My expression must have changed because Bree stops dancing, a little out of breath, and reaches in her pocket to pull out the remote for the speakers. She cuts the music and the cheery sounds die. I realize my arms are crossed tightly.
She looks up at me and her smile fades. “Are you mad at me…for what I said in the video?”
Her face tears my heart in half. She thinks I’m mad about what she said?! I’m mad that it’s not true! No, I’m not even mad. I’m just pouting. I’m being a big pouty baby and I need to get over it. The way she feels about me is not breaking news. It’s always been this way.
I force my face to soften and form a smile. “Not mad in the least.” I step forward, taking a deep breath as I pull her into my chest. She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes.
Smashed up against my chest, she looks up to catch my eyes. Hers are the color of coffee with a splash of cream. Just the way I take mine. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. How could I be mad knowing you were just trying to make everyone aware that my ding-a-ling is no one’s business?”
She groans and buries her face in my shirt, gripping it dramatically like she wants to claw her way inside it and die. “I did call it that, didn’t I? Pleeeease forget you ever heard that word come out of my mouth.”
“Fat chance. It’s so alluring, don’t you think? Women will come running when I call it that.”
It’s good to feel her laugh against me. I’ve wanted her in this exact position all day. Every day. Ughhhh just stop, Nathan. I need a few minutes to gather up my fractured feelings before I’m ready to get back to our “normal” friendship.
I let go of her. “If you don’t need any help, I want to change before we eat.”
She rubs a hand on her arm, probably still feeling my weird energy. “Yeah. No problem. I’ll scoop everything out onto plates.”
I go back to my bedroom to lick my wounds. There’s a giant canvas tote bag on my bed, stuffed with letters and packages. I’m just about to call out and ask Bree what it is when she appears in my doorway a little out of breath like she jogged back here.
“Oh! By the way! Your agent sent this over earlier. It’s fan mail.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I mean, I’m used to getting letters from fans, but not this many. “That’s…a lot of mail.”
She bites her bottom lip and grimaces. “Yeah. It’s…sort of…well, maybe you should just open a few and see.”
That’s odd. I start sorting through the pile, and the numb
er one thing I see are tons of Tide-To-Go pens with little notes attached. “Wipe all the other women out and keep Bree!” The next three I open say something similar. A few other letters go on and on about how much they adore Bree—and I agree, but clearly they are taking that drunken video a little too seriously.
I whistle when I look in the bag again and realize there have to be about 100 stain-removing pens in here. I’ll never have an excuse for a stained shirt for the rest of my life.
“Are they all like this?” I sort through five more notes and toss them beside the canvas bag.
Bree walks up slowly behind me, like she’s afraid I’m going to turn around and bite her head off. “Yeah.” She whimpers. “I’m so, so, so sorry! I didn’t realize Kara was a journalist. But even if I did…I was so far gone I’m afraid I still would have said all of that craziness.” She groans again when she glances at the mountain of fan mail. “I’ve caused such a mess for you.”
I take her hand and squeeze even though I know I shouldn’t. “Hey, I said it’s fine, and I meant it. I’ll call Nicole and Tim later and get a statement together. I’m not worried about my image, I’m just a little worried about…” I look back toward the enormous pile of letters.
“The added work? Letting your fans down? Having to convince everyone we’re not really together?”
“You.” I look back at her. “I know you don’t like being in the spotlight, and I’m sure this is uncomfortable for you. Also…you’ll probably want to make your Instagram private now.”
“Oh, I already have,” she says, sounding weary in a way that makes my stomach twist painfully. She’s never wanted this life. “I woke up to 10k new followers. And when I went downstairs this morning to walk home, there were reporters waiting for me outside. Your sweet doorman snuck me out the back and gave me a lift home.”
Dammit. I didn’t even think about the fact that I drove Bree last night and she didn’t have her car this morning. Geez, I’m failing all over the place.
This is not good. Not only because I’m freaked out about Bree’s safety, but because I’m terrified it means she’s going to bolt out of my life. She’s been stern from the beginning about what she’ll allow in this friendship, and stardom was written in bold in the NOT ALLOWED section.
“How did this happen so quickly?” I ask while tossing a letter back into the pile.
“Kara’s sneaky video of me in the bathroom has gone viral, and because she used my full name in the article, everyone easily tracked down my account. These all showed up because there was a post going around this morning encouraging people who live in the area to drop notes off at your agent’s office so you’d get them. Can I just say that’s super creepy?”
“Even creepier that so many did it. They had to actually go out and buy a Tide-To-Go pen too.” I’ve never been able to get used to fandom. That’s one part of this job I despise.
“I don’t think it’s going to stop any time soon either. They’ve been tagging us both in video reposts and using the hashtag #TideGirl. Super flattering.” She scrunches her nose. “It’s a spin on something I said in the video.”