Page 19

The rest of the conversation is a series of drooling and heart eye emojis.

Like clockwork, my phone explodes with messages and calls.

Antonia, followed by my mother. I honestly thought it’d take them longer, but with my social media on their minds today, I should have expected this.

I should have known they were scouring my grid to see how to change it up with my next phase of life—my fake dating phase.

I’m honestly still shocked they let me manage my own accounts.

After this though, who knows. I silence my phone, brush my teeth, and try to pretend like my mom isn’t going to murder me later.

Ten minutes later, there’s a knock at my door followed by another phone notification from my doorbell camera.

Decker’s here. Flying through the house and down the stairs, I try to check my surroundings.

Is there anything embarrassing I forgot to put away?

Though I love this place, it’s not where I spend the majority of my time typically.

When I’m in town, I’m at the studio or doing a show or whatever other engagement that’s been planned for me.

Nothing is out of place in this house. It hardly even looks lived in.

The brief moment of relief is soon batted away by a lurch in the pit of my stomach as I throw open the front door, but I’m not met with Decker’s insanely green eyes.

Instead, it’s those gray ones I posted to my feed a few moments ago.

Decker gestures to his phone screen. “What’s this?”

I squint at it as though it isn’t obvious. “Whoa, wait. Are you following me? Stalk much.”

He steps around me, tucking his phone into his pocket and rolling his eyes as I shut the door. “You don’t follow me?”

“I don’t wanna damage your ego, but no. I didn’t know if we were ready for that kind of commitment.”

Decker kicks off his shoes, checking out the space as he crosses to my sofa and plops down. “You don’t follow your boyfriend on Insta? Shame.”

He looks so out of place splayed across my lilac couch, a testament to his position in my life. I shake my head. “I was waiting. You know my followers would check to see if we follow each other, and if we did, that would pretty much seal the deal on our relationship.”

“And posting Princess doesn’t?”

“That was kind of the point.”

He stares at me for a long moment, pulling a lip into his mouth as he mulls it over. “Okay, so you made your move, now what’s mine?”

Something inside me lifts. “I guess we move forward with these dumb candids, and you can have the honor of posting our first selfie after the game this weekend.”

“The kickoff game?” His brow knits. “Why?”

“I figured Antonia had at least contacted Jason.” Shoving a beaded throw pillow out of the way, I ease onto the other end of the couch and face him. “I’m going to your game. That’s our hard launch. That’s when everyone will know that we’re… serious.”

“Hard launch?”

“It’s a phrase people use to announce new relationships. I didn’t make it up. Don’t ask me.”

He laughs dryly.

My jaw laces tighter than a corseted dress on a red carpet. Why do I let him get under my skin this way? “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but we’re both benefiting from this, in case you forgot.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” He slides his phone across the couch. “It’s probably time we at least exchange numbers, then.”

The temperature of my cheeks spikes when I meet his eyes.

I must be as pigmented as cherry candy now.

His lips slip into a cockeyed grin. No wonder he has quite the reputation with women.

Just a tilt of his lips can wipe away any irritation he may have caused.

A stupid little flutter rolls through me when my fingers brush his as I take his phone and begin to type.

As soon as I’m done, I slide it back over like it’s on fire to avoid any more unnecessary touching.

As he lifts the phone to his face, he clicks on my name.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Making sure everyone knows where we stand in case they see our texts.” His eyes lift to mine briefly before falling back to his screen.

“I figured we need to have some kind of exchange on here in case someone reads over my shoulder or something.” His fingers fly over his keyboard before he flips it back to face me. “There.”

I stare in horror at the words Lenny-Pie surrounded by an assortment of hearts and other emojis. “Lenny? That’s a guy’s name.”

“Seems pretty neutral to me.”

“Wait. Isn’t that the guy who likes bunnies from that Steinbeck book?”

“Oh, she’s a reader?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I think it’s more shocking you know who Steinbeck is.”

He raises his phone and taps his thumb across the screen, ignoring my dig. “You know, for being your boyfriend all of one week, it’s like I hardly know you. Do you like Lenny- Bunny ? I can change it.”

“Ugh. That’s worse. That book was horribly sad. We had to read it in eighth grade, and I never recovered.”

“Don’t they say ‘sad is your aesthetic?’”

I roll my eyes. “They that don’t actually know me do.”

“Fine. Then no Lenny-Bunny.”

“Thank you.”

“Lenny-Pie it is.”

His fingers fly back over the screen, and I can’t help myself. I slide across the couch and grip his thick forearm, lowering his hands. Something zips through my fingertips and up my arm at the feel of his warm skin.

My heart pounds in my chest as our eyes meet. His gaze drops from mine to my lips momentarily, just long enough for me to realize that I’m so close to him. Closer than I think I’ve ever been without actual cause, like yelling at him for showing up unannounced at my private recording session.

“Please don’t name me after a man. Something tells me people won’t quite believe us if they think he and I are synonymous to you.

There isn’t anything sexy about Lenny. I’ve seen the girls you’ve dated, and none of them look like a Lenny-Pie.

You’re supposed to at least find your girlfriend sexy. Even if it’s fake.”

“Who says I don’t?”

All at once, my heart catapults into my stomach like it’s mad at it.

Did Decker just say I’m sexy ? It’s a compliment I’m no stranger to, but it feels different coming from him.

I'm nothing like the girls he’s been cuddling up with in rumors and photos.

I’m not even the cutesy girl-next-door type like Ada Lane, his most recent conquest. I’m just Lena Lux—Lukowski—“the brunette with thick thighs and a voice of gold,” as I was once coined by some online publication.

Though I’ll take “sexy” over that description if I have a choice.

My lips part, but words evade me as I stare into his eyes. Out of my peripheral, something appears, and before my brain can register what it is, Decker’s phone makes a clicking sound. Then he leans back into the couch and stares at his screen like nothing happened.

“Did you just take a picture of us?” I ask, unsure of whether I should laugh or throw his phone across the room.

“Our first fight. Gotta document.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s hardly our first.”

“Won’t be our last either with that attitude.”

I huff out a laugh, and Decker catches me out of the corner of his eye before smiling back at his phone.

“I have to admit we look pretty good together, though.” He scoots closer so I can see the photo.

It’s candid. It is not flattering. But it’s kind of sweet he thinks it is.

“Here,” I say, pulling up the stupid series of pictures Antonia and my mom have bombarded me with for inspo. “You can’t post that. My team had some ideas?—”

“Your team?” He guffaws. “I know they’re pulling the strings here, but I feel like you’d know best. What’s your signature this is my boyfriend pose ?”

“Signature boyfriend pose?” I laugh, but not because it’s funny.

He’s as misinformed as everyone else if he thinks I have a “relationship pose.” Sure, I’ve dated my fair share of men, but there’s no signature anything.

Each one is different from the last. The guy.

The dynamic. Who I feel like I’m becoming.

I want to be offended, but when he nods and leans in like he’s truly listening, I can tell he’s taking this seriously.

Decker is strategizing. He’s asking because he wants us to succeed, and in this moment, I feel like he’s someone I can truly partner with.

We both need our heads fully in the game for this to work.

We have to be a team. If I flee at any slight offense, we’ll never convince anyone.

We’ll never outrun the things that wove this “relationship” together in the first place.

I waver but dim my screen, forgoing the cache of poses from my pushy mom.

If this is going to work, we need to be natural.

We have to be ourselves. My stomach does a roll straight to the floor as I place my hands on his shoulders and begin to maneuver him.

I pull my hands back, not sure if I should be manipulating him like he’s some kind of photo shoot prop, but for all intents and purposes—the purpose of saving both our skins—I suppose he is to some extent. At least for today.

My faltering doesn’t throw him off. Carefully, he places his strong hands around each of my wrists, plants my palms back on his shoulders, and smirks. “Go ahead. I’m yours. Do your worst.”

Why do I feel like I might ignite at that sentiment?

I push it aside, avoiding the way that he watches my face as I slowly drape my legs over his lap.

My pastel pink shorts contrast with his navy jeans, the lace of my white top a contradiction to his casual olive t-shirt.

Even the way we dress screams our differences.

I run a hand through the back of his shockingly soft hair.

His chest stills. Is he even breathing? Have I taken this too far?

There’s a jittery feeling zinging through my veins, something that goes beyond my typical show adrenaline. It’s different.

Wait. Is Decker Trace making me—I pause, searching for the feeling—nervous?

I clear my throat and try to maneuver as gently as possible.

“Sorry, you asked for the pose, and with Callum—” Saying his name feels so wrong as I sit atop the mountain that is Decker Trace.

But I have to admit, it sure feels nice not to worry about crushing someone’s thin legs under my own thick thighs.

Beneath me, Decker’s legs are firm, like sitting on warm tree trunks.

Which is weird, because whoever thought tree trunks could feel so…

good. “Of course we have to make it our own, but I would say this will definitely get some attention.”

Decker nods along, staring into my eyes like my words are some playbook he’s poring over.

Awkwardly, I reach out and wrap an arm around his barrel of a neck, trying to mimic the cozy lap pose that, at the time, had come so organically to Callum and me.

“This was the photo everyone went nuts for with Cal—” I cut off his name, reminding myself I’ll never move on if I keep speaking it. “With my last relationship.”

“Callum?”

I nod.

“Screw Callum.” In one fluid motion, his hands are wrapping around my bare legs and pulling me across his lap to face him like it’s nothing. Like we do this all the time. Like it’s natural. And suddenly I remember how hot it is when a guy takes charge. No wonder he’s had no shortage of dates.

My mouth falls open in shock as I stare down at Decker, my legs perched on either side of him. There has got to be something in our guidelines that straddling him oversteps. Yet for some reason, even if it does, I’d allow it.

He smiles up at me. “This okay?”

I nod again.

His face brightens. “Good. I want to try something.”

I watch his face as he sweeps a swath of my hair behind my shoulder.

My pulse picks up at the feel of his fingers trailing over the bare skin there, and I can’t look away from him.

I’ve never noticed the array of greens in his eyes before.

It’s breathtaking. Instantly, chord progressions and disembodied lyrics swim through my head. I have an itch to write about them.

Oh, sweet Lord above, send help. What is happening to me? A familiar feeling flutters inside, which is immediately overshadowed by a sinking dread.

Lena Claire Lukowski, you big, dumb boob. You have a crush on him. You have a crush on Decker Trace.

How is that even possible? He’s done nothing but annoy me since the moment he inconsiderately gobbled down my refreshments. My heart is a stupid, fickle thing. How dare it betray me for a pretty face and muscles? How can it be so ready to be crushed again? Traitor .

I turn my head, eager to break eye contact, but he pursues.

My breath hitches when he leans his forehead into my cheek, and I wonder if he can hear my heart kick into high gear as his dark lashes graze my skin.

I close my eyes, the scent of that vetiver bottle I unearthed in his bathroom filling my lungs.

It’s grassy and woodsy and, for a moment, makes me forget how annoying he can be.

As much as I wish I could stop myself, I can’t hold back.

Leaning in and going with it is my natural reaction.

Is it the fact that his cologne smells way too good to be wasted on anything fake?

Or that before they brushed against me, I didn’t realize exactly how soft those waves in his hair are?

I want to lean back. I want to add some distance between us.

I want to take a cold shower and scour away this other want that’s cropped up inside, but I can’t.

Not only do I find myself frozen, but if I keep backing down, no one will ever believe what we have is real.

I take one long—probably creepy—whiff of his coconut shampoo before he’s dropping his head and nuzzling my neck.

Instinctively, I giggle. And then I hear another click of the camera.