Page 24 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

“It’s amazing,” I say, and she bites her lip.

Usually, Ivy’s approach to her wardrobe, at least when it comes to shows, is entirely practical.

She wears a lot of sneakers and hoodies.

Band t-shirts. Jeans. She probably logs a million miles every concert taking care of everything that needs to be done.

She dresses for comfort, and I wouldn’t expect anything different.

She’s still in jeans today, but she’s wearing a tank top that hugs her curves and a black leather jacket I’ve never seen before. She’s also wearing earrings, just visible through the dark curls framing her face. And does she have on more makeup than usual?

She looks really good. Like, turn-my-head-on-the-street good.

“What?” she says, lifting her hands to cover her face. “Is it too much? You’re staring at me like it’s too much.”

“No!” I quickly say. “You look amazing. Just different.”

She peeks through her fingers. “Really? You aren’t just saying that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”

“Yes, you would,” she says. “You’re nice enough that you’d absolutely lie to me to spare my feelings. ”

“Okay, probably,” I say, “but I promise that’s not what I’m doing now. You really do look nice.” I reach over and wrap my hands around her wrists, tugging them from her face. “Now stop or you might mess it all up.”

She lets me tug her hands down, but then she huffs out a sigh, dislodging one of her curls and tossing it askew.

I shift her hands so I’m holding them both with one of mine, then lift the other to her face, sliding the curl away from her cheek.

She holds my gaze for a long moment, and something turns over behind my ribs.

“I think I just thought,” she finally says, but then she hesitates, her tongue darting out to slide along her bottom lip.

I squeeze her hand, urging her to continue in the only way I know how.

She takes a deep breath. “If people are speculating about us being together, I guess I just…wanted to make sure I look the part.”

It hadn’t even occurred to me that our fake relationship might have something to do with Ivy’s extra effort, but now that she’s said it out loud, it makes perfect sense.

Not that she needed to make an extra effort.

She always looks amazing, something I still feel stupid for never truly noticing until now.

But I get it. She’s never had the spotlight on her before—not really. And she definitely will now.

“You look amazing,” I say, rubbing my thumb across the back of her hand. “Truly.”

If Wayne turned around and told us we were stuck in traffic and it was going to be another four hours before we arrived at the concert venue, I wouldn’t mind it.

That’s how much I’d like to sit right here, Ivy’s hand in mine, and stare into her eyes.

But then the SUV rolls to a stop, and Wayne unbuckles his seatbelt .

A lot of venues have underground parking garages so we can get inside without having to walk past any public areas, but here, we’re in a narrow parking lot in an alleyway beside the arena.

Maybe twenty yards away, a barrier blocks the alley from the sidewalk, and a security officer stands guard.

Fans are lined up on the other side of the barrier, and I can already hear their screams. They can’t know for sure I’m the one inside the SUV, but based on the volume of their cheers, they seem pretty confident in their guesswork.

When I first started touring, I might have walked the short distance to the barrier and spent some time signing autographs and taking photos, but these days, the security it requires to make that happen is more headache than it’s worth.

I can already hear Wayne listing off the reasons why it isn’t a good idea.

But Kat’s words are still fresh in my mind. Maybe I can’t interact with the crowd, but they could at least see me and Ivy together.

“We should hold hands,” she says before I can suggest it. She’s staring out the window at the gathered fans, but as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she turns and looks back at me. “Maybe you could stop and wave?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

She shrugs. “It’s the plan, right? Also, you just told me I look amazing, Freddie. If fans are going to take pictures of us every chance they get, I’d rather it happen now when I don’t look like a bridge troll.”

I huff out a laugh. “You could never look like a bridge troll.”

“Trust me. I can.” She holds out her palm face up, and I thread my fingers through hers.

“You’re sure about this?” I study the uncertainty in Ivy’s expression and tell myself this is a good thing. It’s the thing we want. The thing we need so we can be in charge of the story.

But I suddenly wonder what would happen if I asked Ivy to be with me for real. What would she say?

A relationship with me surely seems like a gamble. The traveling, the lack of privacy, the demanding schedule. It wouldn’t be easy.

Then again, she already knows that. She’s been living this life with me for five years.

And… she just told me she wants to work for someone else, to move out of my house. She’s clearly craving a normalcy I can’t give her.

A fake relationship is probably the only thing I’m ever going to get.

“Absolutely not,” Ivy says. “But we’re doing it anyway, and I’m okay with that.”

I look at Wayne, who is watching expectantly, waiting for my cue. “Okay,” I say, squeezing Ivy’s hand. “Let’s do it.”

He nods, then exits the car, circling around to the door closest to the arena.

This means Ivy will get out first, but that’s not what I want.

I want to go first so I can turn and help her—make it look less like she’s working for me and more like I’m paying attention, taking care of her for a change.

“Here, switch places with me,” I say as Wayne opens the door.

“What?”

“Let me get out first,” I say.

“Why? Does it really matter?”

“If you’re my assistant, you get out first,” I say. “But you aren’t. Not anymore. ”

“Technically, I am, ” Ivy argues, but she still unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs over the front of me. The car suddenly seems very small for this kind of movement, but we’re committed, so I lift my arms to give her as much room as possible.

Ivy only makes it halfway before the button on the sleeve of her jacket snags on the zipper on the front of my hoodie.

“Wait, wait,” I say, shifting my hands to her hips to stop her movement. “You’re caught.”

She relaxes her weight, sitting down on my lap so she’s fully straddling me. “Am I?” she asks, but then she seems to see and sets to work trying to free herself from my clothes. “Oh,” she grumbles. “Well, this is annoying.”

I should be annoyed, but I’m mostly just thinking about how good it feels to have her against me like this, my hands resting on the curve of her hips, her knees bracketing either side of my lap.

That’s a dangerous train of thought though, so I tilt my gaze upward and force myself to think about something else.

My favorite hockey team just made it to the Stanley Cup Playoffs. That’s exciting. They’re a relatively new franchise, and no one thought they stood a chance this year. I wonder if I could get tickets to a game. I bet Wayne would enjoy that?—

“There,” Ivy finally says as she shifts off my lap. “Free. Sorry about that.”

I clear my throat. “No worries,” I say. But the tightness pinching a spot right behind my ribs makes me think I should be worried.

“Whenever you’re ready, Freddie,” Wayne says from where he’s standing by the open car door.

“Right. Got it,” I say sliding toward the door. When I meet Wayne’s gaze, he gives me an amused look that seems to say he thinks I should be worried too.

I step out of the car, and the cheers of the onlooking fans grow even louder.

I don’t look at them—not yet. I stay focused on Ivy, holding out my hand, which she takes as she emerges from the car.

As soon as she’s upright, I tuck an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my side, and guide us toward the arena.

If I thought the cheers were loud before, they’re twice that as soon as everyone sees us together.

A strange sense of protectiveness surges inside me. I’m used to fans looking at me, screaming at me, but knowing they’re watching Ivy now too—that’s different.

I tug her even closer, my hand sliding under the hem of her jacket and settling into the curve of her waist. But it doesn’t feel like enough. I don’t know how to protect her from this. From everything that comes with me.

“We should wave at them,” she says, slowing her steps.

I’m too lost in my thoughts to protest, so I follow Ivy’s lead, turning and lifting an arm to wave at the watching crowd.

Kat’s going to be thrilled, because we couldn’t possibly look more like a couple.

Ivy leans in, her lips close to my ear. “You’re tense. Is everything okay?”

I nod, but I still don’t move my feet. Not until Ivy hooks her hand through mine and tugs us forward.

Seconds later, we’re inside the arena, a heavy steel door cutting us off from the noise of the crowd outside.

“What happened?” Ivy says. “You okay? You completely froze out there. ”

“No, I…I’m good,” I say as I take in her face, the concern in her deep brown eyes.

For years, it’s only been me in the spotlight. I’ve dated, yes. But only people who are also famous. Who are used to the spotlight like I am.

Practically speaking, I knew this would happen when we decided to move forward with Kat’s plan. But understanding it will happen and actually experiencing it are two different things.

Even though Ivy has been with me for years, she’s never had to step into the spotlight. Not like this.

I feel a sudden desperate need to protect her from it. Like I would do anything—walk away from all of it—if that’s what it took to keep her safe.

I’ve never felt anything like this before, and it overwhelms me. It feels like my brain is realigning, priorities clicking into a new and different order.

“I’m good,” I repeat. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

She studies me closely. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she says. “Then I’m going to go find Seth.” She glances at her watch. “You’ll be ready for soundcheck in a few minutes?”

I nod. “Absolutely.”

She turns and heads down the hallway, leaving me with Wayne and a member of the arena staff who just showed up, presumably to take me to my dressing room. I fully understand why Ivy has to be in work mode right now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish she was still standing beside me.

Wayne lets out a chuckle, and I frown. “What? Why are you laughing? ”

“No reason.”

“You have to have a reason.”

We move down the hallway side by side, but my grouchy security guard doesn’t say anything else, not until we reach my dressing room and the arena staff has left us alone.

“I’m just saying,” he says when he’s sure only I can hear him. “You’re a great singer, man. But you’ve never been much of an actor.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs like he’s admitting something as casual as the forecast for tomorrow’s weather. “There’s no way you faked the way you just looked at her.”