magazine. No pictures of me—damn! “Hello?” “Hey, is this . . . Veronica?” It wasn’t Jay. Too bad: I hadn’t worked since the film premiere. “Yes.” “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?” Was he a telemarketer? I didn’t have time for this. I mean, I could be . . . cleaning my toilet. Or Googling “Haley Rush.” Or finishing an in-depth article about Violet Affleck’s wardrobe. “Who is this?” “Oh! Sorry.” He laughed. “It’s Brady.” A week had passed without him calling; I had given up hope. For a moment I couldn’t breathe. And then I made a weird sound, kind of like, “Oh-mu-wah,” gasped a little and said, “Hi!” “Sorry I haven’t called sooner,” he said. “Life’s been crazy busy. But I’ve been thinking about you.” I said, “You have? Because I, um. The thing is, I, uh . . . okay . . .” “Just okay?” I could hear the smile in his voice. My brain buzzed so loudly with excitement, it was hard to think straight. “I didn’t mean okay as in just-okay,”
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