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was beside the point. I tried to explain.
    “It’s just that, well, you know—I’ve told you,” I said, well aware that my words weren’t penetrating. Wendy had stars in her eyes with Cole Brannon’s name on them. “They’re never what you expect them to be in person. Sometimes I think I’d rather just see them in their movies or whatever, and not really know what they’re like in real life. It kind of ruins it all for me.”
    Which was especially disappointing this time because I actually
liked
Cole Brannon. No doubt brunch at one of Manhattan’s toniest restaurants would change my opinion. Besides, what if all those rumors about him being a ladies’ man and a sex addict—which I didn’t entirely believe, because the gossip often wasn’t true—turned out to be right?
    “They’re not all bad,” Wendy pointed out.
    “I know,” I admitted, offering a smile as a bit of a truce. “You’re right.”
    “Matthew McConaughey, for instance,” Wendy said helpfully.
    “He was nice,” I graciously agreed.
    “And Joshua Jackson,” she added.
    “But who would expect any less from Pacey?” I smiled, but Wendy simply shook her head. This was serious business to her. There was no time for idle
Dawson’s Creek
banter.
    “Look, you have a date with Cole Brannon tomorrow morning. Can’t you get a
little
excited?”
    Unfortunately, I was taking a sip of my coffee as she spoke. I nearly choked.
    “A date?” I gurgled, my eyes wide and my cheeks suddenly burning. “It’s not a date! I’m interviewing him over brunch!”
    “Hmph,” Wendy said. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest and leaned forward conspiratorially. She winked. “If I were you, I would tell people that it’s a date.”
    “Have you been taking cues from Sidra again?” I asked her in mock exasperation. Wendy finally laughed. Sidra DeSimon’s involvement with the tabloids was legendary.
Tattletale,
the gossip rag that hit newsstands each Tuesday, always seemed to feature a recollection from her about “a special moment” she had shared with George Clooney. Wendy and I still held to the belief that she’d never dated him at all.
    “First stop, gossip columnists.” Wendy winked at me. “Really, though, what else did you have to do this weekend? What could
possibly
be more important than having brunch with Cole Brannon? I mean, it’s
Cole Brannon
.”
    As if we hadn’t already established that. I sighed.
    “I was hoping to talk to Tom, you know? Maybe spend some time together to straighten things out.”
    Wendy shook her head at me in what looked a lot like disappointment. Of course, on her face, with her wide eyes and toothy grin, it was often impossible to tell which emotion she was trying to project.
    “That’s it,” she said. “You’re insane, clearly. You want to spend your Saturday with an unemployed creep who won’t even sleep with you rather than with
Cole Brannon
? You should be committed!”
    I refused to laugh. “Really, Wendy, I’m serious. It means a lot to me.”
    Wendy looked skeptical. I changed the subject before she could launch into an anti-Tom tirade. Lately, her points were hitting too close to home.
    “You’re a good friend,” I said seriously. I cleared my throat. “And I appreciate it. Now are you just going to give me a hard time or are you going to help me research Cole Brannon?”
    Wendy looked at me for a moment, then grinned.
    “Research him?” she said with a sly grin. “
Research
him? I’ll give him some research!” She arched an eyebrow seductively.
    “Okay, mind out of the gutter,” I chided with a smile. “That’s not even funny.” Wendy laughed.
    “Seriously, girl, you’re on your own,” she said. She checked her watch. “You know my rule. Never stay past five o’clock on a Friday unless I absolutely have to.”
    “It’s a good rule,” I muttered. At this rate, I’d be here all night. Not that there would be anyone missing me at home, from the look of