Page 119 of Fangirl
“That sounds perfect. Let’s do that.”
We walk in companionable silence, the city humming around us. I take my first bite and nearly groan. The maple-glazed bacon? Unexpectedly divine.
“You okay?” he asks suddenly.
I nod, cheeks full. “This burrito is life-changing.”
He chuckles. “I meant about the fans. The attention. I’m sorry if it felt like too much.”
I swallow and shake my head. “Don’t apologize. I knew what I was signing up for. Well, mostly. And honestly? It’s worth it.”
He gives me a crooked grin. “Not a deal-breaker?”
“Absolutely not.”
He exhales loudly. And I realize then just how much it matters to him. How much I matter to him.
I open my mouth to tell him that this, the real him, burrito in hand, baseball cap low, thumb stroking the back of my hand, is everything I want.
But he beats me to it.
“So,” he says, slightly too casual, “you excited to spend the day with Mariana Jones tomorrow?”
Ah.That.I try not to visibly flinch.
Not exactly my idea of fun. She’s intimidating as hell, polished and poised, a woman who eats girls like me for breakfast. But Jake had come home beaming when he told me about it two days ago, like it was this amazing opportunity. So I smiled, nodded, and agreed.
And now, there’s this little voice whispering at the back of my mind, the one I try to ignore but can’t quite shut out:Why does he want this? Why does he want me to be her project?
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you wh?—”
We’re interrupted before I can finish. Two girls, stunning, all legs and lashes in matching yoga sets, giggle their way over to us. At first, I think it’ll be like at the café: sweet, polite, and brief.
It’s not.
“Oh my god,” one of them gasps. “Are you Jake Hollander?”
The second one doesn’t wait for a reply. She slips between us like I’m invisible, her shoulder catching mine and sending me stumbling back. My burrito slips from my fingers and hits the ground with a soft splat.
They’re on him in seconds, laughing, preening, reaching for their phones.
“I was anextra on your film last year!” the first one gushes, pressing in close. “You were soooo nice.”
Jake doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. “Move,” he snaps, physically stepping between them and me. He shoves one back, not violently, but enough that she stumbles and flushes crimson.
Her friend is already filming.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” he barks.
I place my hand on his arm, trying to ground him, and keep my voice calm. “Jake. It’s okay.”
But it’s not, and we both know it.
The girl straightens, eyes narrowing at me. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. “I didn’t see your… sister? Cousin?”
Jake’s jaw locks, his eyes flashing, but I squeeze his bicep—a silent plea to let it go.
Too late.
