Chapter 27

27

Sarah

No matter how many times I try to tell myself this isn't a real date, I can't stop my heart from pounding and my knees from knocking and basically everything from going into panic mode while I wait for Beck to arrive Thursday night.

After Trent last year, I realized I'd never be relationship material. That I hold too much of myself back, and I was okay with that, because—well, probably because I was being really stupid. And afraid that no one could ever love me for all of me despite the complications of my life.

And now, here I am, about to go on a fake-real date with the guy who pulled me back into the limelight, who I'm getting more and more attached to by the day, who has a lot on the line if the media decides he's actually the asshole his tweet made him out to be, and who I still trust anyway.

Despite my very nervous heart's warnings that we take it slow.

Physical relationships never used to make me squirrely. Not until Trent asked if he could meet my parents. But getting attached to Beck and his goofball personality and that irresistible smile and his easy acceptance of who I am makes me quake, because I don't have an easy out if I let myself fall all the way over the cliff and he really is just that good at acting.

This isn't all physical.

Not even close.

I'm in a Mom-approved T-shirt—classic Rolling Stones gets her every time—and hip-hugging jeans that loudly proclaim to the world that I love dessert more than I love to exercise, but I'm not muffin-topping, so Mom doesn't object to them either. I let her French braid my hair and agree to some Burt's Bees lip gloss, but otherwise, I'm all me.

Right down to the plain cotton bra and RYDE underwear.

He's right on time, and when he knocks, my dad doesn't growl or threaten to feed his testicles to the pig.

I think they bonded over a one-armed push-up contest that my dad won yesterday. And the world will never know if Beck let him or if my dad is that much of a badass, because I'll never get a straight answer out of Beck.

Who's now smiling at me from my front porch like I'm the person who set the sun and moon and stars into their dynamic, beautiful dance through space. "Hey," he says.

I smile back, and it's not because I know there are photographers capturing my every move, but because it's impossible not to smile back at him. He's this unexpected combination of complete goofball and absolutely zero self-doubt, and he's rubbing off on me.

"Have her home by ten," Dad says in a less growly voice. "And call before you walk in so I can turn off the alarm."

"Judson, honey, Serendipity knows the code now. And she's an adult. Almost thirty even. She can stay out all night with a man if she wants to."

"He's not a man . He's a beast hell-bent on taking my daughter's innocence and flushing it down a sewage-filled vat of toxic sludge."

"I hope your genitals are insured," I murmur to Beck, because clearly that's what Dad's going to threaten next. Again.

Beck coughs, his eyes dancing. Mom grips Dad by the arm and tugs hard enough to uproot him and make him trip over Cupcake, who's looking for Meda, who's hiding from Cupcake.

Dad points two fingers to his own eyeballs, then to Beck. "I'm watching you."

"I'm watching me too, sir." Beck gives him a salute, and then tugs my hand. "Ready, Sarah? Don't want to miss the show."

"We don't?"

"Oh, yeah. It's gonna be awesome."

I wave to my parents, equal parts curious about just how funny a comedy show can be and eager to put Dad's death glare behind us.

And also grateful that I don't have to dress up for this one like I will Saturday night, when there will be hundreds more eyeballs on me. "Don't wait up."

"I'll wait up," Dad growls.

"No, you won't, Judson. One more night on that couch will throw your back out. Serendipity, sweetheart, we're going back to our hotel. Are you sure Meda's okay here by herself? Cupcake misses her terribly."

"Cupcake terrorizes her."

"Nonsense. They were cuddling while you were at work today. I have pictures."

"Let them go, Sunny," Dad growls. "The sooner they leave, the sooner I can disembowel this filthy piece of rat dung trying to compromise my daughter."

"Looking forward to it, sir," Beck says, and we're finally off.

"You do know he's sixty percent serious, right?" I ask as we dash to his car.

"Nah. He's just making up for all those boyfriends he didn't get to threaten since you left home. And I'm an easy target."

We get strapped in and we head out of the neighborhood, security behind us, paparazzi behind them. My neighbor at the end of the street, out watering her flowers, does a double-take at the car, squints to see in, and then flips us off.

"I don't know what virus is going around town, but it's giving people a horrible case of rigid digits," he says. "Better wash your hands good. Often."

"Is that your real story?" I ask, a smile creeping up at his ridiculously optimistic version of what's going on. Mackenzie's been filtering what I see, and by filtering what I see , I mean she stole my phone and removed my social media apps and installed a filter on my computer that won't let me access the sites either, and she's sending me regular screenshots of nice things people say.

"It helps." He cuts a glance at me at a stop sign. "I've learned my lesson. Promise. And I'm still sorry I dragged you into it. Mostly. But only for the painful parts. You're pretty awesome. I like hanging out with you."

"You're not half-bad yourself, despite your questionable judgment in fashion advice."

He grins. "I've been saying that for years , but people keep being all, No, Beck, you're brilliant, take our money ."

"Obviously they feel bad that you have to carry around those ape arms all the time and are trying to make you feel better about yourself."

He grins wider.

I twist to face him. "Do you ever get offended? Because that was really mean of me."

"Sit back and let your seat belt do its job, and yes. I get offended. I get offended when people are assholes to my family. Or when that jackoff on Twitter said Persephone was an ugly twat."

" What ?"

"Yeah. Said Jagger—her baby daddy—probably threw up after he fucked her. Charlie had to throw my phone in the toilet to keep me from replying, because she's gorgeous. Persephone, I mean. Were you watching today? She licked the camera. It was gross and adorable at the same time. Do you know giraffe tongues are like eight feet long?"

One day.

I want one day of being as happy about life as Beck Ryder is.

"What?" he asks as I stare at him.

Oh my god. I'm falling for Beck Ryder.

Hard .

"Is it working?" I ask, because informing him that giraffe tongues are not eight feet long will make me feel even more of a frumpy stick in the mud than I am on a normal day, and I don't want to just be a frumpy fact-spouting geek.

Not that I'm about to be much better.

"Is what working?"

"This. Us. To keep your foundation on track."

I might be staying off the internet and letting Mackenzie only give me the good news while on temporary social media hiatus, but I did go to work today.

And I heard the whispers.

She's probably just doing it so she can say she bagged Beck Ryder.

Do you think she's planning on jumping ship and going to work for Ryder Consulting when this is all over?

How much did she have to pay those impersonators to pretend to be Judson Clarke and Sunny Darling?

Can you imagine how much he's paying her?

Holy shit, look at that picture. She's eating giant dick. CLEARLY eating giant dick .

The weird part was that they rolled right off. Mom used to say you learn real quick who your friends are.

I'm having gut instincts confirmed.

And it makes me wonder if this fake blooming relationship is actually doing what it's supposed to.

He stares at the cars in front of us at a stoplight as he slowly nods. "Yeah. It's working. Vaughn's a good guy, and he's about ready to stick up for me. Looks like we'll still be on for launching the foundation on schedule. And that should clear up the rest of my reputation."

"That's…great."

His brow twitches like maybe it's not so great. "I guess. Sucks that so much of the world has to be wrapped up in labeling you all good or all bad based on one night of your life or one little tweet. I mean the generic you. Not you you. But…all of us."

Did I say falling for Beck?

More like plummeting through the atmosphere with a rocket strapped to my back without a parachute.

I stop myself when I realize I'm reaching for his thigh just to touch him, because despite that oh my god kiss in the stairwell yesterday—that he stopped —I don't actually know what our boundaries are. "So your life will go back to normal soon."

"Sounds like it."

"And you'll have to quit eating so much?"

His shoulders relax, and his grin comes back. "Maybe I'll take another few weeks off before normal. I'm getting an itch to spend some time out in Shipwreck. You ever been?"

I shake my head.

"Best town on the entire planet. After Copper Valley, I mean. And maybe the island of Capri off the Italian coast, but that's not a fair comparison, since the Blue Grotto is magic."

One-tenth of his enthusiasm would be utter magic. "What's special about Shipwreck?"

"Cooper Rock's from there, but don't tell him I said that makes it special. What's really awesome is that it's a pirate town in the mountains."

"I've been in Copper Valley for over a decade, and I still don't get how that works."

"Like eight hundred years ago, this pirate dude, Thorny Rock, was getting ambushed by the Norwegian army off the coast of South Carolina, so he snuck all his Chinese galleons onto a covered wagon and let unicorns pull it inland until they lost their horns, and that's where he buried his treasure and founded a town, and now his descendants keep the pirate tradition alive every year out there. Ellie and Wyatt hooked up at the Pirate Festival last year, then went back this year to get engaged. It's fucking magic. And one day, I'm gonna take a metal detector over the whole town and find that treasure. You watch. Don't laugh. I'm serious."

" Eight hundred years ago? " I'm not touching the unicorns, but I am laughing. "Norwegian army? Chinese galleons?"

"I'm really bad at geography."

"History."

"That too." He shoots me another grin. "I'm really glad you like to laugh, because that's basically all we're doing tonight."

"You're making up stories?"

"Nope. We're hitting amateur hour at the comedy club. No, no, don't make that face. It's awesome . There's this ventriloquist?—"

"No. Way. Hard stop."

"Don't get freaked. She's funny. And she's super smart. Like smarter than you and Ellie and Davis and Cupcake all rolled together."

" Cupcake? "

"Dude. Pigs are smart. Science says so."

"She freaked over a piece of green onion on the floor when Mom was making omelets this morning and ran head-first into the table leg and almost gave herself a concussion."

"Understandable. Green onions are terrifying."

I throw my hands up, laughing. "Okay. You win. You are officially the funniest man on the planet, and I will never win an argument with you, ever ."

"You maybe could. I mean, it might cost you lessons in double orgasms, but I'd let you win an argument."

Zing! And there go my panties. "You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"Not until I'm sure I don't have a chance." He slides to a stop again, and this time, when he looks at me, his goofball side has retreated and that very manly mannish side is front and center. "And right now, I know I have a chance."

I suck in a shuddery breath, because whoa , yes, he really does.

And it's not just because he's using the smolder.

It's because I can still remember the feel of his lips on mine. It's because every time he touches me—hand, leg, back, face—my skin buzzes to life like a neon sign. It's because I should hate him for his ignorant tweet last week, but he's still managed to sneak past my defenses with his apology, because I honestly believe there's a vulnerable human being capable of true regret and determination to do better and a whole hell of a lot of love for everyone around him hiding under that gorgeous surface.

I can pass on the smolder. I grew up around schmootzy smolders.

But the man underneath is getting to me.

"We're temporary," I remind him. "And this isn't real."

"This is very real. And it doesn't have to be temporary."

I don't have a solid argument for him, so I just sit there and stare at him dumbly with heat spreading over my skin and my heart pumping a fist in the air and shouting Yeah, baby!

He doesn't smirk. Or grin. Or fluff his feathers.

Nope.

The man squeezes my knee and turns his attention back to the road.

"Why did you stop kissing me yesterday?" I whisper.

For once, he doesn't answer quickly, and when he does, he's still just as quiet and serious. "I've been…taken advantage of before. And it sucks. And your parents aren't the only people who've ever had to pay someone off to protect someone they love."

I choke on a breath, because that's not what I expected him to say.

"I get it, Sarah. You didn't sign up for this. You didn't ask to be shoved back in the public eye. So no rushing. I like you. I want you. But I don't want you to think I'm kissing you just because we have a contract, because I'm not ."

My heart squeezes and my lungs tighten and my breath gets short.

He knows the right things to say. And I trust the raw honesty in his eyes and in his voice, which is scary.

Because Beck isn't just Beck .

He's everything I ran away from when I left high school. Famous. Followed by paparazzi. Navigating celebrity politics.

How can someone so deep in the game of putting on a face for the world feel so real ?

"When I kiss you, I want you to know I'm kissing you because I want to," he continues, his voice dropping into husky territory. "Not because it looks good. Not because you just happen to be the woman saving my ass in a business deal. But because I like you ."

My hesitant hand goes to his thigh, and I squeeze the tight muscle. "I like you too."

"Scary as hell, isn't it?"

"Scarier."

He grins, and I sink back into my seat with an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry you've been taken advantage of," I say softly.

"I chose this life. I knew the risks." He covers my hand with his and squeezes.

"It shouldn't have to be a risk to do what you love."

His lips curl up in a smile, and I want to kiss him, because gah , that smile.

"Oh, I don't know," he says. "I'm starting to think the things most worth having are worth working for."

And there go more bubbles fizzing in my chest, because he makes it sound like he's talking about me . "Like being a pediatrician?"

"Ah, the lady's aiming for the heart." He clutches his chest in mock injury while he grins at me. "Dangling impossible dreams out there for me to never hit."

"Would you have? If this wasn't working, if your fashion empire tanked, would you go back to school?"

"Trying to talk me into staying?"

"Who we could've been is always a part of who we are. If I hadn't been an environmental engineer, I would've wanted to be a travel writer."

His smile's going affectionate, which is just as dangerous. "I can see it."

"So? Would you have gone back to school? What else would you do if you weren't the famous Beck Ryder?"

"Become very, very good at giving double orgasms."