He gives her a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks, Tal.”
“Kiss for luck?”
No. No, please, no.
But nope, I’m not that lucky. I watch in slow motion as the girl—this absolutely gorgeous girl—slides her hands up Alex’s chest, rests them on his shoulders, and leans in for a kiss.
She’s aiming for the lips, but Alex turns his head so the kiss lands on his cheek, but it’s enough to wake me from my nightmare. I inhale violently, discovering that I had been holding my breath, then turn and walk calmly to the bathroom.
I barely make it inside before I burst into tears.
Shit.
Damn it all to hell.
I swear, I wouldn’t be crying if I’d gotten some sleep last night, but... but...
But how could I... How did he....
I run every encounter from the last month, every text and word and kiss, through my memory searching for a sign. Searching for any hint. How did I not see? How could I let him make a fool of me?
To pursue me. To text me constantly. To sleep with me repeatedly. All while having...a...a...a Tal. And I was the other woman.
I grasp and find nothing. I’m wasting time and energy. Right now, the last thing I need to do is lose my shit, but god, this feeling. Like a panic attack. Like a heart attack. I wet a paper towel and run it under my eyes and along the back of my neck. I do Ivy’s breathing exercises in an effort to calm the violent urges in my head.
Because do I ever want to pop off. I want to punch him in the throat. Kick him in the dick with my Docs. Shave his stupid fucking gorgeous head of hair.
I have a brief moment of weakness where I contemplate ripping out Tal’s expensive ass highlights, but then I remind myself that it’s not her fault that Alex is a dirty, lying fuckboy. It’s not her fault my heart is aching in my chest. It’s not her fault I fell for his act. If I thought I could do it without causing a massive scene on local television, I’d march out there right now and tell her that her boyfriend is a cheater. Girl code, you know?
But no.
Right now, I have a contest to win. I have a promise to keep.
So instead of acting on my anger, I breathe. Fortify. Harden.
Then I put on my poker face and walk back to my station. This man will never fool me again.
“Bailey,” Alex whispers beside me. I ignore him. “Bailey.”
“Shut. Up,” I whisper through clenched teeth. “I don’t care.”
“It’s not how it looks,” he pleads, and I whip my head toward him.
“That woman. Did she or did she not come here with you?”
He blinks and swallows, then nods.
“Did she or did she not kiss you just now?” He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off and go for the jugular. My jugular. “Are you dating her?”
“Talia?” He startles, then stutters, before answering, “It’s complicated.”
“Fuck off,” I growl.
“Jesus, Sundance, just let me explain.” Alex grabs for my hand, but I snatch it away.
“Don’t touch me. And do not call me that. Don’t call me anything. Ever.”
“You really think I’d do that to you? You know me.” His voice is begging, his expression half-offended, half-pleading. I feel nothing but anger. When my eyes catch back on his nametag, I let out a sardonic laugh.
“Yeah? Do I?” I drag my attention from his nametag back to his face. “Do I know you, Riggs?”
The look on his face is one of guilt. Guilt and defeat. And before he can lie some more, Suzette Carlier starts to speak. We’re given instructions, and in her thick French accent, she explains the basic schedule for taste-testing, judging, and announcing the winner. At some point before the filming starts, Jesse, Ivy, and Kelley walk in. They’re wearing matching t-shirts that say #TEAMBAILEY on the front and are covered in puff-paint cookies. I watch as Jesse hands them some sort of knitted headbands, and they all put them on.
Honestly, they look completely ridiculous, and for a brief moment, I feel happy. These people matter. These people are here for me. They’re supporting me. They’re honest with me.
Theymatter.
People like Alex—or Riggs, or whatever his name is—do not matter.
I’m just about to wave at my friends when Jesse jumps up and down and causes a scene.
“Go beast mode, Bailey,” Jesse shouts as he flexes his biceps and points to the B on his headband. “Hashtag Team Bailey!” He flexes again, and before he can bring any more attention to us, I shake my head rapidly at him.
“Stop it,” I mouth at him with a scowl. Then I drag my index finger across my throat, threatening murder if he doesn’t get his crazy ass in line. Jesse’s eyes go wide in mock terror, and he clutches his neck, and I have to stifle a laugh when Kelley grabs Jesse’s bicep and pulls him behind him. Like a scolded child, Jesse kicks his feet and accepts his punishment with a pout, and I send Kelley a small look of gratitude. He flashes me two thumbs up, Ivy blows me a kiss, and I take a deep breath.
This will be fine.