Save a Prayer by Karen Booth

who'd come calling at the hotel. It would've been an unfortunate incident rather than a damning detail. I could've just let it go when Graham and I were standing in the bathroom and I was trying so hard to keep from freaking out. I could've forgiven him for the thing that wasn't entirely his fault.
    Why couldn't I let it go? I knew at least part of the answer—it was one thing to know about the other girls and forgive him for that. It was something else to see the actual girl. Just like that night in Liverpool, it was seeing the other woman, hard evidence that I wasn’t the only one he’d ever wanted. It was stupid. I knew that. It wasn’t like I’d never wanted other guys, but there was this part of me that wanted to be his one and only. I wanted to be special. I wanted to be more. His everything. You’re all I want, Ang. If that was true, and if I was ever going to truly believe it, I needed to start living in the present and stop dwelling on the past..
    "I swear, I have had nothing but the most amazing things happen to me since I've met you," Gigi said.
    I laughed—at least someone felt lucky. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to feel anymore. Torn into a million pieces? Heartbroken, again? At the very least, conflicted by my apparent undying predilection for Graham Whiting? Mad at myself for overthinking all of it? Pretty much.
    "First I meet Terence and we totally fall for each other and now this?" she added. "In a Banks Forest music video? My sister is going to kill me when she finds out."
    A make-up artist was finishing off an eyeshadow job on me that I could only describe as excessive. I liked sparkly makeup as much as the next girl, but the Day-Glo aqua was a shambles with my hair, which had been teased skyward and pulled back in a ponytail. "I'm a little worried I'm going to end up looking like a drag queen."
    The makeup artist rolled her eyes and planted a hand on her hip, addressing me in the mirror. "You'll look like you aren't wearing anything if I don't overdo it. And the director wants something very fashion-forward."
    All I did was nod and smile. If I didn't get my mood in check, I'd only further annoy her and then I'd end up looking like Boy George. Plus, Gigi was right. This was exciting. Something I would normally never do. There were a million girls in the world who would've done anything—literally, anything— to be in my situation.
    From out of the dark recesses of the warehouse, Graham and Chris approached. My pulse picked up the instant I laid eyes on Graham. Why did my body have to have such a short memory span? A few hours ago it'd kicked in with those old feelings of jealousy, the sour stomach and the emptiness in the center of my chest. I'd never thought of myself as the jealous type. After all, I hadn't had a single pang of it last night when the band was playing, witnessing the way girls looked at Graham. Perhaps it was just that things were different when they were on stage, when there was an imaginary line separating them from the audience. It was the blurring of that line that hurt like hell.
    "We just found out about our lovely co-stars." Chris walked over and patted me on the shoulder, rivaling the makeup mirror lighting with his smile.
    "What are you going to do about taking pictures?" Graham asked me. "I know how important that is to you. It seems odd that you would just cast that aside for a chance to be in a pop band's music video." There was a downright angry edge to his voice, one that displeased me greatly, but he wasn’t wrong.
    "Liam has someone to take pictures for me. I won't get the credit on those shots, but the magazine won't care. They just want the images. Besides, Gigi and I will only be in some parts of the video. The rest of the time I can keep working." I might have made an out-of-character choice, but I hadn’t been completely irresponsible about it.
    He nodded and folded his arms across his chest. "As long as you have it all worked out to your exacting