“Happy birthday, Vivien,” the stranger says down the line.
“Thanks. And you are?”
A deep chuckle tickles my eardrums. “I’m Rudy. Hasn’t Reeve told you anything about me? I’m offended, man,” he says, clearly talking to Reeve. “And here I thought we had the bromance of the century.”
“Don’t sweat it, Rudy,” I say. “He’s told me all about you, including how you enjoy pranking everyone on set.” Rudy had a main role in a popular Netflix show last year, and he’s garnered quite a following. With his blond hair, blue eyes, flirtatious manner, and jokey personality, he is the perfect choice to play Jackson Lauder. And just like Camden and Jackson are friends in theRydeville Elitebooks, Reeve and Rudy have become close too.
“Did he tell you about the lube in his sneakers?” Rudy asks, clearly smothering laughter.
I giggle. “He did, and he also told me how you swapped the sugar for salt and put toothpaste in his shampoo.”
“I still owe you for that,” Reeve says, sounding distant. “Give me that.”
“My turn,” a high-pitched clearly feminine voice says, and I gulp over the sudden lump in my throat.
“Hey, Vivien. It’s Saffron. Happy birthday! Did you like the lingerie I helped Reeve pick?”
What?!?!All the blood drains from my face, and I’m grappling for a response that doesn’t involve me screaming at her to stay away from my man.
“Viv?” she asks, and my natural instinct is to snap that she has no right to call me that.
“You went shopping with Reeve?” I finally manage to say, trying to ignore the anxious fluttering in my chest. My heart is racing so fast I can feel it thudding against my rib cage in panic.
“We did it online one night after work. That photo he has by his bed is so sweet. You make a cute couple.”
Words are spoken in the background, but she must have her hand over the phone because I can’t hear. Or maybe the sirens blaring warning signals in my head are drowning everything out.
“I’ve got to go, but I’m so looking forward to meeting you. Buh-bye,” she says, as I fight a full-body shiver and narrowly resist the urge to throw up the vodka shots I’ve consumed.
“Hey, it’s me,” Reeve says, sounding a little sheepish.
And so he should. “Why was she in your hotel room, and were you in hers?” I hiss.
“Babe, calm down.” His cool tone only pisses me off more.
“You let her choose lingerie for me?” My voice elevates a few notches as anger comingles with fear and hurt and a ton of other emotions.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“I’m glad you realize how bad it sounds,” I snap, pacing back and forth across the lawn.
“Don’t overreact, Viv.”
And that’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. “Don’t tell me not to overreact! You know how I feel about her, and yet you spend time with her in a hotel room and let her pick an intimate gift for my birthday. How the fuck do you expect me to react?” I shout.
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” He lowers his voice. “How much have you had to drink?”
“How much have you?” I retort.
“Our car is here. I have to go. We’ll talk again tomorrow when you’ve calmed down.”
The fucking nerve of him to try to turn this back around on me. I have every right to my feelings, and he should be bending over backward to apologize. “Reeve. Don’t you dare hang up on me.”
“I love you, Viv. We’ll talk soon. Go back to your party.”
There’s a click and then silence. I stare at my cell in utter shock and disbelief. Rage simmers in my veins as my brain struggles to comprehend how my boyfriend just hung up on me mid-argument.