Page 25 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

The contact of Damian’s hand around mine sends a jolt of electricity racing through me.

And not in a cute, romance book kind of way where the spark between two characters is a literal shock that manifests when they touch for the first time.

No, this is definitely more of a I-feel-like-I’ve-just-been-tased-by-a-cattle-prod kind of way, and it causes a crippling anxiety that ignites in my blood and consumes me until all I can think about is getting as far away from Damian “Fuckboy” Navarro as humanly possible.

I need space. I need to think about what I’ve just agreed to…

preferably someplace quiet and dark where alcohol is available.

That compulsion gnaws at me hungrily, taking control of my body as my mind takes the passenger seat to my panic, which wrenches my hand free of his and has me bolting from Touro Park like I’m the goddamn Road Runner and that jackass—who is apparently harder to get rid of than herpes—is my nemesis, Wile E.

Coyote. Well, meep, meep, motherfucker. If only I’d had an anvil handy to drop on his head.

I don’t stop running until sufficient distance has been put between us and I’m safely in the warm embrace of one of my few places of sanctuary, though I wish it was a cozy dark hole I could crawl inside and die in.

I hate that the reality of what I’m about to get into overshadows my relief at knowing I’ll have the money to take care of Mom, but foreboding chokes me when I think about having to spend any length of time with that asshole.

I grimace at the thought. I really don’t know what the hell I was thinking agreeing to this stupid arrangement.

Me…pretend to be Damian’s girlfriend? I snort, shaking my head, and spin the highball glass on the table as I sink deeper into the cushions of the farthest back booth of my favorite Newport bar, Grape Expectations.

It’s one of those rustic gastropubs with lots of wood and exposed brick that serves local draft beer, spirits, and cocktails, with all the drink names inspired by books.

Plus, it has minimal lighting so I can easily hide my shame in peace as I nurse my drink, pretending I didn’t just agree to sign my soul away to the freaking devil.

Technically, I’m not old enough to drink in a place like this, let alone legally drink at all, but with Newport being a college town (and Conwick students having very deep pockets), the bartenders tend to look the other way.

And for the few who don’t, I have my handy-dandy fake ID, compliments of one of the guys in Andie’s local D the word choices it opted for made me come across as borderline deranged.

Oh, well. At least it was comprehensible enough for them to figure out where to find me.

They hurry to the back of the bar where I’ve sequestered myself, but it’s only when they’re nearly to my table that I catch sight of the white-blond hair behind them and notice Andie’s boyfriend trailing her steps like a lovesick puppy.

Wonderful. We have an audience. Eli meets my gaze, and whatever expression I’m wearing is countered with a look of utter bemusement topped with a cherry of unease, like he’s not sure he should be here for this.

You really, really shouldn’t, I silently project, but he doesn’t seem to pick up what I’m throwing down. If there are any doubts festering behind those piercing blue eyes, he keeps them to himself as he slides into the circular booth after my friends.

“What happened?” Ronnie asks, eyeing the highball glass clenched between my trembling fingers as she scooches along the bench to sit beside me. “Are you okay? Or is there a reason you’re drinking in the dark alone on a Tuesday like a depressed businessman?”

My gaze shifts from her face to Andie’s, then I very quickly look over at Eli, not quite sure how much I should say with him here.

In the confusion and surprise of the moment, Damian forgot to have me sign the non-disclosure agreement he mentioned in our email exchange yesterday, but that doesn’t mean he won’t bring it up later or press charges if word of our arrangement were to get out in the meantime.

I can see the headlines now: Nobody Scholarship Student Besmirches Good Name of Billionaire Heir .

If it wasn’t such a dire possibility, I’d laugh at the thought. Good name, my ass.

Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that, between the two of us, Damian has a whole lot more at risk than I do in the reputation department, and as much as I would rather stick hot needles in my eyes than spend a single second more with the cocky bastard, I really, really need the money.

If he was anyone else, it wouldn’t matter; I wouldn’t give a damn about pretending to be some rando’s girlfriend—I’d fake that shit until I make it—but explaining this will take far more creativity than I have.

If Ronnie and Andie hadn’t been active participants in helping me find the job listing, then I’d take the indignity of this secret to my grave, and just let them think I’d lost however many brain cells would be deemed acceptable to excuse a relationship with the university’s biggest playboy.

It would still be humiliating, obviously, but for some reason I can’t explain, faking a relationship with Damian after everything he’s done to me feels a lot more shameful than actually being in one.

But alas, that isn’t an option, and besides, they both know me far too well to know I’d never date Damian Navarro for free.

“I…” I hesitate, stalling for time, and swallow so loudly the sound seems to echo around us.

Think, Lexi, I chide myself, glancing once more at Eli, who watches me, his bright eyes narrowing slightly beneath the quizzical crease of his brow.

Yeah, because my continuing silence and the perspiration beading on my forehead don’t look suspicious at all .

No wonder the poor boy looks so confused.

“I…had that blind date I told you about,” I say carefully when nothing else comes to me, pinning the full intensity of my gaze on Ronnie. Maybe if I stare at her hard enough, she’ll be able to read my mind, unlike Eli.

“O-oh,” she stammers, thankfully catching on. “And…how did that go?”

Fan-freaking-tastic. It was like living my worst nightmare, actually. I sigh, and Ronnie quirks one perfectly sculpted eyebrow as if she really can read my thoughts. “So…good,” I manage, attempting to force a grin and instead sneering at the rancid taste of my lie. “We’re…going to date now.”

The cousins exchange a knowing look, but before they can comment, Eli, none the wiser to the reality of the situation (and clearly oblivious to my appalling attempt at improvisation), perks up and says, “Wait, you have a boyfriend now? That’s great!

Hey, we can double date.” He nudges Andie, cracking a smile, and for a moment, I think that’s the end of it—that I can just delay this conversation, and tell my girls the truth later when we’re in a more secure, secluded location without any unexpected spectators—when Eli asks the dreaded question. “Who is he? Anyone we know?”

I swallow again, prepared to say no, but I can’t; the words refuse to come.

At my silence, Ronnie’s expression contorts into a questioning glare, and though I meet her gaze, I still don’t say anything since I have no clue what the fuck to say.

I don’t know what Damian’s expected timeline is with this farce, and considering I haven’t had a boyfriend in all the time my Conwick friends have known me, it’ll look kind of sketchy if I make one up now only to turn around a week or however long later and suddenly say I’m dating someone else.

Especially when that someone else is Damian since it’s unavoidable that we’ll be seen together.

Hell, that’s the whole point of all this.