Page 34

I follow her into the dark room. She doesn’t respond, ratcheting my pulse up a notch or two.

She takes her time sauntering through the space, flipping on a lamp and saturating half the room in yellow light.

No sound guy is here, no one is at the button board.

We’re alone. Lena sits in an armchair, splaying her food out on a small side table.

I sit opposite her, insecurity eating at me until I decide to try again. “If it weren’t for you, Vital Reign wouldn’t have ever looked my way again.”

She takes a bite but doesn’t look up at me. “How long have you known about that?”

“Maybe a few days.”

She chews and swallows. Her eyes finally meet mine, and something in them looks hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it.”

She stares at me incredulously, her blue eyes lasering a hole into mine. “That was like the whole reason we’re doing this thing, and you aren’t thinking about it?”

“I was thinking about a few other things last night.”

She doesn’t break eye contact, and I feel my heart hammer in my chest at the fact that I did it.

I mentioned last night. I’ve done harder things in my life, but mentioning our sleepover—something I very well could have misinterpreted the vibes of—is right up there with some of the most nerve-wracking things I’ve done.

When she doesn’t glower at the memory, I forge on. “You kissed me.”

She coughs, bringing a fist to her chest as she nearly chokes on her bite. She takes a few chugs from her bottled water then turns toward me again. “You kissed me first.”

For a long moment, we stare at each other, no one saying a thing.

“I had to,” I finally say.

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Maleko was watching. We needed to look convincing.”

She crosses her arms and leans back, her brow arched in a challenge. “You dumped out that stupid junk drawer for me.”

I hesitate. “I did.”

“So it was for me?”

I nod.

“You said it wasn’t. You said it was for you.”

I lean forward, lowering my voice. “I lied.”

She eyes me. “We’ve both gotten pretty good at that lately, huh?” Then she sighs. “Which reminds me. Antonia wants you to go to some gala with me that’s coming up soon. It’s for charity. She wants us to really play up the whole we’re falling in love act.”

“The Vista Victory one?”

She nods.

“I already got my invite.”

Lena cocks her head.

“For my donations to the local animal shelter. I’m speaking at it.”

“My big, tough softy.” She smiles up at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

“When is it again?”

“Next week.” She toys with a loose thread on the arm of her chair. “And then we’re supposed to break up online like two days later.”

My stomach drops, my brow crumpling. “That doesn’t make sense. Two days after?”

“Who knows? She might insist we do it the day after.” She lifts a shoulder.

“She says if no one sees it coming, they’ll talk about it more—post about it more—and that we’ll completely drown out any other noise about us online.

And boom.” She snaps her fingers in my face.

“You got your brand deal, I got my name as clear as it’s going to be online. That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

She nods. “We both get what we want.”

Finally, I take a bite of my sandwich, trying to process everything.

Is this truly what she wants? To clear her name and let me go?

Vital Reign partnering with me is nice, but it’s not like I couldn’t have found ways to secure something else with help from my manager.

Fake dating Lena was a foolproof way to expedite the process, which has proven to be the case.

This has been the trajectory of our entire agreement.

It was always going to end, so why does it feel so wrong?

What if I want more?

The words are on the tip of my tongue when she stands and flips a switch on the wall. Lights turn on in the recording booth as she turns to me. “I wanted to ask your opinion on something new.”

I pull myself from my stupor. Wanting more doesn’t matter when someone else is involved. Lena’s career will always take precedence. Travel for tours takes longer than my travel for away games. We’d never be able to sync up. I’d never be able to see her. What would be the point of trying?

I square my shoulders, running a hand through my hair. “My musical expertise? I thought you’d never ask.”

She rolls her eyes and pops open the door to the room beyond the glass.

Lena moves through the space, the sound of her steps drowned out by all the padding on the walls.

Each footfall lands carefully over cords and around other obstacles until she reaches the far corner.

A white guitar glitters up at her, and she swipes it off its stand, slinging it across her body.

Seconds later, she’s standing in front of me again.

She idles there, unmoving, until finally gesturing to the chairs beside us. “Are you going to sit down or continue to stand there awkwardly?”

“Awkwardly? Stoic, maybe. Awkward, never.”

A laugh huffs from her perfect lips as she sits and begins to strum. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, I guess.”

I’ll miss her sassiness when we have to say goodbye. Her thick lashes fan over her cheeks as she watches her fingers pick and strum.

I sit. “You know, the last time I was here you called me a stalker.”

“And last night I called you a perv. What about it?”

“Do you call all your boyfriends names?”

She looks up at me, her fingers stilling, her dark brow arching. “They’re terms of endearment.”

“They didn’t feel that way.”

“I’d apologize for hurting your ego, but I feel like that’s impossible.” She leans back unapologetically and begins strumming again.

“Lena Lukowski, you drive me crazy, you know that?”

She sucks in a deep breath, her bottom lip pulling into her mouth as she charges on into the song. Her voice softens. “Are you going to keep jabbering or are you going to let me sing?”

“By all means, sing.”

And so she does.

Her voice is even more beautiful than I remember it being the first time we were here—the night she accused me of stalking her—and it far outweighs the unnecessary autotune that’s applied to her vocals on all of her tracks.

It’s raw and real, soft with an edge. It’s very Lena.

If this is the kind of stuff her team has been suppressing, they’re doing everyone a disservice.

The tune is different from her typical, not as poppy, and much better off without the bass they’ve been throwing on her songs lately.

It’s new—never been heard—and she chose to sing it for me.

My heart ramps up, contrasting with the slow consistency of her beat.

The passion in each strum of her guitar thrums through me, like a whisper to my soul.

Her lips press together as she hums the final notes, her blue eyes locking with mine.

Heat flares up my neck, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

When she finishes, there’s no “jabbering” left in me. I’m speechless.

“Well?” she prompts.

I clear my throat, giving the words a moment to materialize. “I’m not sure what kind of expertise you’re looking for here.”

“Was it good, Decker?”

“What do you mean ‘was it good?’” I smirk, handing her a remark specifically catered to her brand of brashness. “I never thought I’d see the day that Lena Lux came to anyone—let alone me—for validation.”

“I don’t need validation.” Her jaw clamps tighter with each syllable. “Was it good or not?”

I can’t keep the frown from finding my face. “Of course it was good. Better than good.”

She rolls her eyes. “You got your Vital Reign deal, no need to butter me up now. Be honest.”

“I am being honest.”

She’s seething. Maybe my comment was too far, but I thought she’d find it playful or at least be able to handle it. After all, I’ve been slapped in the face with her words so many times I’ve lost count.

She stares at the strings of her guitar. “I don’t need validation.”

And then it hits me. Validation. How stupid have I been not to realize it or how deep my words would cut?

Everything she’s done thus far has been to appease her team, her ex, or her fans.

She’s always seeking approval from someone.

And I can’t blame her, sometimes it feels like the only option to keep a career afloat, but I hate that she feels like it’s her only way to survive.

My hand finds her knee, her eyes locking in on it before slowly traveling up my arm to my face.

In her gaze, I can finally see the insecurity I never realized she held.

No smart-mouthed retort comes barreling from her lips to cover it up this time.

Instead, they quiver until she breaks. Tears fill her eyes as she fights to hold them back.

“Come here,” I say quietly. To my surprise, she doesn’t refuse.

The guitar slips from her lap as she gently glides it onto the floor and rests it against the arm of the chair. Within seconds, she’s in my arms, burying her face in my chest. Her cries are silent, but I can feel warm dampness seeping into the cotton of my shirt.

“It’s just been a long day.” Her excuse is muffled as she presses into my sternum. “I’ve been here too long.”

“Did someone tell you that song wasn’t good, Lena?”

She shrugs. “My manager didn’t like it.”

“Your mom?”

She shrugs again, her face anchoring deeper into my shirt.

“She’s usually right about that stuff, as much as I hate saying it out loud.

” She leans back, finally looking into my face, nose and eyes a little more swollen than moments ago.

“She’s the only reason I’ve been able to stay in the spotlight so long. ”

“What?” I almost laugh at how outrageous her claim is. Her mom is the reason she’s famous? What have these people said to her to make her believe that? My blood boils as I consider the years of conditioning it took for her to believe something so illogical.

“I owe it to her—and to me—to at least listen to her. She always finds a way to save my butt. I screw up all the time. I disappoint fans. I embarrass myself. Say stupid things, make stupid choices.” She sits back on her heels, rubbing a hand over her tear-streaked cheeks before throwing it in my direction.

“Case and point. You wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for this insane arrangement. ”

I miss the feel of her close to me, but I’m relieved the tears seem to have stopped. “Maybe not, but if you hadn’t made those choices I wouldn’t be here.”

She arches a brow. “That’s what I said.”

“And I’m glad I am.”

She pulls in a deep breath, her eyes tracing my face. “Me too.”