The Decoy Girlfriend(50)
Freya loves them for thinking of her, but honestly, it’s not like she doesn’t already know she’s a pity ask.
“Yeah, people need a reminder you exist,” says Mimi. Before it can hurt, she adds, “Get your booty back online! Social media only works if you’re actually social.”
Steph snorts. “Um, did you not just say yesterday that you can’t wait until you’re famous enough to leave Twitter for good? Besides, since I went updates-only, my mental health has been way better. Being an online personality isn’t for everyone. I kinda miss the days when authors were mysterious, je ne sais quoi figures who couldn’t be perceived.”
“Yes, but when I said it, I didn’t think anyone would remember,” whines Mimi. “At least get on Instagram. It’s way more chill, and the reader engagement is better.”
“Look, we all know that except for a few TikTok wunderkinds who make me feel impossibly old and crusty, none of our hustle moves the needle as much as a publisher can,” says Hero. “Kudos to anyone stepping away. That includes you, too, Freya. Being antisocial can be a form of self-care, too.”
What? Startled, Freya chokes on a gulp of peppery tomato juice. “I’m not antisocial.”
She guesses she can kinda see why they might think that. Since moving here, she hasn’t exactly made any friends. Except Taft. And even that’s looking iffy right now.
She knows they’re all looking out for her, but it’s like pulling teeth to be consistent on social media when she doesn’t have any exciting news of her own to share. Freya will happily celebrate and share other people’s milestones, but she can’t wait for the day when it’s her turn again.
Acknowledging her professional jealousy is healthy, but she never wants to corrode with resentment. All the good things she wishes for herself, she wants for her friends, too.
The group finishes their writing session with minimal interruptions—Freya’s word count actually holding its own against her friends’ for once—and before they all click out, they set their next group video chat. They used to have one regularly every Saturday, but with half of them busy with family stuff and encroaching deadlines, it got harder. Now it’s just whenever they can all swing it.
Ava and Freya are the last to leave the virtual room.
Ava hangs back, fussing with the items on her desk with too much concentration to be anything but purposeful dillydallying. “Babe, I didn’t want to put you on the spot by asking this before, but . . . you weren’t asking us to help you work through a character problem, were you? It was about you and Taft.”
Her voice is gentle, but it lands like a sledgehammer.
Here it is. Freya’s chance. Her opening to let her friends in. “I . . . I don’t know what you could possibly be implying.”
“I’m not ‘implying’ anything,” Ava says frankly. “Maybe Hero, Steph, and Mimi don’t stalk his Instagram, but I have nothing better to do at three in the morning except raid the fridge with some serious pregnancy cravings and catch up on celebrity gossip. And I’m telling you, the way that man looks at you is not just for show. The pictures with Mandi are completely different. He looks at you like I look at pickles.”
“He’s an actor,” Freya protests. “He’s good at faking bedroom face.”
But not with you. Before his total one-eighty, you could have sworn he wanted to—
No. Don’t go there. That way lies more crushed dreams than Hollywood Boulevard.
Ava snorts, then says, a bit wistfully, “Something tells me if you’re in the bedroom with him, nobody will be faking anything.”
Freya completely has the same feeling. But her face gives nothing away as she says, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, you absolute horndog!”
Ava’s laugh is unrepentant. “What’s it like being roommates with a celebrity?”
“Pretty much the same as living with anyone.”
“He’s a hot human male, so, uh, no, it’s not the same.”
“He has a girlfriend,” Freya weakly points out, trying to keep up appearances.
Ava studies Freya like she’s looking for a crack. “Freya, you’re living main-character life right now. I can’t say I’m not a little bit jealous. But now I can’t help but think . . .”
Despite herself, Freya says, “Yeah?”
Ava’s eyes are sad. “That whatever”—she waves her hands—“this is, it runs the risk of heartbreak for both of you. And when your role in this charade’s all over and Mandi returns, you’re going to have to deal with remembering that it was just a role for him, too.”
Freya promised she wouldn’t divulge this, but now it sort of feels like she has to. “Ava, this is for your ears only.” At her nod, she tells her, “They’re in a staged relationship to promote their movie. They’re not in love with each other.”
“So he’s free to explore moments with you?”
Freya tries not to give anything away. “He’s been . . . very respectful.”
“Fuck that,” Ava says without skipping a beat. “You should offer to run lines with him or something. In movies that always leads to sexy times.”
“That’s exactly why I haven’t,” Freya says with a groan. “We have this promotional photo shoot coming up for their movie, and I don’t know how to tell him that the last time I was professionally photographed was my high school graduation pictures.”