The screen flashes—and there he is.
David.
Standing in bright L.A. sunshine with palm trees swaying behind him, the sky painfully blue.
He’s in a fitted black tee and sunglasses, hair pushed back by the breeze like some kind of cinematic fantasy.
God. He looks good.
And—gulp—he looks like he belongs there.
Next to him is a stunning reporter—sleek, glossy hair, perfect white smile, hand resting just a little too comfortably on his forearm.
Something sharp twists in my stomach.
Insecurity. Jealousy.
Hot and immediate.
Because she fits that world.
She fits him.
And I’m just—a bookish Jersey girl in a cardigan with a coffee stain on the sleeve.
But the second I think it, he’s already moving his arm, making her hand drop as if he doesn’t like her hand on him either.
“And there you have it,” the reporter is saying, beaming into the camera. “DJ Mars is dropping the new Rugby Championship Cup single, Try For Me, this weekend at kickoff—featuring brand new recording sensation Bella Bosco.”
Bella squeals behind me. One of her friends gasps. The shop suddenly feels very small.
“And tell me, DJ Mars,” the reporter continues, turning to him with that coy tilt of her head. “What are your plans for the future? Still haunting L.A. nightclubs? And—” she pauses, smiling wider, “are you still single?”
The world slows.
Everything in the shop goes quiet.
Even Bella.
Even the kids.
I feel it before I hear it—the thud of my own heartbeat in my ears.
He leans toward the mic.
Slow.
Unbothered.
Confident.
That familiar smirk curves his mouth, but there’s something different in his eyes.
Something steadier.
“Actually,” he says, voice smooth but firm, “that is a hard no to both those questions.”
The words land like a dropped glass.