Fall

Me: You’re going to be my date for the evening it seems.

He didn’t reply.

Oh crap! I’d been kidding! I always forgot that people don’t get humor when you’re on instant message. The alert went off making me almost drop my phone.

Jamie Hudson: Great, I was needing something to look forward to.

I scrunched up my nose and replied: Rough Day?

Jamie Hudson: You could say that. But, it’s not a big deal, I’m just glad you’re online.

Me: Why?

Jamie Hudson: Promise not to laugh?

Me: No, besides you can’t hear me even if I do.

Jamie Hudson: Ha ha, I guess that’s true.

Me: ?

Jamie Hudson: I’m so lonely that I’m contemplating listening to AD2 while I drown my sorrows in wine.

Me: Low point.

Jamie Hudson: No, a low point would be putting on Justin Bieber.

Me: I’d be doing you a favor by shooting you.

Jamie Hudson: As my friend, it’s your duty to inflict harm on my person if I ever stoop so low as to listen to Boyfriend.

I laughed out loud. He was funny. Why hadn’t we ever talked before? I grabbed a soda from the fridge and plopped onto the couch.

Jamie Hudson: What are you doing?

Me: I’m naked.

Jamie Hudson: sa;dlkfjeowihgakdh

Me: I was kidding.

Jamie Hudson: I know.

I laughed again and turned the phone to me and took a full picture of my face, with clothes on, then typed, “See?”

Jamie Hudson: Gorgeous. Your hair’s longer than last time.

Me: Uh, last time, creepy stalker man?

Jamie Hudson: Ha Ha, the wedding pictures, Alec’s wedding to be exact, I wasn’t there but saw pictures. Your hair’s longer. I like it.

Me: Thanks.

I should have ended the conversation immediately — mainly because he was making my stomach do that swirly thing it does when a hot guy gives you a compliment and you realize that it actually means more than it should.

The alert went off again.

A picture of Jamie stared back at me, only it wasn’t of his head it was a picture of his hand in front of his face as he waved. All I could see was dark hair curling out from underneath a baseball hat and part of a tattoo peeking from underneath his hooded sweatshirt.

He could be some sixteen-year-old cousin to one of the guys and I would have no idea. I was just about to click out of the app when he messaged again.

Jamie Hudson: Want to watch a movie?

Me: You planning on moving to Oregon?

Jamie Hudson: I prefer Malibu.

Didn’t all rock stars and friends of rock stars?

Me: Then I don’t see how that’s possible.

Jamie Hudson: Easy, love. You have Netflix right?

Me: Yeah?

Jamie Hudson: Pick out a movie and I’ll watch the same one.

Me: Are you serious?

He couldn’t be serious. I mean, we’d never even met and now randomly he wants to watch a movie, but not really watch a movie with me? I guess it was better than doing nothing.

Biting my lip, I typed.

Me: Fine, as long as it’s not a Jaymeson movie.

Jamie Hudson: Got a thing against Brits?

Me: No, just jerks.

Jamie Hudson: He was a jerk to you.

The way he typed it, it wasn’t a question, almost like he was stating that Jaymeson was, in fact, a total jerk to me and hadn’t ever apologized.

Me: No big deal. Water under the bridge and all that. I’m trying this new thing where I don’t talk about him — ever.

Jamie Hudson: How’s that working out?

Me: Good until now.

Jamie Hudson: Ouch, sorry. Okay, how about I pick a movie?

Me: You got good taste?

Jamie Hudson: Sweetheart, I’ve got the best taste, just wait.

Two hours later, and I was watching the credits roll on the black screen. Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Who knew he’d choose such a good movie?

My alert went off.

Jamie Hudson: Sweet dreams, Pris.

There went my stupid heart hammering out of my chest again. I replied with a smiley face and promised myself it wasn’t a big deal. He was just a guy, a nice guy, far away, who was bored.

Wow, what a day. I think it’s going to be the most boring weekend ever and I already have two run-ins. One with Smith and one with Jamie.

With a stupid grin on my face, I made my way up the stairs to my room, singing Breakfast at Tiffany’s the entire way there.

Chapter Seven

Jaymeson

Yup. It was official. The minute I’d stepped into my rented beach house in Seaside — I’d lost it.

Seriously.

I’d lost my head.

My mind.

My shit.

My everything.

And I freaking sat home alone on a Saturday night — talking to a girl who didn’t really know who I was, and, oh yeah, watched an old Audrey Hepburn movie.

The minute the credits rolled, I had an epiphany. Maybe I was having a nervous breakdown? Don’t roll your eyes! It happens! I knew a guy from Hollywood that ended up walking three miles in the snow with nothing on but a smile — all because he was convinced that nothing could hurt him. He’d played a superhero in his last film and apparently the whole “pretend” theory didn’t really ride well with him.

He got frostbite on his ass.

His ass!

Another guy ended up getting so into his role of playing a chicken that he asked a hypnotist to make it so that he actually believed he was a chicken.

It kind of stuck. Now he works at FunLand.

What can I say? Money does crazy things to people.