"You did?" I squeal.

He nods. "And I was thinking-"

But before he can finish the thought, another one interrupts.

"Skye, care to introduce us?" And it's Blythe. Of course. I mean, we're not enemies anymore, but her timing is still impeccable.

I spin because in all my haste I forgot one very important thing. Ollie is supposed to be a secret! And yet, in this moment, I don't really want him to be. Not anymore. And these girls have heard all about my clandestine relationship, so really, I'm not revealing anything new, just opening up a little more.

Fighting my inner freak-out, I react in a split-second, leaving no time for the doubts to take over. Reaching back, I take Ollie's hand in mine and clasp our fingers together, tugging him forward so we're pressed against each other, one unit.

"Ollie, this is Blythe, Rebecca, and Isabel, the other assistants I work with, and," I pause, swallowing, because suddenly I realize what's about to come next. The very idea overwhelms me. But I don't want it to. I want to pretend like this is totally normal, like I've said these words a million times, like it's not a huge, monumental moment in my life. I look at Ollie, stealing some of the courage I see in his eyes to use as my own. "And girls, this is Ollie, my boyfriend."

There they are.

Three words.

Ollie, my boyfriend.

Not Oliver McDonough, the man who's just a few inches out of reach.

Not Oliver McDonough, Bridge's older brother.

Not Oliver McDonough, my roommate.

But Ollie, my boyfriend.

Three teeny-tiny little words.

But they're huge, filling the air in front of me, expanding as though they've been trapped all this time, and now that I've let them free, they're going wild. For the first time ever, this thing between Ollie and me is suddenly real. Not hiding in my bedroom. Not locked behind closed doors. Not meeting late at night when no one else is around to see. But out in the open, in front of a huge crowd of people who have no idea what is going on, who don't care at all, but have just been witness to the most significant moment of my life.

Ollie, my boyfriend.

Real. Holding my hand. Not my imagination.

And you know what? Now that I've said it, the idea doesn't seem as scary as it once did. My doubts are shriveling away. Because I like holding his hand for the whole world to see and telling whoever cares to listen that he's mine.

Or, I did.

Until I finally tear my eyes away from his perfect, handsome, smiling just-for-me face to look at my coworkers.

All the joy within me dies.

Blinks out in a second.

Because in their eyes, I read my worst fear, the one I tried to tell myself a million times was utterly ridiculous-disbelief. Disbelief that someone who looks like Ollie is here with someone as crazy as me. Disbelief that the mystery guy I've been telling them about is this Adonis. Disbelief that the great Oliver McDonough could possibly be here with little old me.

The glimmer passes in an instant.

But it's there long enough to gut me.

"Nice to meet you," Rebecca says after a moment, reaching out her hand.

Isabel goes next. "Skye's told us all about you."

I don't want to notice how their voices sound just a smidge too high, but I can't help it. I don't want to see how Rebecca tosses a questioning glance in Blythe's direction, but I do. I want to ignore the way Isabel is suddenly focusing on the flowers, but I don't.

Because it confirms what I've been worried about all along-that this thing between Ollie and me is just as unbelievable to everyone else as it is to me. And it's only a matter of time before he realizes too. I'll always be his little sister's book-loving best friend, and when it comes down to it, there's nothing sexy about that.

They keep talking.

But I retreat into the dark hole of my mind, spiraling down a spinning vortex I'm not so sure how to escape. Ten minutes later, I find myself mumbling goodbye, completely unaware of the conversation happening around me.

Ollie leads me by the arm, glancing down. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Huh?" I ask, looking up. "What do you mean?"

"You've been pretty quiet..."

I shrug. "Just tired, I guess."

But he's not having any of it. He knows me too well. "Is this about Bridge? I was afraid this would happen. I've been waiting all week for you to have a panic attack."

That gets my attention. "Why?"

His eyes widen in shock. "Don't tell me you forgot."

I scrunch my face, thinking, but I'm blank.

"The deadline," he supplies, letting the word linger.

I gasp. Because I did forget. And this was the worst time ever to remind me. "Oh my god, we're supposed to tell Bridge this weekend, aren't we?"

"Yup," he says, letting the p really pop. And then he squeezes my hand. "But it's your lucky day."

"How so?" I ask, a little too eager for an escape.

He frowns at my reaction, but then the carefree wall comes up, hiding the hurt. "She's out of town, had to travel for work and won't be back until Sunday night, when I'll-surprise, surprise-be at work. So I'm thinking we'll have to wait until next weekend, when we'll both be home to tell her at once."

I look away, trying and failing to hide my relief. Because I know it hurts him, but I can't help it. Bridge's impromptu weekend away just bought me seven more days. And I'm having a harder and harder time believing that those seven days won't be our last. Because this is all starting to feel just like the last time I tried to hold on to Ollie, like those few moments when everything seemed perfect and he was kissing me back and making all of my dreams come true. But then the real world snuck in, and he remembered all the reasons why he shouldn't, and he pulled away. He left me alone. And I don't see any reason why he won't do it again. These stolen kisses and stolen nights are the same as those few minutes of bliss-totally perfect, completely divine, better than I ever hoped. But eventually, we'll be out of the shadows, and he'll remember who I am, and he won't want me.

All I want to do now is delay.

To keep living the fantasy for as long as I can.

So I lie again, to myself and to him. "We'll tell her next weekend."

On the outside, I'm smiling just like Ollie. But on the inside, I can't fight the feeling that I'm trying desperately to hold on to a cube of ice on a hot summer's day, fighting the inevitable, watching helplessly as it melts away and slips right through my fingers.

I'm sure at this point even you think I'm crazy. Maybe you're like Bridge, who would just shake me right now, trying to physically knock some sense into me. Bridge, who has a perfect loving family. Bridge, who always achieves whatever goal she's chasing. Bridge, who makes a decision and goes with it. Or maybe you know what it's like to have been abandoned, to have your trust shattered. Maybe, just maybe, you understand me.

I spend the entire next day buried in work, following the other girls from show to show, head hidden behind my notebook. Any time the conversation veers toward anything personal, I walk away, pretending I just saw something I need to jot down. And I know avoiding an issue doesn't make it disappear, but I just don't want to hear them talk about Ollie, about how cute we are together, because if there's even an ounce of insincerity in their tone, it'll just crush me to pieces. I'd really started to think that maybe things between Ollie and me were real, maybe we were ready to tell Bridge, maybe we were actually meant to be together.

And then last night happened.

And I know it's stupid and ridiculous and probably just my own insecurities taking over, but how do I fight them? How do you get rid of the doubts, the fears, the anxieties? How do you take that final leap of faith and rely on love?

Trust your gut, people say.

Believe in yourself.

Follow your heart.

But what if your gut is a constant swarm of nerves, and your heart has played tricks on you before? What then?

I don't know.

Maybe at that point you're just plain broken.

"Skye!"

It's Blythe calling after me, but I just keep walking, pretending I didn't hear. There's a carton of Rocky Road with my name on it back home, and that's all I'm focusing on right now.

Too bad she's annoyingly persistent.

"Skye," she says again and grabs my shoulder. I pivot on my heels, because, for a skinny blonde, she's surprisingly strong.

"Ow," I whine.

Blythe crosses her arms, shrugging. "You shouldn't have pretended you didn't hear me."

Okay...valid.

I sigh. "What?"

"Listen, I have something I feel like I should tell you, but at the same time, I don't think you'll believe me, so will you just come with me?"

I stare at her blankly. "What?"

Blythe flares her nostrils in annoyance and then decides to try a different approach. "Your boyfriend, I've met him before, right?"

"Um..." I scroll back through my thoughts. And then it hits me. "Yeah! Last Halloween, the party on the yacht. Patrick let me bring Ollie, his date-"

"The Rockette," Blythe scorns, curling her upper lip.

And for once I agree. "Yeah, the Rockette," I say, tone dark. Because she was perfectly lovely, but, blech. Any girl Ollie dated, especially anyone as gorgeous and kind and dancer-y as she was, is by default on my ick-list. Before my thoughts linger, I get us both back on topic. "And my friend Bridge came too."

Blythe nods, eyes flashing.

I'm immediately suspicious. "What's going on?"

She frowns. "Don't give me that, I'm trying to help you. Since we're, I don't know, friends now."

"Is it something about Ollie?" I ask, hating how hesitant and insecure my voice sounds. But now that we've broached the topic, I'm too freaking curious to back down. So I swallow and push through. "Because you guys all sort of reacted a little strangely yesterday when I introduced you."

Blythe waves her hand through the air, as though swatting the question away like a little bug, totally insignificant. "When I saw him, I thought I recognized him, and it made me realize something, something I'm about to show you, but I blurted it out to Isabel and Rebecca, so if we were acting odd, that was probably why."

"Oh," I murmur, brows coming together. "Not because..."

But I'm too self-conscious to say it out loud.

Or maybe just too afraid of the truth-bomb Blythe might unload. Because I've come to realize that one of her many charms is telling it how it is, without holding anything back, no matter if it's the nicest thing in the world or the meanest. Sometimes I need the slap in the face. Other times? Not so much.

Doesn't matter.

Blythe can read my tone as clear as any words, and she stops us both on the street, turning toward me. "Not because, what? Your boyfriend is really hot, and yeah, it was surprising?" My heart leaps into my throat. She rolls her eyes. "You got my brother, didn't you? Sure, you're not a model. Probably wouldn't make it as an actress. But you're petite, pretty in a natural way that doesn't need makeup, and you've got this quirky, neurotic thing that apparently guys like, so relax, will you?"

"I'm pretty sure he likes me in spite of my quirky, neurotic thing, as you call it," I mumble under my breath.

Blythe shrugs. "Whatever. Maybe you're just really good in bed. Who knows? But something keeps attracting these guys, so just embrace it."

Considering I was a virgin until about a month ago, I'd scratch that reason out. But there is something in Blythe's blase words that lingers, a little sense of wonder, because in a way she's right. Despite the backhanded compliments and sort of roundabout explanation, what she says actually makes me feel better.

Until she keeps going. "Besides, is your boyfriend good-looking? Yes. But, he's a chef right? 'Cause when I got close, he sort of smelled like fish or maybe it was french fries? Anyway, it was a total turn off. And the flowers? Sweet, I guess, if you're sixteen. But-"

"Blythe?" I cut in.

She pauses. "Yeah?"

"You can stop now."

For a moment, she tilts her head, as though not understanding, but before considering any further, a cab stops without her even needing to lift a finger to hail it. The girl leads a charmed life. Or maybe growing up on the East Side just gave her enough New York attitude that it oozes from her pores, filling the air around her, palpable. Either way, when Blythe steps aside, I begrudgingly accept the fact that I'm going to get the glamorous job of sliding across the seats, trying not to trip on the edges of my winter coat. After I've settled, Blythe sinks down in one fluid, graceful motion, taking the spot beside me.

"Eighty-fourth and Fifth, please."

The address sounds familiar. I mull over it for a few moments, chewing my cheek. It comes to me in a flash. "Your parents' house?" I burst. "Why on earth are you taking me there?"

"I already told you, I have to show you something, and if I try to explain, you'll think I'm lying, so just be patient for five minutes."

Patient.

I can do that.

I can...

But her parents' house?

Her mother despises me!