Page 105 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“I know you would,” I admit.

“I’d never choose for us to be outed this way, but I’m glad people know about us now. We’re in this together. I don’t want to hide from your family or anyone else. I’m proud to be with you, and I thought you were proud to be with me. But I understand why you’re upset, and I know this kind of public scrutiny isn’t for everyone. If this changes things for you, I should probably tell Doogie to take down my social media post.”

“What post?”

He pulls out his phone, scrolls to one of his social pages, and shows me the picture he took of us watching the sunrise yesterday morning. My head is resting on his shoulder, and his head is touching mine. The rising sun casts a romantic glow on our faces, and our smiles shimmer in our eyes. If happiness could be captured in one picture, it would be that one.

The caption simply reads, Mine .

Emotions clog my throat.

“As long as we’re together, there will always be some form of public scrutiny,” he says gently. “It’ll follow me until I’m old and gray. Unfortunately, that’s the nature of the beast. I can’t stop people from posting about us, but I will always have your back.”

He kisses my forehead, and my throat thickens even more, because I know he will. It doesn’t make sense that the man who makes me feel reckless also makes me feel safe and whole, but he does.

“I talked to my PR rep, Nolan Kenard, about the best way to handle this for your business.”

“You did?” Oh, my heart.

“Of course. You can talk to him if you’d like to discuss it with a professional. He thinks we should let it go and wait for it to blow over. But there are other options. I can make a statement and ask for privacy, or you can make a statement so your clients see it, or if you want us to make a joint statement to cover all our bases, then I’ll arrange it. Just tell me what you need, Pep, and I’ll make it happen, but please don’t throw us away because some kid got excited and posted pictures of us, and they happened to go viral. That’s just social media nonsense. It’ll fade away, but my feelings for you are real, and they’re only going to get stronger.”

“Stop sucking me into your fairy tale,” I plead half-heartedly. “That’s how I got into this mess in the first place. I get lost in your charm and attention and forget I’m a realist.”

“You’re a realist who deserves a fairy tale, baby. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it’s okay to be reckless with the guy you care about.”

He kisses me sweetly. In the safety of his arms, with the real world locked outside my office walls, I breathe a little easier.

“I don’t want to think about any of this,” I say softly. “I just want to go home, have a glass of wine, and be with you.”

“I have a better idea.”

A little while later, we’re lounging naked in a hot tub on the deck of the elaborate home Clay rented, sipping wine. It feels more like a private luxury retreat than a home, with spacious rooms, high ceilings, wide-planked hardwood floors, two stone fireplaces, a two-car garage, and four private acres of winding gardens and mature trees.

Steam rises from the water as I gaze out at the yard, which seems endless. “This was a great idea.” I set my wineglass on the deck and snuggle against his side. “Why have you been staying at my place, when you have all this waiting for you?”

“Because you’re there.” He kisses my shoulder. “I would have brought you here the first night, but I got the feeling you needed the security of being on your own turf.”

“You were right, but maybe we should test this place out for a few nights.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me, but are you going to lose that sponsorship opportunity because you missed the dinner?”

“I don’t think so, but if I do, fuck it. I wasn’t about to make you deal with this on your own. If they can’t understand that, then I don’t want to represent their brand anyway.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t want you to miss out on important opportunities because of me.”

“Don’t worry about that. If I never got another sponsorship deal, I’d be just fine. But are you still worried about your clients?” he asks carefully.

“A little, but only because I feel like a teenager who got caught in the back seat of her parents’ car.”

That brings out his dimples. “Why do you feel like that?”

“I don’t know,” I say, turning to face him. “Maybe because it’s so not me to kiss like that in public, or because that’s how my whole family found out about us. Hearing my dad call me princess when he’s seen headlines about me being your flavor of the month is a little embarrassing.”

“I’ll apologize to them.”

“That’s really nice of you to offer, but no. You don’t have to do that. Something tells me I need to get used to that type of attention, because apparently it is who I am when I’m with you, and I need to accept that or drive myself crazy trying to hold back when we’re together.”