Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) Rowe, Lauren (read aloud TXT) 📖

The car heads toward the exit of the studio’s parking lot, and Laila looks out her window, her body language stiff and encumbered. In fact, she looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“You worry too much, Fitzy,” I say. “I’m telling you, the audience will love us being happy.”

I wait for her to reply, to smile and exhale and say I’m right. And when she doesn’t, I sigh and pick up my phone to reply to some texts from throughout the day. I deal with a group chat from Reed Rivers about my band’s imminent album release. I text Sasha to confirm my upcoming travel plans and shoot a quick selfie video for Sasha to show Mimi when she wakes up in the morning, since I’ve unfortunately missed singing Mimi to sleep again, the same thing that’s happened the past few nights, thanks to Mimi’s exhaustion from the move into the new house, my busy shooting schedule with the show, and the time difference between Chicago and LA. And, finally, last but not least, I reply to a text from my best friend, who’s expressed excitement about joining the show tomorrow afternoon for Mentor Day.

     Me: I can’t wait for you to see the bullshit dog and pony show for yourself, KC. This show is everything I hate, all rolled into one. Thank God for Laila sitting there with me.

Kendrick: Speaking of Laila, I’ve acquired some fascinating information that relates to her supposed fling with Charlie the Fitness Trainer during the tour.

Me: It’s not a supposed fling. Laila confirmed it herself when I saw her at the awards show.

Kendrick: She lied. In the middle of our training session today, Charlie got a phone call from his HUSBAND. I guess it’s possible Charlie is a bisexual adulterer, but I think the more likely scenario is that you’re a paranoid nut job and Laila is a liar who knows how to push your buttons to maximum effect. LMFAO!

   My heart lurching into my throat, I look at Laila sitting next to me in the car, to find her texting away on her phone, and an unexpected torrent of conflicting emotions floods me. Anger, relief, rejection. Anger that Laila took my jealousy and paranoia and stoked it, solely to mess with me. Relief that Laila didn’t fuck Charlie on the tour, as I’ve thought for so long.

But, mostly, I’m feeling acute rejection in this moment. As jealous as I was to think of Laila choosing Charlie over me during the last month of the tour, a piece of me found weird solace in that idea. If Laila hadn’t jumped into something with me after the amazing night of the hot tub, then I had to come up with some reason for that. Someone else had caught her eye. Someone else had stolen her away from me. Someone else had made it possible for her to resist me. Well, why not Charlie? He’s handsome and buff. A good guy, from what I can tell. And Laila made it clear, every time she was near him in my vicinity, that she liked him.

So, if Charlie isn’t the reason Laila didn’t come to my room, not even once, then what the fuck! I’m right back to feeling literal madness at trying to figure that woman out! How and why did she stay away from me for so long after Phoenix? If Laila didn’t start fucking Charlie after the night of the hot tub, then . . . does that mean she stayed away from me . . . simply because she’d lost interest in me? Because I hadn’t rocked her world, the way she’d rocked mine? Because she simply didn’t want me, the way I so desperately wanted her? Every single thought I’m having in this moment feels like a dagger not only to my ego, but to my heart.

With my pulse thumping loudly in my ears, I tap out a reply to Kendrick:

     Me: I didn’t see that one coming. Gotta go. See you at the studio tomorrow.

Kendrick: Hold up. Call me now.

Me: Can’t. Sitting next to Laila in a car.

Kendrick: Don’t do it.

Me: Don’t do what?

Kendrick: Whatever scheme is already taking root inside your twisted brain. I only told you about Charlie’s husband to free you from the batshit jealousy you’ve been holding onto since the tour. Don’t turn around and throw this in Laila’s face. Don’t try to coax her into a conversation about Charlie so you can catch her in another round of lies. Let bygones be bygones, Savage. You’re happy now. BE HAPPY.

Me: I’m not going to throw this in Laila’s face. I’m not even going to mention it to her.

Kendrick: You lied to Laila, too, remember? In fact, you lied first about that waitress in NYC, and then about all those women you brought into her dressing rooms. Call it even and let it go. Otherwise, if you bring this up to her, you’d better be ready to tell her all the shit you lied about, too. And WHY you lied to her. The FEELINGS you were having when you did all that. Are you ready to open up about how obsessed and crazy you were, behind the scenes?

Me: Not even a little bit.

Kendrick: That’s what I thought. So, keep your big mouth shut.

Me: I will. Thanks for the info. Gotta go.

    I plop my phone down onto the seat, facedown, between Laila and me, while Laila keeps tapping away on her phone. Why didn’t she want me the way I wanted her, during that last month of the tour? I just don’t get it.

“Who are you texting with?” I ask, when she still hasn’t looked up.

“Aloha.”

“You were with her all day.”

Laila calls up to our driver. “Hey, Mike, could you turn up the music, please?” When music starts blaring loudly, Laila looks sheepishly at me. She says, “I have something I need to tell you. It’s something I’m contractually not supposed