Page 115 of Fangirl

Will grins like the cocky bastard he is, pulling his phone out. “You don’t. But I do.” He wiggles his brows. “Mariana used to suck my dick like it was her favorite candy back when I first hit Hollywood. Let’s just say… I’ve been pretty good at scratching that particular itch whenever she needed it.”

“Jesus Christ, Will.”

He shrugs, unbothered, already typing. “Don’t knock it. Favors like that build long-term loyalty.”

I rub a hand down my face as he fires off a text. Seconds later, his screen lights up, and he grins wide. “Done. She’ll take your Amy on a spa day Friday—get her ready for your premiere.”

I stare at him. “Just like that?”

Will grins. “Just like that. Never doubt the power of good sex and bad decisions, my friend.”

By the time I make it home, the sun’s starting to set, bathing the house in gold. But it’s not the light that stops me—it’s the smell.

Something rich, buttery, and familiar wafts through the air, wrapping around me like a memory. And then I hear her—humming softly and off-key from the kitchen.

I stop in the doorway, watching her.

Amy’s there, barefoot in one of my T-shirts, hair up in a messy bun as she fusses over something bubbling in the oven. She hasn’t noticed me yet—and for a minute, I just… watch. Memorizing her. Burning the sight of her into my brain because fuck, this—this feels like the dream. Like home.

And it hits me, not the food, not the humming, but the simple fact that she belongs here. Not hidden, not playing house while I chase the next job, but shining. Living the life she deserves.

And if that means pushing her until she finally writes that damn book she keeps dreaming about? Then I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever it takes to give her that.

“Hey,” Isay softly, finally stepping into the room.

She startles a little, then smiles. “Oh! You’re home. I, uh… I made the potato and cheese gratin we talked about. Thought it’d be nice.”

Fuck. My stomach growls because it smells amazing, but it also twists because I know what I have to say.

I sigh, pulling her into my arms, breathing her in. “Fangirl… fuck. That smells incredible, but… I can’t. Not tonight.”

Her smile falters. “Why?”

I stroke her back gently. “I’ve got theMen’s Healthshoot in two days. They want the abs to pop, so… I’m on a stupid strict diet until then. No carbs. No dairy. Just chicken and sadness.”

She lets out a soft laugh, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Oh. No, it’s fine. Really.” She steps back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I should’ve known.”

I catch the flicker of disappointment she tries to hide, and it guts me. It’s not just the food. It’s… this life. My world. The way it chips at her, piece by piece, until she starts expecting disappointment like it’s inevitable.

“You know what? Screw it.” I force a grin, stepping toward the dish. “It smells too damn good. Give me a plate.”

She shakes her head quickly, backing away. “No. No, Jake. I don’t want to mess up your shoot. You worked hard for this.” She waves it off like it means nothing. “Eat your… bland chicken or whatever. I’ll text Will. I’m sure he’ll happily come and finish the leftovers.”

I freeze, the words hitting harder than they should. She’s teasing, but there’s something else buried under it.Something brittle.

“Hey…”

She cuts me off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s fine. Really. Go shower. I’ll clean up.”

And just like that, the distance settles between us, barely there but real.

I stand there, staring at the bubbling gratin like it’s a damn line drawn in the sand.

Say something. Anything. Close the fucking gap, Hollander.

But the words stick in my throat because deep down, I'm terrified. Terrified that one wrong move, one too-honest look, and she’ll realize she doesn’t belong in this world after all.

So I stay silent, and I let her turn away.