Page 39 of The Publicity Stunt
“You can’t shoot with a cut that big.”
“April, I could lose my left limb and still be expected to finish the scene.”
“I can be very persuasive.”
A grin lifts the corner of his mouth. “Oh, yeah?”
“Guess you don’t know me that well,” I reply with a shrug, and start walking toward the door.
He calls my name.
I turn around.
Slowly, he sits up and leans his head against the wall, smiling so hard that I’m pretty sure his cheeks hurt.
“What is it?” I ask, confused.
“I do know you, April Moore,” he says. “I know you by heart.”
ChapterTen
Thirteen Years Ago
HAYDEN
After the third bell ring, April’s mom, Lizzie, finally opens the door. “Hayden! So good to see you, sweetie,” she says, giving me a hug. “Come in, it’s freezing out!”
The blue banner from our “College Acceptance Party” still hangs low and crooked across the living room wall: WE MISS YOU TWO ALREADY.
“So how goes the packing?” Lizzie asks, a proud smile slathered on her face.
“More or less done,” I respond. “I hope you don’t mind me coming without calling. I have a present for April and wanted to surprise her.”
“Oh, not at all. Don’t be silly. She’s in her room.” Lizzie gives me an encouraging nod.
Hanging my coat on the rack, I remove my shoes and tread upstairs in my socked feet. The minute I get to April’s room, I’m met with a set of beady googly eyes.
Sitting on the floor and wearing her unicorn hat, April leans against her bed, a map sprawled across her lap and a Sharpie in hand. She brings her hand up to the ends of her hair. Her fingers intertwine between a single thick strand, and I can’t look away for some godforsaken reason. All she’s doing is playing with her hair, and it’s as if I have front-row seats to a damn cabaret. She twirls another strand between her thumbs and something inside me moves. Something warm in the center of my chest, following the movement of her delicate fingers. Another twirl around her index finger and the heat travels down to the pit of my stomach, sending sparks all over. Sparks that refuse to be ignored.
And for an equally godforsaken reason, it makes me so fucking hard. Makes me distraught. Makes me wish I was a goddamn piece of her hair.
She looks up. “Parker! What are you doing here?”
I walk across the fluffy pink carpet to sit next to her and pull her present from my pocket. “I got you something.”
A blinding smile fills her face and she snatches the box from me, immediately ripping it apart, the pink paper reduced to shreds. The very next second, her excitement snuffs out, replaced by a look of pure disgust.
“What, you don’t like it?”
She takes out the bottle of pepper spray and stares at it blankly. “Am I supposed to?”
“You need to be able to look after yourself when I’m not around, Chere. College parties can get scary.”
Her next question is instantaneous. “Are you dying?”
“What?” I frown. “No, I’m not dying.”
“Then why won’t you be around?”
