical thoughts leave my brain.
“You think I’m wrong,” Mercer says with a sideways grin.
“I don’t know what to think. Anders is… He’s not what I expected.” I remember his habit of dumping his dirty meal containers on the counter, and how the first thing he does when he gets home is find Immy and hoist her up for a hug. “He’s a real guy. Normal. Not perfect, but good.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “It doesn’t matter whether he deserves me or not, or whether I deserve to have some fun. It can’t happen.”
“There’s a song about this.” Mercer nods sagely, like she’s about to impart some hard-earned relationship wisdom. Then she belts out, “Every party has a pooper, that’s why we invited you—”
“Oh, shut up.” I laugh, despite myself. I refuse to tell her she makes even that song sound good. Mercer can sing, but if you point it out, she basically curls into a ball like a pill bug and rolls away.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket while Mercer goes on singing her party pooper song, only now her voice has morphed into a French accent. I pull out my phone to find that I’ve missed multiple texts, and now I have a call coming in from the man himself. My heart thumps against my ribcage, but I need my brain to be in charge for a minute.Cool your jets, Heart. It’s just Anders.
It’s just Anders. The thought does nothing to calm my eager heart.
I swipe to answer the call, and stand to sneak away to my bedroom.
“Hello?” I keep my voice low, using my hand to muffle my friend’s singing, which is an insult to French people everywhere.
“Everay partay has a poopah!” Mercer only gets louder as I move further away.
“Sunny?” his deep voice hums in my ear. “Everything okay over there?
I close my bedroom door behind me. “Yeah. Mercer is just being… Mercer. What’s going on?”
There’s shuffling on his end. “You ran off tonight.”
