31. Hopeless Romantic

31

Hopeless Romantic

Emma

I, Emma Sterling, have a boyfriend. A real one. And I’m loving every minute of it. I spent most of the past three weeks in Auston’s trailer—watching movies, reading, talking—and it’s almost like the last ten years never existed. It’s so easy to fall back into a routine with him. So comforting. He still makes my skin tingle every time we touch, but I doubt that’ll ever go away.

“So,” he says as we’re cuddling on the trailer’s couch between shoots. “How does this Bookstagram thing work?”

I raise my head to see his face, wondering if he’s serious. “What do you mean?”

“I already have an Instagram account. How can I join you guys? It seems like fun.”

I chuckle. “You want to join Bookstagram?”

He shrugs. “Why not? I read a book. Can’t I review it?”

“Don’t you want to discuss this with your mom or your PR team first?”

“It’s the book we’re adapting. I don’t think they’ll have a problem if I say good things about it on social media.”

Well, he’s got a point. “You really want to do this?”

“Absolutely.” He nods, sitting up straight. “How do we start?”

“First, you have to figure out what you’re going to say about the book. Then, you can either do a written review or a video review.”

“What do you think I should do?”

I scrutinize him, then nod. “A face like yours definitely belongs on camera.”

He grins widely. “Oh, is that so? You think I’m charming?”

“Nah. Only on camera,” I tease.

“Liar.”

Leaning closer, he covers me in kisses, which transform into tickles, and I’m completely at his mercy. Ever since Auston discovered I’m ticklish, I haven’t gone a day without bursting into laughter. Not that he needs to resort to tickling. This man has a knack for humor.

Half an hour later, Auston is ready to shoot, book in hand, while I’m behind the camera. I give him the signal, and he starts talking.

“Hey, everyone. Auston Buckley here. Today, I wanted to talk to you about this book,” he says, showing the cover to the camera as if he’s been doing this all his life. To be fair, he has filmed a bunch of commercials, and that’s as close as it gets. “ Velvet Kisses by Melissa Fortner.”

He goes on about the book, focusing on what he loved most—which is a good general rule. I might prefer darker reads, but like many Bookstagrammers, if I don’t have anything nice to say about a book, I don’t say anything at all.

“I think that’s all I have for you guys today, but let me know if you’ve read the book, and don’t hesitate to drop your book recommendations in the comments. Lastly, I want to thank my beautiful girlfriend, Emma, who’s filming this. She’s the one who introduced me to Bookstagram and motivated me to read my first book. By the way, if you’re looking for a great place to shop for books, try her bookstore, No Shelf Control in Brooklyn, New York. Bye, guys!”

I stop the recording and drill hi m with a playful glare. “What was that all about?”

He grabs me by the waist, knocking me off balance and forcing me to sit on his lap. “I just wanted to give a shoutout to my girlfriend. Isn’t that how Bookstagram works?”

I chuckle. “Definitely not.”

“Too late.” He captures my lips in a kiss, and everything around us fades to insignificance, my thoughts vanishing along with it. This man’s kisses are powerful.

“No, it’s not too late,” I say, regaining my senses. “It wasn’t live. We can edit the footage.”

He swipes the phone from my hands. “Oh, no, no. We’re posting it as is.”

“Auston . . .”

“This is non-negotiable,” he says firmly. “What do we do now? Do I just hit ‘Share’?”

“No, you need hashtags. I would normally suggest playing a trending sound at low volume to increase your reach, but since you have forty million followers, I doubt that’ll be a problem.”

I grab his phone back and add a few Bookstagram hashtags in the caption. “We can also ask your audience a question—like what they enjoyed most about the book—to increase engagement.”

He nods. “You’re the pro.”

“Says t he guy with forty million followers,” I joke. “Okay. Now we can post.”

“I’m excited,” he says, dragging me further onto his lap. “I feel like I’m part of a secret club or something.”

“You are. An insanely cool club full of bookish girls.” I grin. “You’re going to be very popular there.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll only have eyes for you,” he says, cupping my chin and making me giggle. Yes, g iggle . I didn’t even think I knew how to giggle. Yet, here we are. “Now, what’s your Instagram handle? I’ll follow you.”

I type it into his phone, and he starts scrolling on my feed. My neck warms as his eyes dart across the phone screen. I know my profile is public, but suddenly, I feel so exposed. He frowns, narrows his eyes, and chuckles as he goes through my posts, and I'm starting to wish I hadn’t given him my handle.

“There are a lot of dark covers on here,” he says. “And tons are about mafia and—what’s this one? A cult leader romance?”

“I told you, I read mainly dark romance.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “Can you tell me more about that? How can romance be dark? Isn’t it the opposite by definition?”

I smile. “It just means that th e protagonists have darker lives or murkier pasts. I read closed-door dark romance, so there aren’t as many. But what I love about it most is the complexity of the characters and how they’re pulled to one another despite everything standing in their way. Morally gray characters seem more realistic to me, though I understand why some people are completely appalled by them.”

He captures me with his gaze, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“You think I’m weird now, don’t you?”

His eyes shine. “More like fascinating. I didn’t know you were such a hopeless romantic.”

I snort. “Um, no. That would be Alice. Didn’t you hear a word I said? The books I read showcase villains and criminals with a skewed sense of right and wrong.”

“Exactly. You like stories of redemption, where even the misunderstood, twisted, and complicated characters get their happy ending. If that’s not 'love conquers all,’ I don’t know what is.”

I pause, my forehead wrinkling. I never really thought about it like that. “I guess you’re right, in a way. Who knew?” I laugh.

“So, am I a villain too?” he asks. “Where do I fit into all that?”

“I don’t hold the same standa rds for my book boyfriends as I do my real-life ones.”

“ One ,” he repeats, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Singular. Go on.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “I like my real-life boyfrien d ,” I say, emphasis on the ‘d,’ “sweet, caring, and funny with no big dark demons chasing him.” I pause. “After all, you’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had,” I say, my heart now rattling in my chest. I wasn’t sure how to bring this up to him. I guess I just figured it out.

“You mean . . .?” He frowns.

I swallow to wet my throat, glancing down at my lap. “I’ve never been with anyone. I’ve never even kissed anyone but you.”

His eyes widen slightly, and he takes my hand. “I’m—wow.”

“Yeah, I know. Now you definitely think I’m weird,” I say, biting my lip. “But I thought you should know. I don’t exactly have a ton of experience when it comes to this relationship thing.”

“Of course I don’t think you’re weird. If anything, I’m honored,” he says, his fingers grazing my knuckles. “The fact that I’m the only one you ever let in means the world to me. You’re so precious, Emma. And I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel that way. To make you feel safe. For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Thank you,” I peep, feeling suddenly bashful.

He draws me into a kiss, and I want to jump on the opportunity to talk about what’s going to happen when the movie is done. He’s definitely in this for the long run, but is he going to stay in New York? Does he expect me to move to LA? Are we supposed to try the long-distance relationship thing? I open my mouth to ask, but I finally decide against it. Right now isn’t the time. Right now, I’m kissing the only man I’ve ever loved—my boyfriend. No matter how many times I say it, it still sounds weird. But the best kind of weird.