I frown. “You shouldn’t be reading that shit. It’s always a dumpster fire.”
She stares at me, her complexion chalky. “Yeah. You’re right.”
We hold contact for a few seconds, a swell of tension rising between us. I can almost see the memories unfurling behind her eyes, the same ones battering my own mind. Roaming hands, hot skin, wet mouths. The noises she made and the feel of her curves molding into me while my palm splayed across the velvet arc of her throat.Fuck—I was into it. Removed from the world around me and entirely entangled in her.
Only her.
And the last thing I want to do is dive into my feelings and peel back the layers of every grope and groan, but something still nags at me to say more. To not let her walk away without a… “Thank you.”
She blinks the fog from her eyes. “What?”
“Thank you…for being there. Last night.” My hands slide into the pockets of my shorts. I’m no good at this—this vulnerable, guard-down shit. But she needs to know. She needs to know her efforts mattered, worked, and meant a whole fucking lot. And as difficult as it is for me to voice the words aloud, it deserves more than a text message. “I appreciate it.”
“Yeah,” she whispers, nodding slowly. “Of course.”
Stevie hints the smallest smile, her cheeks gaining more color, and turns to walk up the stairs.
Rudy hassles me the moment I return to the kitchen, his eyes aimed at the staircase. “Lex, my man.”
“Don’t.”
“Who is that girl?”
I reach for my fork and start stabbing my eggs until they’re pulverized. “Stevie. My pretend girlfriend.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you asked.”
“I mean, who is she to you? Really? These photos don’t lie. You can’t fake that shit.”
Against my better judgment, I glance over at the grid of pictures he’s thumbing through. The most notable is of Stevie tipped backward in my arms, lips parted like she’s about to break apart, her hair in chaos as my hand tangles around it, and my face buried in the sweet curve of her neck. We look like we’re vying for the lead roles in some soft-core porno.
I go back to my eggs, jamming a forkful into my mouth. “It was just for the cameras. We wanted to sell it.”
“Try again.”
“You’re worse than my mother,” I grumble through a chew.
“Yes, but only marginally.” Rudy sets his phone down and pivots toward me. He’s wearing his tortoiseshell glasses today, so I assume he’s about to spew some sage wisdom. “You want my friendly advice?”
There it is. “Go for it.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Profound.” My eyes roll up, and I shake my head. “What’s your unfriendly advice like?”
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
I can’t help the grin from breaking free. Inhaling a piece of bacon in one bite, I swipe my hands on a napkin. “Fine. Maybe I was feeling the kiss and we got carried away. But the Willa stuff is garbage. She gave me a hug and pecked my cheek—hardly newsworthy.”
“Listen, I get it. And honestly, this is the stuff we want to see. Your name is trending, regardless of the context, and that gets more eyes on the show. I just wanted to keep you in the loop so you can anticipate the incoming interrogation.” He softens a bit. “And Stevie should prepare for some backlash. The comments aren’t nice.”
Angry heat spreads throughout my chest. “What are they saying?”
“See for yourself.”
Peering down at his phone, I skim over the comments.
