Page 43 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

I muster up an apologetic look. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your texts earlier, but there were so many between you and Andie that I would’ve been late for class if I had taken the time to actually read them all. What did you expect first thing Monday morning? I wasn’t even caffeinated yet.”

“That’s fair,” she concedes. “Although, I am feeling quite sour that I had to find out about this ”—she shoves her phone in my face, showing me the picture Damian took of us kissing outside the Breakers on Saturday—“from some no-name gossip account on my Insta feed and not directly from my best friend.”

I stare at the photo for only a second, then swallow and avert my gaze to get the image of Damian’s lips out of my head.

“I’m not really sure what you want me to say. You already knew we were dating. Given who he is, you must have known this would come with the territory.” I flail a hand in the direction of her phone.

Ronnie pulls her bottom lip between her front teeth and looks at me hard for a moment. “Yeah, about that. I would just like to reiterate again that this ”—she holds up her phone and waggles it a few times—“is going to cause you more problems than it will solve.”

My heart leaps into my throat at her words, and I glance around to make sure no one is paying attention to our conversation before leaning in close enough to hiss, “Haven’t we been over this?”

Ronnie lets out a petulant sigh. “I’m just worried you haven’t really thought this through, and all the lies are going to catch up with you. Like, for example, telling your mom and Gina that I gave you all those new clothes.”

I lean back in my seat and cross my arms. “According to Andie, you clear out your closet at least three times a year. Of the lies I’ve told, that one’s the most believable.”

Ronnie’s mouth pops open into an affronted O. “Okay, smarty-pants. But if they haven’t already, they’re eventually going to notice that you’re, like, several inches taller than me. Then what?”

I shrug. “Bold of you to assume that my fashion-challenged mother and aunt have spared any thought at all for the clothes I’m wearing and whether or not they actually fit me.

” Given some of the outfits my mom’s seen me come home in since I became friends with Ronnie, I think she just assumes it’s best not to question it at this point.

Like the definitely-not-work-appropriate outfit I had on when I last fucked Damian.

Ronnie plants her forearms on the table like she’s about to ask me to arm wrestle. “And the money? Is Carol still swallowing the charity lie?”

I sigh. That lie is my biggest yet—bigger even than making the world think I’m romantically interested in Damian Navarro…or that I like him as a person.

I had always planned on telling my mom the cash was given to us by a cancer charity—that I had applied on her behalf, and we’d gotten approved for monthly stipends to ease the burden of prescription and treatment costs, even if the amounts we’re receiving are far beyond the norm for that kind of thing.

I just had to hope she didn’t know that or wouldn’t care enough about where the money came from to ask.

But when Damian sent me that first payment after our shopping trip last month, it dawned on me that my mom would definitely notice the transfers were coming from me. Not from a charity. From me .

And she did notice. She questioned me the moment she saw the twenty thousand in her account, demanding to know where I’d gotten the money.

It took a bit of convincing, but panic and desperation must make me a better actor than I predicted because she believed me when I told her I put the wrong account information on the application paperwork by mistake, and that was why the money was coming from me instead of the charity directly—I was just playing the part of the middle man, getting the cash from point A to B.

She had seemed skeptical initially, but when I offered to show her my bank statements to prove it, she thankfully didn’t call my bluff.

And the subject hasn’t come up again. Probably because she can’t think of any reason why I’d lie.

“All is fine on that front,” I assure Ronnie. “Mom is none the wiser.”

She scoffs. “Well, it seems you’ve thought of everything, then.”

On the outside looking in, anyone might think Ronnie is searching for negatives—that she wants this whole thing to blow up in my face—but I know her better than that, just like I know that her love language is concern, but that it often masquerades as passive-aggression.

Besides, you don’t stand by someone the way she’s stood by me and help them through something as awful as that first year of my mom’s cancer diagnosis unless you truly care.

Unless you genuinely only want good things for them… and want to protect them from the bad.

And that’s Ronnie to a T. My teeny tiny firecracker of a protector.

“Oh!” She snaps her fingers. “What about the tax implications? Have you considered how receiving that kind of money could affect your taxes? Or your mom’s?”

I stiffen. Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.

It’s not like my agreement with Damian is a legitimate job…

is it? Would pretending to be someone’s fake girlfriend and getting paid for it make me self-employed?

I suppose we could always say any money I get from him is a gift, but I have no idea if we’d have to pay taxes on it in that case.

I should know this considering I handle my mom’s tax return every year, but we’ve never received any monetary gift for me to need to know it.

I roll my eyes. “Okay, you thought of the one thing I haven’t.

” Ronnie’s face falls at my tone, and I flinch, feeling like I’ve been sucker-punched in the gut.

I reach across the table and take hold of her hands.

“Look, I know you’re worried about me, but it’s fine.

I have it under control, and anything I haven’t figured out yet, I will.

” Because I have to. “You can stop worrying about me.”

“But I won’t. You know that, right?” She squeezes my fingers like she’s holding on for dear life. When I nod, she leans in close and whispers, “At least promise me that you aren’t letting this whole thing with Damian get in the way of your studies. I know how much you need this scholarship.”

“Don’t worry,” I whisper back with a smile. “I’m going to make those midterms my bitch.”

Ronnie exhales a quiet laugh that dies as a shadow falls over the table.

“Well, well, this must be the famous Ronnie,” Damian says, placing my coffee down a few inches from where Ronnie and I still hold hands. “If I had known you’d be joining us, I would’ve gotten you a drink.”

We pull apart as Ronnie sits back in her seat.

“I’m not staying. I was just checking in with Lexi.

You know, making sure everything between you two is going smoothly .

” There’s a quiet menace behind that word that only an idiot would miss.

Fortunately for him, it seems Damian is not an idiot because his brow hitches at the obvious threat in her voice.

“I saw your Instagram post, by the way. Congrats on bagging yourself one hell of a woman. Not that you deserve her,” she mutters under her breath before tacking on a sweet smile.

“Well, gee. Thanks, Red,” Damian quips with an equally affable grin.

“That reminds me, we should all get together sometime,” Ronnie suggests. She pushes out her bottom lip in an innocent pout, though I can plainly see the devil behind it. “It’s important to me as Lexi’s best friend that I get to know whoever she’s dating.”

“Of course,” Damian agrees, still playing nice, but I think he’s figured out her game. “How about this weekend? Invite your friends, and we can all go out on my yacht this Saturday if the weather is good.”

“Sounds great!” Ronnie bounces up from the chair with a broad smile stretched across her face that sets my nerves on edge.

It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s plotting to throw Damian overboard.

Her eyes lock on mine. “Text me the details, Lex.” Then, with an exuberant wave, she walks off with a peppy, “Cheerio!” like she’s Mary freaking Poppins.

Once she’s gone, Damian blows out a breath and slides into the seat she vacated. “I know you said she was intense, but I feel like that was an understatement.”

My brain is telling me to agree, but my mouth chooses to respond with, “You have a yacht?”

Damian looks at me like I’ve hit my head. “I come from a family of billionaires, Dornan. Owning a yacht is like a right of passage for us.”

I press my lips together and nod, not quite sure what I should say to that. He almost makes it sound like billionaires have membership cards.

“Why?”

“No reason,” I murmur, looking down at my coffee.

“Do you have some boat-specific grudge against yachts I need to know about?” he jokes. When I don’t dignify that with a response, he says, “Wait. Seriously?”

I open my mouth to speak, pause to consider what I’m about to say, then try again, still not meeting his gaze. “Not a grudge, no. I’ve just…never been on a boat before.” My insides turn cold as the words leave my lips. So much for surface-level information only.

A beat of hesitation.

“Didn’t you grow up in Newport?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice.

Yes, but not all of us can afford to just go out on a boat whenever we like, I almost snap back.

Instead, I nod again, more timidly this time, curling my fingers around the hot cup so I don’t fidget with my glasses. When Damian doesn’t say anything, I force myself to look up again.

Understanding dawns on his face when our eyes meet.

“Are you scared of them?”

“It’s not that,” I insist with a vehement shake of my head. “I just…don’t tend to try new things unless I’m heavily coerced,” I confess.

“Such as?” Damian prompts.