Page 17 of Double Standard

“You tell me. The picture of you two kissing in your trailer hadmeconvinced you’re basically in love with the guy, and I was there when you came up with this sham relationship.”

Her words make the skin on my chest warm, a sure indication that, under my T-shirt, I’m turning red. After ten years of climbing the ladder together, letting her role in my life evolve from manager to manager–slash–best friend, I should know better than to try to get anything past her. But I don’t want to let on that she might be right. I’m not even sure how to read what she’s seeing myself.

“I’m an actress, Emily.” I rustle through dresses to avoid eye contact. “Did you think I’d fake a relationship and not throw myself into it? Making it look real is the whole point.”

“So you’renottrying to impress Levi with a ‘Look at me, I’m so down-to-earth’ grocery store outfit?” Of course, she has me pegged. I keep my eyes trained on the wall of clothes. “Because if you’re not, go with leggings and a big button-down.” She picks up a pair of black Tom Ford leggings and tosses them my way. I catch them before immediately lobbing them back at her.

“OK, maybe I am. Trying to impress him. Happy? It’s just been—he’s not what I expected.” That’s an understatement. He’s the opposite of what I expected. I assumedhe’d be one of those guys who offers muscles in place of a personality like that’s a meaningful trade. But he’s witty and considerate and always seems to know what I need. He isn’t afraid of me. And most importantly, he seems to view me as a person—not an asset. I shrug and hope Emily doesn’t notice the blush that I catch creeping up my neck in the mirrors.

She pumps a fist twice in the air. “Ha! I knew it. You like him.”

I roll my eyes. What is this, middle school? “Of course, I like him. He’s incredibly likable. But you and I both know getting involved for real is a bad idea. I can’t risk this falling apart while we’re filming. I can’t risk anything interfering with what this role could be for me.”

It doesn’t matter how much I like him, and like kissing him. That’s just an added perk, and I should take it for what it is.

“I think that’s smart. Eyes on the prize and all that.” She points two fingers at her face and then mine.

“Great, now help me figure out what to wear.”

“Fresh mozzarella or shredded?” Levi holds one in each hand like Lady Justice weighing the scales.

“Fresh. Obviously.” I grab the ball of cheese and place it in my basket. “If you’re making pizza at home, you might as well make it better than a frozen one.”

He returns the shredded cheese and tucks a hand into the pocket of his fitted dark jeans, just under the hem of his white Henley. It shows off his tan, making his skin look as warm as I know it is. It’s cold in the dairy section, and I wouldn’t mind feeling it against me.

He chooses this moment to drape an arm around my shoulders, his large, rough hand radiating heat where his fingers press into my skin below the sleeve of the fitted floral top Em recommended.

“Any other feedback?” he replies with a wink. The flutter of his lashes prompts a flutter in my stomach.

“You’ll need dough.” We continue down the refrigerated aisle spanning the store’s back wall. Levi chuckles and grips my arm tighter. “Shoot, there was a ‘knead dough’ pun in there, and I missed it, huh?” I look over at him.

“There’s still thyme.” He grabs a small box of the herb and tosses it into the basket. “You might say it’s notthyme sensitive.” He laughs at his own joke, and I can’t help but join him. The giggle tickles in my chest with the warmth and fizz of expensive champagne. God, I didn’t know how much I needed this: something easy andfunin my life.

“Basil, you dork. We need basil. Thyme doesn’t belong anywhere near a pizza.” I whack him playfully on the stomach, relishing the firm response of his abs as the back of my hand makes contact. He swaps the herbs, and we dodge a few other shoppers as we turn into the canned foods aisle. “Have you always had a love affair with pizza, or was thisjust the easiest thing to shop for on an exceedingly domestic grocery store date?” I ask.

“Is there a person alive who doesn’t like pizza? Of course, I love pizza. And where else are you going to get all five food groups in one dish? Grains, dairy, protein, veggies, fruit...”

“You arenotputting pineapple on this pizza, Levi.” I try to shoot him a side-eye, but a smile sneaks through.

“Hey, if you’ll remember, this ismydinner. You’re here to help me shop. What I do with the ingredients later is none of your business.” With that, he sneaks his hand under mine and steals the shopping basket for himself. Mischief is written all over his face, in the glint of his eyes and the lines above his raised brows.

“What if I want to join you for dinner? Then could we skip the pineapple?”

“Are you inviting yourself over, Barlow?” He cocks his head to the side, appraising me.

“Are you saying I can’t come?”

“I’d never deny a lady who’s eager to come.” He says it with a grin so wide the small dimple appears on his cheek.

I have to avert my eyes so he can’t see the way they spark at the innuendo. “Wow, OK, at least your bad produce pun wasappropriate.”

He smirks. “Of course you’re welcome to join. We can post about it. What else should we get, now that we’re extending this date?”

Tucking me tighter to his side, he drops a kiss to the topof my head. Just like a boyfriend. I wrap my arm around his waist and revel in the soft exhale that escapes him when I slip my fingertips under the hem of his shirt to graze his skin. Just like a girlfriend. Behind us, the wheels of a cart squeak against the linoleum.

“What we have is fine. I had a big lunch, so I probably won’t eat much anyway.”

Levi stops abruptly, nearly causing a collision with the older woman cruising just behind us. She veers to our right with a scowl. He locks his eyes on mine. “Eating lunch doesn’t mean you skip dinner.”