IMAGINES: Celebrity Encounters Starring You by Anna Todd, Blair Holden, Rachel Aukes, Ashley Winters, Leigh Ansell, Doeneseya Bates, Scarlett Drake, A. Evansley, Kevin Fanning, Ariana Godoy, Debra Goelz, Bella Higgin, Kora Huddles, Annelie Lange, E. Latimer, Bryony Leah, Jordan Lynde, Laiza Millan, Peyton Novak, C.M. Peters, Michelle Jo, Dmitri Ragano, Elizabeth A. Seibert, Rebecca Sky, Karim Soliman, Kate J. Squires, Steffanie Tan, Kassandra Tate, Katarina E. Tonks, Marcella Uva, Tango Walker, Bel Watson, Jen Wilde Page B
Authors: Anna Todd, Blair Holden, Rachel Aukes, Ashley Winters, Leigh Ansell, Doeneseya Bates, Scarlett Drake, A. Evansley, Kevin Fanning, Ariana Godoy, Debra Goelz, Bella Higgin, Kora Huddles, Annelie Lange, E. Latimer, Bryony Leah, Jordan Lynde, Laiza Millan, Peyton Novak, C.M. Peters, Michelle Jo, Dmitri Ragano, Elizabeth A. Seibert, Rebecca Sky, Karim Soliman, Kate J. Squires, Steffanie Tan, Kassandra Tate, Katarina E. Tonks, Marcella Uva, Tango Walker, Bel Watson, Jen Wilde
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slides his hand down to lace his fingers through yours.
“Do you always hold hands with strangers?” you ask, not worried about sounding rude.
He huffs a quick breath and tightens his fingers around yours. Your palms are already sweating, and you’re embarrassed, overthinking every step you take, every sound you make.
“You aren’t a stranger; we’re friends. Remember?”
You roll your eyes and nod in agreement, even though you’re certain you’ll never see him again. When you step outside, the breeze from the coast washes over you, making you slightly more comfortable than you were moments ago. He leads you down the sidewalk toward the back of the row of white buildings.
Two women walk past you, and you watch as they completely ignore your presence and stare straight at Daniel. The shorter, pudgier woman’s eyes nearly bulge from her head, and she pulls on the other woman’s arm; a rush of whispers bursts from her mouth into the taller woman’s ear.
“Daniel!” the taller woman screeches, and drops her purse onto the gravel walkway. “Can we have a picture with you?”
Daniel tenses slightly, but it’s so slight that you aren’t sure it actually happened. He drops your hand and you watch, confused as hell, as he smiles kindly at the women.
Who is he? Why do they want a picture with him?
“I just loved you in Off the Main Road —my husband and I went to England for the summer and caught it. You were great.”
You have no idea what they’re talking about . . . but it hits you. He’s an actor. Of course he is. You look at his face, the delicate bridge of his nose, the sharp edge of his jawline. Of course he’s an actor.
“Thank you, I really appreciate that,” he tells them. He’s genuine in thanking them for their praises. The shorter woman asks for a picture alone, and she wraps her hand around his arm possessively. She looks at you, judgment clear in her dark eyes.
You don’t want to agree with her, but when you look down at your dirty boots, ripped jeans, and faded blouse, you do. You want to tell her to stop wondering what he sees in you because it’s nothing; he doesn’t see you or know you at all. You suddenly feel silly for allowing him to hold your hand, even as friends. Friends don’t hold hands. Hell, most lovers don’t even hold hands. Love has turned into horizontal bodies and lust-driven conversations, useless and undeserved promises, like those that have filled every relationship you’ve ever known.
You back away as the women continue to gush over him. He doesn’t look your way, not even once, as you disappear behind the building. You follow the gravel trail down to the shore. Moss-covered rocks line the edge of the water, and an overflowing trash can spills out the waste deposited in it by at least a hundred people. The water isn’t as loud as you’d imagined and the waves are soft, unassuming, as they kiss the sand-covered bay and seem to attempt to wash away the dirty rocks. The rocks don’t budge, though, no matter how hard the water tries to move them.
The beach is farther from the top of the hill than you thought. A large wooden staircase was built to make it easier for people to reach, but you’re slightly nervous as you step onto the stained wood. The boards creak under your heavy steps, and you desperately try to understand what it is that he finds so beautiful about this beach. The staircase is wide enough for at least four people to walk down at once, and you force yourself to ignore the creaking, ignore the chipped paint and spray-painted tags on the wooden sheds settled in the rocky hill. You don’t see beauty here; you see dirt and damaged wood, slow waves and rocks.
A man runs past you, his bare chest gleaming with sweat. He’s confident as he takes the stairs up to the top of the hill. The wooden planks shake beneath your feet as his weight presses against them. You hadn’t noticed him until he reached you, and you quickly forget about him
“Do you always hold hands with strangers?” you ask, not worried about sounding rude.
He huffs a quick breath and tightens his fingers around yours. Your palms are already sweating, and you’re embarrassed, overthinking every step you take, every sound you make.
“You aren’t a stranger; we’re friends. Remember?”
You roll your eyes and nod in agreement, even though you’re certain you’ll never see him again. When you step outside, the breeze from the coast washes over you, making you slightly more comfortable than you were moments ago. He leads you down the sidewalk toward the back of the row of white buildings.
Two women walk past you, and you watch as they completely ignore your presence and stare straight at Daniel. The shorter, pudgier woman’s eyes nearly bulge from her head, and she pulls on the other woman’s arm; a rush of whispers bursts from her mouth into the taller woman’s ear.
“Daniel!” the taller woman screeches, and drops her purse onto the gravel walkway. “Can we have a picture with you?”
Daniel tenses slightly, but it’s so slight that you aren’t sure it actually happened. He drops your hand and you watch, confused as hell, as he smiles kindly at the women.
Who is he? Why do they want a picture with him?
“I just loved you in Off the Main Road —my husband and I went to England for the summer and caught it. You were great.”
You have no idea what they’re talking about . . . but it hits you. He’s an actor. Of course he is. You look at his face, the delicate bridge of his nose, the sharp edge of his jawline. Of course he’s an actor.
“Thank you, I really appreciate that,” he tells them. He’s genuine in thanking them for their praises. The shorter woman asks for a picture alone, and she wraps her hand around his arm possessively. She looks at you, judgment clear in her dark eyes.
You don’t want to agree with her, but when you look down at your dirty boots, ripped jeans, and faded blouse, you do. You want to tell her to stop wondering what he sees in you because it’s nothing; he doesn’t see you or know you at all. You suddenly feel silly for allowing him to hold your hand, even as friends. Friends don’t hold hands. Hell, most lovers don’t even hold hands. Love has turned into horizontal bodies and lust-driven conversations, useless and undeserved promises, like those that have filled every relationship you’ve ever known.
You back away as the women continue to gush over him. He doesn’t look your way, not even once, as you disappear behind the building. You follow the gravel trail down to the shore. Moss-covered rocks line the edge of the water, and an overflowing trash can spills out the waste deposited in it by at least a hundred people. The water isn’t as loud as you’d imagined and the waves are soft, unassuming, as they kiss the sand-covered bay and seem to attempt to wash away the dirty rocks. The rocks don’t budge, though, no matter how hard the water tries to move them.
The beach is farther from the top of the hill than you thought. A large wooden staircase was built to make it easier for people to reach, but you’re slightly nervous as you step onto the stained wood. The boards creak under your heavy steps, and you desperately try to understand what it is that he finds so beautiful about this beach. The staircase is wide enough for at least four people to walk down at once, and you force yourself to ignore the creaking, ignore the chipped paint and spray-painted tags on the wooden sheds settled in the rocky hill. You don’t see beauty here; you see dirt and damaged wood, slow waves and rocks.
A man runs past you, his bare chest gleaming with sweat. He’s confident as he takes the stairs up to the top of the hill. The wooden planks shake beneath your feet as his weight presses against them. You hadn’t noticed him until he reached you, and you quickly forget about him
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