Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,66

still. She’s talking to me like we’ve known each other forever and later tonight we are totes gonna braid each other’s hair and have a pillow fight.

I give her a placating smile. “Because of the camera?” I ask, and she nods her head up and down so rapidly, my own head starts to hurt. “Don’t be. Pretend like the camera isn’t even there and we’re just having a conversation.”

“Easy for you to say,” she says, pointedly studying my face. “Have you been with the station long?”

“Nearly five years.”

She tilts her head slightly to the side, conveying a look of confusion with her expression. “How come I’ve never seen you?”

“I do the midday news,” I say, my voice going flat.

“Oh, right. You probably have a lot of older fans,” she says.

That was fairly astute of the woman, even though the overwhelming desire to step on her foot washes over me when she says it.

I do have a lot of older fans, ones that are probably getting ready for bed right now, which is why no one has stopped to take a picture with me. This is what I’m telling myself, at least.

For a brief moment I wonder what would happen if Grace Is Amazing showed up. Not that she was a fan or anything. It’s weird that she’s not part of my daily life anymore. All these years, she’s written me nearly every day. Not once have I ever responded or given her reason to think that I’m even reading her words. And now I never will again. I kind of miss her, in a sick sort of way. A bit like someone who misses a pet that used to bite them repeatedly. You can’t count on a lot in life, but I could count on a rude email from Grace almost every workday. That’s a really sad thought.

I look over at Kristin, who’s intently watching Henry do his interview outside. She’s nibbling her bottom lip as she does. We can’t hear them, but Henry’s body language seems upbeat and positive. There’s only a tinge of nervousness, which is a far cry from the camera-shy man I was talking down only a few days ago. Perhaps my practice tips helped him. I get a little pleasure from that thought.

Kristin lets out a sigh. “He has to be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” she says. “And that accent, oh my.”

“Yep,” I say.

“Don’t you think he’s handsome?” she asks, searching my face again.

“I guess,” I say with little inflection. “I mean, if you like that type.” I don’t even know why I say this. Henry is one hundred percent, absolutely my type, as every cell in my body can attest to when I’m in his presence. My body comes alive when I’m near him—it cannot be helped.

The whole jumping cells thing happens only moments later as we exit the restaurant when Henry’s interview with Moriarty ends and the station goes to commercial. It takes just one small smile from Henry directed at me, just one thin upward pull of his lips, to get my heart pounding and my mind running off on crazy two-story craftsman-style tangents.

There’s no time for my fantastical brain right now—I have an interview to do. Kristin and I stand in front of the camera, getting ready for her interview. She does a little nervous dance as they place us in front of the camera and an intern hands me a mic. Before Henry leaves to join Moriarty inside the restaurant, he grabs Kristin by the hand and starts to give her a little pep talk.

I should look away and concentrate on something else—anything else but the scene playing out in front of me. Henry’s reassuring face and words of comfort. Kristin’s eyes intently on him as she takes in every word. She’s practically oozing lust from her pores as she looks up at him.

I need to look away. I feel like at any moment I might go insane, I hate this so much. I envision myself yelling, “THIS JOB SUCKS” and doing a perfectly crafted mic drop and then walking the heck away from all of this.

But I don’t. I can’t even look away. Even as Henry leans in and whispers something in Kristin’s ear. Even as hot, heaping loads of jealously course through me.

“So what are you going to ask me?” Kristin asks after Henry leaves. There’s a wistful smile on her lips as if she’s just been in the presence of a god, a light-pink