Page 80 of If the Stars Align

I take my phone out of my pocket and open up my contacts. I consider calling Sunny. I consider calling my doctor, to finally ask for help.

But instead, I choose what I always do. I fix my mask.

I smile with my eyes, and I flash my movie-star grin.

I let Dex Oliver take it from here.

“Ava and Dex have Steamy Sex in Saint-Tropez.”

It’s a gloomy Monday morning and I’m at work, taking a quick break from legal research to browse news stories on my computer, when I see the headline.

I barely make it to the bathroom before I throw up.

I can’t shake the image from my mind. Ava Elwood’s long legs, wrapped around the love of my life, while he’s fucking her.

I have no right to be upset—I know that.

I’m the one who broke up with him.

And now he’s with the most beautiful woman in the world. I shouldn’t be surprised. This is why I let him go. If he can have Ava Elwood, why the hell would he ever want me?

No, Ava and Dex belong together. She’s the epitome of perfection, exactly like him. And who am I?

I’m just Sunny.

I know that I shouldn’t compare myself to her, or put myself down. That I’m beautiful in my own unique way—blah, blah, blah.I’ve read every self-help article I could find about knowing your worth and getting over your ex. Unfortunately, none of these tips are tailored to my particular situation. Maybe someday, I’ll write a post myself: “Seven Ways To Keep Insecurity at Bay When Your Famous Ex is Screwing the Hottest Supermodel on the Planet.”

Dex has been photographed with gorgeous women plenty of times before now, but always doing something pretty innocuous, like sipping coffee—which I could easily brush off as nothing more than a friendly meeting.

But the pictures with Ava are different. They’rekissing. He has atowelwrapped around his waist. His arms wrapped aroundher. She’s topless, for god’s sake. There’s no room for interpretation here.

They’re sleeping together.

If there’s any silver lining at all, I guess this means I don’t have to feel guilty for spending so much time with Jeremy anymore.

Nothing’s happened between us—yet.

But…I think he might love me.

He pretty much told me so, the other night.

We’d been out for drinks with his colleagues, and one of the junior partners ordered us several rounds of shots. Jeremy didn’t want me taking a cab home alone in my condition, so we ended up crashing at my place.

We were both so drunk, we collapsed onto my bed, hoping that if we closed our eyes, the room would stop spinning. And before I fell asleep, I’m sure I heard him say something to me.

I know I did.

“Sunny?” he whispered. “I think I might love you.”

When I opened my eyes and turned to him, he was passed out.

It’s been three days, and I haven’t brought it up. But there’s definitely something happening between us.

It started two months ago, the night he kissed me on the cheek before I got in my cab. Since then, instead of meeting at our favorite bar after work most nights, we started going to his place or mine, instead. We order food, watch TV. He puts his arm around me. I lean on his shoulder. Let my knees fall against his. Sometimes he massages my neck, or combs his fingers through my hair while I run mine through his.

When we’re hanging out at my place, he’ll usually head home around midnight. But when we’re at his, he always wants me to stay so he doesn’t have to worry about me getting home okay. He offers me his room, and he sleeps on the couch. And while I’m wrapped in his sheets, I find myself thinking about the things he does with the women he brings to his bed.

And up until now, I’ve felt guilty. Guilty that I can no longer deny that thereissomething more than friendship between me and Jeremy.