Just Like the Movies

Just Like The Movies


Natasha Preston


Contents
Also by Natasha Preston
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Epilogue
Read My Mind
Waking Up In Vegas
Acknowledgments
Keep in Touch with Natasha Preston


Also by Natasha Preston
THE SILENCE SERIES
Silence
Broken Silence
Players, Bumps, and Cocktail Sausages
Silent Night
THE CHANCE SERIES
Second Chance
Our Chance
THE ONE SERIES
Waking up in Vegas
Just Like The Movies
STAND-ALONES
Save Me
With the Band
Reliving Fate
Lie to Me
After the End
YA THILLERS
The Cellar
Awake
The Cabin
You Will be Mine
The Lost
The Twin


Copyright © 2020 by Natasha Preston
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at www.natashapreston.com
Cover Designer: LJ Designs
Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing,
www.unforeseenediting.com
Proofreading: Victoria L James,
www.victorialjames.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


Kim, Spencer Lowe is for you.


One


Indie
Spencer Lowe.
I hate him.
Except that, actually, I don’t. Not even close. He’s my best friend of almost ten years and, unfortunately for me, the love of my life.
“Yeah, LA is a lot different to my small hometown in England, but I love it here.” Spencer smiles, his bright white teeth gleaming at me from the TV screen.
I hate Hollywood, and actors, and friends who leave you behind.
But I’m also proud of him. So incredibly proud every time I think about how far he’s come, from high school drama classes to Hollywood’s latest golden boy.
More than anything else, though, I miss him. I miss him so much, I feel like there’s no air in the room.
“It’s been great to have you with us this morning.” Judy Pierce turns to the camera. “Quarantine is out November twentieth, and you don’t want to miss it. That was Spencer Lowe, who plays hunky bad boy Jack Miller. And yes, Spencer is even hotter in person!”
Ugh. I jab my finger on the red button, and the TV switches off.
When was the last time I spoke to him? Has it been two weeks? Three?
He was supposed to stay in contact. That’s what we promised each other the night we got soaking wet, standing outside his house in the rain, trying to say goodbye.
It wasn’t always this bad. At the start he called a lot. We were seventeen and joined at the hip. Then his life transformed overnight. Now, three years on, we’ve both left our teen years behind, and he’s left me.
I want to be angry. I long to feel something other than complete devastation.
It’s nine in the morning. I’m tired and about to leave for my nine-thirty lecture. It only takes fifteen minutes to get to the university, so I chose to live at home. Sort of chose, anyway. My university is only small. I did have my heart set on a bigger one in the city. I wanted to go where no one knew me, so I could blend in. That wasn’t ever going to be an option.
It worked out in the end because my little uni has small class sizes, which means I get more time from my lecturer.
Putting my breakfast plate in the dishwasher, I grab my bag off the counter and head out to my old, red, 1998 Vauxhall Corsa. It’s probably the worst car in the world, but it’s grown on me over the last three years.
I jab the key into the lock—yes, it’s that old, it doesn’t unlock with the click of a button—and get in. The door makes a tinny thud every time I close it, and the engine rumbles like it’s struggling.
Wiggling the gearstick into first, I pull out of my drive and make the cold journey to uni. It’s early November, and unseasonably cold today.
As I drive through the forest, yellow and orange leaves glide to the ground. This is the best time of year, when everyone wraps up cosy, and the first wave of Christmas excitement hits.
I don’t much like Christmas, but I see why others do. For me, I’m just happy that people are merrier. My besties Mila and Wren go crazy for it, but they have close families and big gatherings, so I guess they would.
I pull into the car park and cut my engine. Sia stops singing about chandeliers, or whatever the message of that particular song is.
One day, I’ll have a new car with heated seats, electric everything, and power steering. One with Bluetooth so I can play whatever I want from my phone.
“Morning,” I greet Ellie. She’s a girl studying drama who I don’t really know but always say hi to. We met at orientation and have barely spoken properly since those first few nervous days. She probably knows that I was friends with Spencer Lowe. At one point, for about five minutes, we were more than friends.
I cross the small quad and jog up the steps to my building. I’m fresh into my third year of studying Psychology and Counselling. Maybe I’ll buy a new car when I get my first job. After moving out of my parents’ house, of course.
They weren’t up this morning, which isn’t unusual. I’ll check on them again when I get back, but I heard a lot of snoring. That means they’re fine.
I push open the door to my class, and I find a seat on one of the dark wooden chairs. The