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She wanders over to the window and lightly trails her fingertips down the glass. “I didn’t think I’d get to see this view again.”
“Didn’t you?” I accuse. “Because you sure as fuck knew who I was even though you acted like you didn’t. And if you knew who I was, you’d know that I would’ve likely invited you back knowing you were the little sister of my best friend. Until we fucked, that is.”
She winces at my vulgar word for what we did, and she has every right to. It was her first time, and it wasn’t fucking. It was something deeper for both of us, and I feel like an asshole for making light of that.
But the truth remains that I’m mad, and she needs to know exactly why.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “What can I do to earn your trust back?”
I shake my head a little. “I don’t know.” And then I flip it back around to her. “You said you have an idea?”
“Right,” she says, drawing in a breath. “Cutting right to the chase. Could, uh…could we sit first?”
I nod toward the couch, and we end up sitting exactly as we were when we fell asleep the last time we were here. She’s leaning against one armrest, and I’m leaning against the other, and our feet meet somewhere in the middle of the large sectional.
“Can I be honest with you?” she asks.
“Now’s a hell of a time to start,” I mutter, and maybe I’m being a little immature about the whole thing, but the level of shock I feel at all the secrets that I keep finding out about her is astronomical.
First, who she is, then the virginity thing…it feels like for as much as I got to know her in that one night we shared, I really didn’t know a damn thing about her at all.
She bypasses my comment, and she sucks in a nervous breath. She rubs her hands together, and one part of me wants to walk over and put my arms around her and tell her whatever she has to say, it’ll be okay. The other part of me wants to sit in my anger forever. I’m not quite sure which side is winning.
“The first time I met you, I was seven. You were just my older brother’s best friend. You were fourteen, and I didn’t care about boys yet. I cared about flavored lip gloss and my stuffed animals and baking cookies with my dad. But by the time you were a senior, I was eleven. I was starting to notice boys. I cared about more makeup than just lip gloss, and the stuffed animals had been long gone, and I wished my dad was still around to bake with me. And when you came back from college for the summer, I was a preteen. By that time, I’d already built you up as the hero in my love story.” Her cheeks burn as she says the words. “Every time you came over after that, I’d do anything I could to get you to notice me. I’d pretend I was working out because you seemed to love athletics so much. You’d just walk by me with a forced hi or a smile, and you made it clear you wouldn’t give me the time of day. It didn’t matter. I had a huge crush, and it wasn’t on Asher or Spencer, boys much closer to my age. It was you. It was always you.” She shrugs a little at the end.
I don’t know what to say to that. “I…I’m sorry I acted like that when I was younger.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad. I don’t want an apology. You had every right to be civil but ignore me. I was just a kid. But I’m telling you this now to try to get you to understand why I felt like I couldn’t give you my real name. I’d just dumped Colin, and I knew you’d take care of me. I knew you were a good guy. I’d always told myself that if Colin and I broke up, I’d finally be free to do whatever—or whoever—I wanted. And I knew you’d make my first time memorable. I knew you’d be even better than the girl with a crush dreamed you’d be. And you were, Grayson. You are. I just wish you could find it in yourself to forgive me for leaving out the things that would’ve prevented my dreams from coming true that night.”
My jaw slackens a little as I try to figure out what the hell to say to any of that—as I try to figure out how to feel about it. My mouth flaps open and closed a few times, and thankfully she steps back in with more words before I say something stupid—before I get a chance to process any of this.
She draws in a breath. “All that aside for the moment, because I know it was a lot, I had a thought that could potentially help us even before you told me about the photos being public.”
I nod as if to tell her to go ahead, and it’s as if my mouth has ceased working.
“My idea is just a way to throw my brother off our trail and, at the same time, get Colin to back off. It’s a win-win that way. And you had mentioned the other night that you want the focus to be on your career rather than on what different woman is on your arm at every event, and this would be a way to, uh…have the same woman on your arm at every event.”
My brows crash together as I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about. “Okay…” I say, drawing out the word. “Out with it. What are you thinking?”
“A fake relationship,” she says, and her tone is a little proud, a little confident, and a little nervous all at the same time.
“A fake what now?” I ask.
“We pretend we’re dating. For the media, of course, and we tell Beck it’s just for show, a way for you to protect me from my ex since he asked you to protect me.” She lifts both shoulders and holds them up for a few beats.
I shake my head as I push to my feet. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to make this any worse, and I don’t want to lie to Beckett.”
“We wouldn’t be lying to Beckett,” she says.
“How is that not a lie?” My tone comes out with a huge dose of exasperation. “We’d explain away the photos by telling him we were faking it?”
“We were faking it in front of Colin. How is that a lie?”
He sighs. “It’s not the whole truth.”
“No, it’s not. And do either of us really want to give Beckett the whole truth that you laid me down on the bed right in the next room, stripped me naked, sucked on my—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say, holding up a hand as I interrupt her before she says exactly what I sucked on since hearing those words fall from her mouth will only make me want to do it again. Harder. Faster. More. Now.
