10. River

River

I ’m obsessed, and I’m not sure what to do about it. I’ve never been fixated on anyone. But Maddy, everything about her draws me in, from her scent, to the way she smiles, to the way she wants to help me. And don’t even get me started on how much I want to protect her. If she knew what I was thinking right now, she’d probably hand me my ass. Maddy is the kind of woman who wants to protect herself, and I can respect that, but I want to make sure she’s okay, too.

Like, right now, as we’re on the elevator, I can tell she’s anxious because of her phobia of heights. So, I place my hand on her back to comfort her, and when she leans into me, pressing her body against mine, I damn near die.

Like seriously, just kill me now.

I never thought I’d have this, that I’d get the chance to feel this way about someone. And part of me hates that I have. My mind keeps going back to the phone call I received from my father. If I continue to fake date Maddy, he’ll get involved. Is it worth it to fake date her, to make her deal with him ? What if we were really dating? Would it be worth it? Would she ever even consider really dating?

Jesus, I sound like a basket case.

As the elevator opens, I yank myself from my insecure internal monologue and focus on stepping out.

“You’re quiet,” Maddy remarks as we walk toward my car.

Her voice echoes against the ceiling, and so does the scuff of our shoes hitting the floor.

“I was just thinking about some things.” I’m holding onto her hand. I can’t seem to stop doing that and, as long as she allows me to do so, I’ll probably continue to do it.

“What sort of things?” she asks, locking gazes with me as we round my car.

“Nothing important.” I press the unlock button, and the lights flash and it beeps as the locks unclick. I open the door for her, something she typically finds amusing—my gentleman-like behavior. It was ingrained in me, and I used to loathe it, but I don’t mind doing these types of things with her.

She moves to duck in but then spins to face me. “That look on your face doesn’t match your words.”

I rest my arm on the top of the door. “What look?”

“That intense look.” She tilts her head up, locks of her hair spilling across her shoulders.

Goddammit, she’s so beautiful.

“It’s similar to the look you had on your face when we first met,” she continues, reaching out and fidgeting with a loop on my pants. I’m not even sure she’s aware she’s doing it.

“That’s weird since we’re not in jail.”

“What were you thinking about the first time I saw you, anyway?”

“How annoyed I was that Finn got us arrested.” I shrug, swallowing hard. “And then I saw you, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful you were—are.”

“River …” Her voice is quiet and crammed with uneasiness.

“It’s just a fact, Mads. You’re gorgeous, and I’m pretty sure that you already know I think that.” I sweep a lock of her hair out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on her cheek.

I’m such a goner.

“River,” she breathes out, I think in an attempt to lecture me. But the way her gaze lowers to my lips has me questioning if she feels it, too—that pulsating, almost agonizing need to kiss her, touch her, do all sorts of things I’ve never done before.

I lean in, and when she doesn’t slant away, I move even closer, until I can feel her breath dusting across my face?—

Screech.

The sound of tires screeching from inside the car garage floods the air. I jolt, spinning around and standing protectively in front of Maddy as I frantically search for the car that made the noise. A second later, a white SUV with tinted windows peels past us with a speed way too fast for a parking garage.

“Who is that?” Maddy asks shakily as the SUV turns and disappears out of sight.

“It could just be some idiot who lives here,” I mumble, facing her. “But it could be someone else.”

She ravels a strand of her hair around her finger. “Like whom?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure … Maybe the paparazzi?” I glance at her from the corner of my eye, measuring her reaction.

The last time we had to deal with the paparazzi, she got uncomfortably quiet. I don’t blame her. It’s a lot to handle, even for someone like me who’s been dealing with it their entire lives.

“We should go then,” she states as she unravels her hair from her finger.

I nod, once again attempting to measure her reaction. But she’s a closed book. And I have a feeling she’s doing it on purpose.

That she doesn’t want me to know what she’s thinking.