Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,95

screen. I knew it would be hard to see him, but I didn’t think it would be this hard.

“We have to wait nearly an hour?” Bree whines.

“Let’s order food, then,” Holly says, patting her stomach. “I’m starving.”

We order pizza, and it arrives faster than expected, and nearly an hour later, we’ve all eaten and are sitting on the couch awaiting Henry’s appearance.

I feel a little sick to my stomach. It could be the third piece of pizza my body didn’t want but I ate anyway, or it could be that I’m about to see Henry. Or it could be both.

“I’m not sure I want to watch this,” I say, wondering if maybe I should turn it off.

“You’re going to watch it whether it’s today or tomorrow,” Holly says. “And we all know it.”

“Yeah, so just get it over with,” Bree says. “Rip off the bandage fast.”

“Plus, we’re here for you,” Holly says. “You shouldn’t watch this alone.”

I blow air upward out my mouth, fluffing the hair that had escaped from my messy bun as I do. “Fine.”

“Shhhh,” Holly says, pointing toward the television. “It’s on.”

My stomach does a little flip. A sickly one.

“And now for the final part of our ‘Date Our Producer’ feature,” Moriarty says, her fake smile perfectly intact, her voice booming out of my television speakers. “Come on over here, Henry,” she says with a wave of her hand.

Henry comes over and takes a seat at the news desk next to Moriarty with David on the other side of her.

“Wow,” Bree says. “He’s very beautiful.”

I could slap her for saying that, but I was just thinking the same thing. Watching him sitting there, his perfectly blue eyes shining from the studio lighting. That square jaw of his and his perfect white teeth. My Henry. My Henry. Only he’s not mine and never will be.

I take a steadying breath, and Holly grabs my hand.

“So, Henry,” Moriarty starts. “You went on three dates with some of the lovely women of Central Florida. What did you think?”

Henry smiles broadly. “All three women that I went out with were terrific,” he says. “Smart, funny, kind.”

“We don’t disappoint in Central Florida,” Moriarty says, turning and winking at the camera. Henry nods his head in agreement.

“Ugh, she’s gross,” Bree says.

“So, everyone’s waiting to hear: Who’s it going to be? Kristin, Brenda, or Bonnie?” Moriarty asks Henry.

The camera turns fully on him, and he smiles. “I had a brilliant time with each of them. It was hard to pick; so hard, in fact, that I’ve decided not to pick . . . any of them.”

“What?” Holly says loudly. I can see her turn and look at me in my peripheral vision. But my eyes are glued on the television, on Henry.

“He’s not picking any of them?” Bree says, her voice high pitched and screechy.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Moriarty says, clearly flustered, like she had no idea this was going to happen. In fact, she’s not that great of an actress—she probably didn’t have a clue he was going to say any of it.

“Yes,” Henry says, looking calm and confident. “I’m sending my regards to Kristin, Brenda, and Bonnie. You all were champs to do this, and I absolutely enjoyed my time with you. But the truth is, there’s someone else that I truly want. I’d like to ask her on a date, if she’ll have me.”

“Oh my gosh,” both Holly and Bree say at the same time. Their heads, in tandem, turn toward me.

“She actually works here,” he says. “Quinn Pearson, from the midday news.”

The camera pans to Moriarty, who looks like she’s frozen, her mouth agape. Her eyes wide.

“OH MY GOSH!” Holly screams. She and Bree are now on their feet jumping up and down.

I’m glued to the couch, not believing what I just heard, my heart pumping so fast I can barely hear over the pounding of it or the triumphant sounds coming from my best friends.

“I hope she’s watching this, and if she is, I hope she can forgive me for doing this so . . . uh . . . big, but I think she deserves it,” he says, following it with a bit of a nervous-sounding half laugh. “If she does see this, I want her to know that I’d like a date with her. A real one, if she’s up for it.”

Moriarty clears her throat, and the camera comes back to her. “Well, that’s . . . quite . . . uh . . . neat,” she says,