9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Willow

Oh. My. God. Not only am I practically in Tripp's lap, but someone hit my arm just right and made me throw my wine in his face. Wine currently drips from his eyelashes. This can't be happening.

He shakes his head, causing the white wine to trickle down his face, in an attempt to clear his eyes.

"Buddy, you good?" He asks the man who fell into me. Tripp's eyes are wide, but he's not angry, or irritated, it looks like he's trying not to laugh. His voice stays calm and almost feels playful.

This is not the reaction I anticipated.

Tripp dabs his face with his suit sleeve and lightly pushes me to an upright position. I already miss his hands on me. The guy who fell into us stands, clearly embarrassed. He calls Tripp by his first name, obviously recognizing him, but he goes eerily still when he sees me.

I know the look. The one that says, I know who you are or I can't believe it's you . The one that makes me feel guilty—like I don't belong.

"It's no big deal. Don't worry about it," I say as I stand up. I set the empty wine glass on the table, smooth my dress, and reach for the drunk guy's hand to shake. I know him too. He's an up-and-coming actor; I like his work so far.

"Are you sure?! Do you need anything? I'm such a big fan. Of you. Of both of you." It's painful to watch but he can't stop. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" He's borderline panicking. That's when Tripp claps him on the back and does the unthinkable .

"Want to take a selfie? This is my first afterparty where someone threw their drink in my face. Kind of want to commemorate it," he says, giving me a quick wink.

Part of me melts.

"Let's do it!" I play up the excitement because I really don't want him feeling any worse. It was an accident. The secondhand embarrassment is already too much.

We group together as Tripp pulls his phone out of his wet jacket pocket and reaches his arm out. Our faces are close like we've all known each other forever. Tripp takes a few pictures and then asks for the guy's number to text them.

My eyebrows are raised. He texts this stranger like it's no big deal. It's not, give me your number and my publicist will send it or even share it via email. He doesn't seem to have a care in the world about sharing his real number.

Who is this guy?

The drunk man goes back to his group, looking back at us and waving, a smile taking over his entire face. He and his group of friends huddle together to relive his brief encounter with us.

"Wow." It's all I can muster. Tripp is still dabbing parts of his face with his suit, seemingly unbothered.

"I hope you were okay with the selfie thing. I didn't even think—"

"Totally okay. I'm sorry I spilled my wine on you." I laugh and lightly touch his shoulder, wiping at stray droplets.

"You could've just said you weren't having a good time." He smirks. "It's all good," Tripp says in a way that is totally believable. No second-guessing if there's a sub-conscious meaning. It's refreshing.

My phone vibrates. Emilie is in the car, ready to go whenever I am. I told her I wanted to come out for a single drink. I kind of wish she would've seen that whole thing transpire .

"That's my cue." I shake my phone at him. "My car's ready." I don't have to rush out, but I always feel weird having anyone wait on me.

"I'll walk you out. Which door?" And because I know there's no use arguing with him and pleading I can handle it without any help, I lead him to the door my security team discussed earlier.

He puts his hand on my lower back as we walk together. Goosebumps flood my skin, and my stomach drops, just a bit. Enough to know that I wish our time wasn't ending.

We get to the door, and it's complete chaos. Looks like people have been camping out, waiting for celebrities to leave the afterparty. I'm guessing some are fans, but many of them are press, hoping to get a solid shot for the evening.

"Is this okay? Or do you want to try something else?" Tripp asks as I am gauging the situation outside.

"It should be fine. It's not a secret I'm here. I'm not bothered if people get some pictures. Unless you have another idea for a distraction." I grin and catch his eyes. I'm a bit surprised by how "cool girl" I sound when I know I'm about to question every piece of this interaction.

He greets me with a full-blown smile. My stomach drops, and I feel my own lips pull up.

"Let me walk you to the car. Maybe they'll be so surprised seeing us together that they'll be in awe and click that camera a little slower," he says, and I can't tell if he's joking. "It's that one, right?" He points correctly to my driver. Emilie sits in the front seat, making it easy for me to find my black car.

My face must give me away because he puts one hand on the door handle and the other on my lower back.

"Come on, Lo." He winks and then leads me out the door.

Lo . No one has ever called me that .

The door opens and people are indeed shocked to see us walking out together. Tripp's suit is still wet, especially the white button up shirt. People shout and gasp while taking as many pictures as they can. I don't hear anything super clear but it's hard not to hear the "ARE YOU TOGETHER?" screams.

Tripp throws on his 1000-watt smile and walks me to my car. I don't rush or cover my face. When we get to the car, he opens the door and gives me his hand as he helps me in. Once I'm safely inside, he stands in front of the door opening and smiles.

"See you around, hopefully," he says with a wink and shuts the car door.

I glance to the front to see Emilie wide-eyed and mouth hanging open. "What the hell did you get into during the afterparty?!" she shrieks.

"He called me Lo," I say, more as a question than a statement. Emilie whips to the back looking at me as I put a hand on my chest, feeling the quick heartbeat under my fingers.

"Is that a good thing?" she asks.

"I'm not sure."

All I know is I can still feel the place where his hand rested on my lower back.