Page 39 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)
Well, regardless, whatever she’s doing is working, and as the rumors spread, I find her perceived anonymity turning out better for us than I could’ve ever imagined.
A dozen or so brief appearances together in just under three weeks, and the media (and all of Conwick) is hungry to know who she is, so much so there’s absolutely no way my parents haven’t caught wind of our romance.
Though the thought makes me giddy, I keep my excitement in check.
Things in my life have a funny habit of going wrong, and even if this all goes according to plan, it’s far too early in the game to start feeling smug.
Blondie and I have a lot more work to put in for my parents—or anyone else, for that matter—to take us seriously.
Which is why we’re starting small, with simple walks on the quad between class and coffee dates at Izzy’s—nothing too big to avoid arousing suspicion while still being public enough for Conwick students (and paparazzi with long-lens cameras) to snap as many pictures as they like.
After my well-known dating drought, small is more believable, and we need everyone watching to buy into the idea that we’re together.
As for Blondie, she’s playing her part far better than I could’ve expected given how bad she is at lying. She laughs at the right moments, holds my hand without complaining, and only grimaces slightly whenever I go in to kiss her on the cheek.
On the first Friday of October (the three-week anniversary of our shopping day and official commencement of our agreement), I even wake up mid-morning to an unexpected text from her.
Blondie
Let’s go somewhere tomorrow
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I roll onto my back.
Me
Wow and here I thought I’d be the one organizing all our dates
I yawn as I stare up at the phone screen where it hovers above my face, watching the little dancing ellipsis until she texts back.
Blondie
Shocking I know but you are paying me so I figure I should put in some of the work
I snort.
Me
You are a terrible liar even in text
A long moment passes before she responds.
Blondie
You got me the truth is I don’t trust that you have any ideas that aren’t coffee related and believe it or not I need this to work out just as much as you do
“Wow, she must really be into her cosplay,” I muse just as my phone buzzes again.
Blondie
People will start to get bored of us soon if we don’t shake things up and if it makes any difference I could use the distraction
Sitting up, I press my back to the headboard.
She’s not wrong about us needing to up the ante a little, though I’ve been wary of doing that with the worry of what might happen once her name gets out.
I might even finally muster the nerve to talk to her about it, except…
that last part of her message sinks its claws into me and refuses to let go.
She needs a distraction? From what?
I’m about to ask her when I remind myself that Blondie’s personal life isn’t any of my business. I wouldn’t have cared three weeks ago, and I definitely do not care now so long as it doesn’t interfere with or impact our agreement.
Shaking away my fleeting concern, I text back:
Me
Okay but nothing weird like a couples painting class or some shit
Her next message arrives quicker than the previous ones.
Blondie
Oh you mean weird like taking a total stranger on a shopping trip and buying them tens of thousands of dollars worth of clothes they don’t actually want?
Me
Can you technically be considered strangers if you’d had your dick inside the other person? Asking for a friend.
Another text comes through a split second after mine.
Blondie
Or what about showing up in said stranger’s lecture like some kind of stalker? That kind of weird?
Me
If I recall correctly you were the one stalking me pill lover
My phone vibrates with her response, and as I read it, I stifle a laugh at the mental picture of Blondie’s face. She’s like a Jigglypuff, adorable even when angry.
Blondie
Call me that again and I’ll shove a up your
Me
Don’t threaten me with a good time
It occurs to me that she might not be above poisoning my coffee one of these days, so I hastily add:
Me
All joking aside what did you have in mind?
My phone is quiet for so long I start to worry she’s ignoring me.
When it finally vibrates again, my heart does a leap, kicking me hard in the rib cage.
My brow wrinkles as I peer at the dropped pin she sent, but I don’t get a chance to work out what I’m looking at before another message pops up beneath it.
Blondie
Meet me here tomorrow @ 11am. Bring and don’t be late or I reserve the right to draw a dick on your face with permanent marker
This time, I can’t hold it in. I bark out a riotous laugh that evolves into another until I’m completely in stitches.
It’s almost as if Blondie is reading my mind, and it takes nearly a full minute for me to compose myself enough to type back a coherent response. When I do, a broad smile pulls at my lips as the Pokémon theme song plays in my head.
Me
Whatever you say Jigglypuff
“A mansion tour? Seriously ?” I groan, peering over my shoulder at the admittedly luxurious property with disdain.
“If I wanted a history lesson on the Vanderbilts, I’d just ask my mom.
She’s, like, second or third cousins with them or something like that.
I’m not entirely sure what that makes me—the whole second and third cousin once removed thing has always confounded me—but I do know we’re related.
I think. I could be confusing them with someone else. ”
Blondie rolls her eyes as she pushes me through the door to the Breakers Welcome Center, where we join the end of the line to check in for our tour of the largest and supposedly grandest of the historic mansions in Newport.
I can’t remember the last time I willingly waited for something, let alone something I don’t want to do.
Usually, I would name-drop that I’m a Navarro, and cut to the front of this bullshit line, but alas, I doubt Blondie will allow me to use my billionaire status for evil.
“This is the Vanderbilts we’re talking about,” she scoffs. “Who could you possibly be confusing them with?”
I lift a hand to my chin and release a long, contemplative hum. “The Vanderpumps, maybe? It would explain why my mom hate-watches their show every week.”
A tiny furrow forms between Blondie’s brows. “How do you know she hate-watches it and doesn’t just…watch it? You know, because she likes it?”
“Oh, my sweet summer child,” I coo, affectionately patting her on the top of the head.
She smacks my hand away, and I grin. “First, my mother despises the majority of our distant relations. Second, something you should probably know is that my mom is the definition of a Karen. Hate-watching is the only way she watches TV because it empowers her to complain about everything. The only exception is The Great British Bake Off , but that’s only because she has a massive lady boner for Paul Hollywood. ”
Blondie blinks those lovely eyes at me. “I find it disturbing you would use the phrase ‘lady boner’ while referring to your mother. Also, I have no idea who Paul Hollywood is, so I literally have zero reference for your comment.”
Shock grips me at this revelation, and I immediately pull out my phone, Google Paul Hollywood, and turn the screen around to face her. “Nothing?” I ask when Blondie doesn’t react.
“Baking shows aren’t really my thing,” she says, shrugging.
I snort. “Okay, Bake Off is everyone’s thing.”
Blondie just shakes her head. “Not mine.”
It only now occurs to me that, while we previously discussed movies, our personal taste in television programs has yet to come up during any of our dates.
But then, we do spend the majority of our limited time together throwing verbal hands, and there are only so many hours in the day, so I suppose it was unavoidable we’d eventually miss out on something important.
I cross my arms, assessing her unflinching expression with narrowed eyes. “If you aren’t streaming Bake Off like the rest of the civilized world, what do you watch?”
The line moves forward before she can answer, and we’re suddenly greeted by an older man wearing a blazer embellished with the Newport Mansions logo.
“Good morning, sir. Miss,” he adds with a genial smile at Blondie. “Have you pre-booked your tickets for today?”
Blondie holds up her phone and shows what I’m assuming is a booking confirmation email to the man, who then directs us to a nearby counter, where we collect our printed map of the mansion and are advised on how to proceed with the tour.
As we exit the Breakers Welcome Center and head for the property’s eastern entrance as instructed, Blondie pulls an off-brand earbud case from the pocket of the Balmain denim skirt I bought her.
“Wait, we aren’t actually doing the tour, are we?” I ask, genuinely aghast at the idea. Walking around this old house is one thing, but listening to some boring old troll talk about boring old history stuff while we do it? I shudder at the thought.
“What, afraid you’ll learn something?” Blondie challenges, raising one eyebrow. At my disgusted expression, she laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s just for appearances.”
“Oh, well, in that case…” Following her lead, I pull my own (not off-brand) earbuds out of my jeans pocket and pop them in my ears.