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

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