Page 116 of Dream On

I shoot up from the couch, but my feet don’t move. They stay rooted in place, stuck like taffy, as I watch him traipse out of the living room and disappear up the staircase.

It’s only me.

Me, his words, and this strange, achy feeling flooding my chest.

Lex is a virgin.

Chapter 29

Lex

Clear blue water sparkles in front of me, peaceful and unburdened—until Rudy cannonballs into the pool and the water swells like a seismic sea wave, drenching everything within close range. I shake water droplets out of my hair, watching as he pops back up with awhoopthat hardly penetrates the loud music pouring from two standing speakers.

I don’t like parties—never have, never will. But I don’t have much of a choice these days, and even if I did, Rudy’s birthday would always be the exception.

Endearing fucker.

People mingle outside, chatting in small groups and at patio tables, some playing volleyball in the small stretch of grass with just enough room for a net. The ball bounces into the pool over and over, beckoning bikini-clad women to dive in and fetch it.

I’m lying sprawled out in a reclining patio chair, sunglasses perched over my eyes, a cocktail notably absent from my hand. Fuck drinking. One glass of whiskey and I’m spilling my pathetic guts to a green-eyed girl who’s been looking at me differently for the past week.

It’s my own fault. I don’t know what came over me that night, except that I couldn’t stand the thought of her thinking that untrue shit about me—that I was some man slut, plowing through women like cheap beer at a frat party. My only counter to the fallout has been to maintain some distance and keep my mouth shut.

Unfortunately, it was time to make a public appearance again, so here I am, my acting cap on and my defenses forced to shut down while I pretend to be a real-life Casanova.

The patio door slides open, and I glance right, watching as Stevie steps outside in her bathing suit, newly free of the summery yellow cover-up she wore here.

Heat travels through my chest, journeying south.

She’s wearing a triple-strap black bikini, her creamy curves on full display. The California sun has added a touch of bronze to her skin tone, making her eyes appear a shade lighter. When I glance down at her knee full of scars, my heart pangs.

Everyone stares at her as she lingers outside the door. She looks lost. Probably thinks they’re staring because she’s the newcomer, but that’s not the truth. They’re staring because she’s fucking stunning. She’s always had curves, once hiding them under baggy denim and oversize shirts. But now she’s evolved, grown, embracing a bold new style and currently flaunting a tiny bikini that barely swallows her breasts.

I shift in the chair, ejecting the thoughts that teeter on dangerous ground. It’s not like that with her and never will be, so I need to stop leering at her like she could be the first woman I decide to fall into bed with.

Fuck.

Never going to happen.

This fake-dating bullshit is starting to mess with my head.

Stevie glances around the backyard briefly before her attention lands on me. She catches me staring in her direction, but since my sunglasses are on, I’m able to hide it well enough. I pull up off the lawn chair and make my way over to her. “You look lost, babe.” The mask slides back on as I transition into the role of leading man.

She blinks at me, taking a second to follow my lead. “I was looking for you.”

While there are no photographers on-site, the party is swarming with industry bigwigs—producers, agents, clients, fellow actors, and costars. We can’t afford to slip up, or someone will inevitably blab it to the press. “Are you going to swim?”

The center of her throat rolls as she swallows. “I was thinking about it, but…” She covers herself. Folds her arms over her breasts as the sun pinkens her cheeks. She feels the eyes on her. “I don’t know.”

My jaw ticks. I reach out and pull her arms away from her chest, my gaze dipping. “Don’t hide.”

“Um.” She breathes a nervous laugh, refusing to meet my eyes. “There are a lot of people.”

“So?”

“So I’m second-guessing my wardrobe.”

“Why? You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” The actress standing next to me swoons, whispering something in her friend’s ear. My hands raise to hitch along Stevie’s hipbones with a squeeze, then trail lazily up her midsection. “I fucking love your body.”