All The Pretty Lights (The "A" List #1) by Tara Oakes Read Free Book Online Page B

a wardrobe staple, is standing here, in my living room, fully made-up and dressed like I’ve been trying to get her to dress for years.
    I know why, too. She knew there was a pretty good chance she’d be seen going in and out of my apartment and she wanted to make sure she looked good. Well, at least one of us is enjoying the attention.
    “I still can’t believe this happened! To you! Of all people! I mean, you made fun of me every time I would go to one of his movies. You called him a male Barbie doll, Daph! Remember that? And when he dated Audrey, you said they probably deserved each other because they were both media whores.” Lori laughs as she recalls my observations of the mega-star before I had met him. “Did he talk about Audrey? Did he say anything about them getting back together? I mean, before he kissed you?”
    Oh, God.
    I can’t hear anymore of this. “Lori, Let’s change the topic . Please . Anything. I’ll—I’ll even talk about that stupid show you watch on TV that I still swear isn’t real. Whatever you want. Just. Not. Colton.”
    As if someone above has heard my prayers and decided to cut me some slack today, my cell phone rings from the nearby kitchen table. When I say nearby, I mean nearby . My apartment is only about seven hundred square feet. Perfect for me, but really tight if I have a roommate. So now I use the extra bedroom as a studio. My draft table and sewing machine take up all of it but I make it work.
    The phone rings again.
    “You gonna get that?” Lori eyes me when I make no movement to claim the phone.
    I love her. I really do. But she’s getting on my last nerve this morning. That happens every once in a while, has ever since we were kids growing up down the block from each other in the suburbs. One of us would piss the other off, usually her, and then we’d pout and stomp our feet back to our own houses. About thirty minutes later, we’d meet up at the old Sullivan tree house and act like nothing happened. We could never stay mad at each other for very long.
    That’s one of the reasons we decided not to room together once we both moved into the city after college. We’d be on top of each other 24 hours a day since we both work from home.
    I design from my apartment and Lori is a blogger. You should ask our parents whose daughter has the more unreliable career. I’m being facetious. Don’t ask them- it’ll get them going on a long-winded tirade about how kids these days don’t know how to get normal jobs. How kids these days don’t know the meaning of an eight-hour work day and feel entitled to work around their own schedules.
    Little do they know that Lori probably makes more money than all of them- my parents, and hers. She majored in journalism from a top-notch college while I studied fashion at the Fashion Institute. At least one of our degrees is actually worth something.
    “What if it’s them? The press?” I realize how paranoid I sound, but it isn’t a far stretch to imagine them finding my number since they found my address so easily.
    We both stare at the phone now, like it’s some kind of bomb ready to detonate.
    “Don’t be silly! And besides, if it is, all you say is no comment . I’ve seen it a million times on TV,” Lori rattles off. At least all that junk she watches on television is good for something.
    “You—you get it,” I challenge her.
    I don’t know what excites her more… having the opportunity to say no comment to a reporter the way she’s seen those bimbos on TV do, or the possibility that it could be Colt calling and she may actually speak to the living legend who stars in her dreams at night.
    I don’t have the heart to tell her that it can’t possibly be Colt. I never gave him my number and he never asked for it.
    There was a silent understanding when he pulled me in for that kiss that it would be that last time we saw each other.
    “Hello. Daphne Baker’s phone.” The voice Lori uses to answer my cell is definitely