Page 46 of Love: Take Two

I search my brain for what I even told Camila and come up empty. She knows me and Awa went to college together. I remember telling her that we were study partners…

Shit. I may have also mentioned that we were briefly more than "just friends". But I didn't kiss and tell! Not really. People hook up all the time in college, and it means nothing.

Camila doesn't know about the fight outside Ground Zero, or how I felt like a total asshole leaving Awa on "read". And she damn sure doesn't know that I've been thinking about Awa an unhealthy amount since shooting began. Wishing like hell I could go back and change things. No one knowsthatbut me.

I hold out my hands in a placating gesture, which only seems to piss her off more.OK. So don't try to calm her down.

"I don't know what Camila said…orwhyshe said it," I say, still baffled that this was discussed during what was supposed to be a working lunch, "but I didn't tell her anything. She doesn't know—"

"That you made me think we were friends? Hooked up with me and then pulled a vanishing act the morning after? Started avoiding me even though you said hooking up wouldn't change things?"

The hurt in her voice is clear and burns away the rest of my sentence.

My choice to step back made sense at the time, but hearing it shouted back at me now, seeing how much it obviously affected her…Guilt, fresh and acidic, churns in the pit of my stomach.

"Awa," I start, but stop when I notice two crew members eavesdropping from beside the craft services table.Great.Now everyone's going to know what happened before we finish shooting the next scene.

"Awa," I try again, my voice lower this time. "I'm sorry about what happened back then. I never meant to hurt you, but clearly I did."

"You didn't hurt me," she insists. She folds her arms defensively over her chest. "You did the same thing every guy does: lie to get in my pants and then bail at the first sign of commitment."

Ouch!I won't pretend that commitment and I are on speaking terms—my brothers and I had a pact to staybachelors up until they started dropping like flies a couple years ago—but I'm not heartless. The women always knew the deal from the beginning. Or at least I thought they did. Judging by Awa's reaction, there must have been a miscommunication.

I'll admit our connection all those years ago was electric. It would have to be for both of us to still be thinking about it. And I remember falling asleep in each other's arms and feeling both right and scared as hell.Shit.DidI lead her on? I said no strings, but if she had the same feelings I did, maybe she thought that meant we could pursue it. That Iwouldpursue it, despite what I said.

"I can tell you don't want my apology," I say, resigned. She snorts derisively, and my shoulders drop. She definitely doesn't want an apology.

"Right. Please understand that I would never set you up for an ambush. I will talk to Camila, but I really hope this doesn't impact our working relationship."

Her mocking laugh as she turns away doesn't bode well. Rather than chase after her, I open my phone.

Camila

Camila:Noah. I'm so sorry. I fucked up.

I shake my head.

Yes, you did, Camila. You fucked things up for the both of us.

Chapter twenty-five

Awa

Ipour the contents of the plastic bag into a skillet and watch as the blocks of frozen sauce slowly melt. My mom would gasp in horror if she saw me eating beef and broccoli noodles from a freezer bag, but on nights when there's no fancy catered event or client dinner, I'm definitely not in the mood to cook.

I stir the bubbling mixture and realize I'm not in the mood toeattonight, either. Not now that I know our connection was nothing more than tawdry gossip to Noah. I suspected, and his disappearing act afterwards left little to misinterpret, but still. I was just some silly girl who fell for the bad boy with the killer smile. It's so cliché, it's embarrassing.

I never meant to hurt you, he said, as if there could be any other outcome when he went silent after our earth-shatteringnight, then boasted about it to his sister right before our lunch meeting.

Obviously it wasn't earth-shattering to him, I seethe, scraping the bottom of my pan in my impotent rage.

After today's nightmare, all I want to do is change into my fluffy robe and slippers, pour myself a disgustingly large goblet of Bitburger—the closest I can get to the La Gazelle they have back home—and veg out in front of the TV. Ideally, my dinner would appear hot and steaming in front of me with just a thought, but alas, the technology has yet to catch up to the needs of a busy career woman.

I take a large gulp from my goblet as I stir my meal, ensuring the sauce evenly coats the noodles, beef, and broccoli. If not for my 8:00 AM call with the partners tomorrow, I'd chug the whole thing at once, refill it, then repeat, until I was drunk enough to forget my fight with Noah, my lunch with Camila, and even the terrible call with my mother from a few days ago.

Unfortunately, I have both an early meetingandthe great misfortune of almost debilitating hangovers when I drink to excess. If I indulged the way I want to, I'd literally have to take the day off, and then Noah would probably think it was because of him. That I'm not strong enough to handle sharing space with him. Playing into my role of jilted lover, despite the fact that we never even fucked.

"Thank God for that," I mutter bitterly, and I don't know if it's a lie.