Page 83 of Big Dick Energy

“I didn't say I believed you completely.” Delilah held up a hand, ticking off points on her fingers. “There are still approximately seven hundred questions I have about the timeline, the logistics, and why you didn’t mention this to me before Instagram broke the news. But...” She paused, studying us with an intensity that made me want to squirm. “You look at her like… Well, like you are in love with her.” She stood, directing her attention back to Davina. “When do you plan to tell mom and dad?”

“Um…” Davina hummed.

“Soon,” I answered for her.

“Great,” Delilah said. “I can plan a dinner.”

“Actually,” I said. “Why don’t you let us do the dinner, and we’ll invite my family too.”

“Sooner rather than later.”

I nodded.

“If you hurt her, I have access to surgical instruments and a very thorough understanding of human anatomy.” Her smile was terrifying. “Just something to keep in mind.”

She swept out of the kitchen.

“Well… That was intense.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s why I hadn’t told her yet. I knew convincing everyone else would be a piece of cake next to her.”

“I think she liked me,” I teased.

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face.

“Yeah,” she said simply. “I think she did.”

CHAPTER 27

TABLE FOR TWO

DAVINA

I underestimated Dallas’s fame because when we pulled up to the restaurant, the paparazzi were already waiting.

I stared out the tinted window of Dallas's limousine. There were seven photographers that I could see and probably more lurking in the shadows near the restaurant entrance. They clustered around the valet stand, lenses aimed at every car that pulled up, ready to capture whatever celebrity would fund their rent that month.

Tonight, that celebrity was my fake husband and me, apparently. His fake wife, about to make her grand debut as Mrs. Dallas Dodger in front of an audience of gossip bloggers and entertainment journalists.

No pressure.

“You're doing that thing again,” Dallas said beside me.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you look like you're calculating escape routes.”

I tore my gaze from the window to glare at him, which was a mistake, because he looked so freaking good in the low light of the limo. He was wearing a dark gray suit that hugged his shoulders like it had been sewn directly onto his body, a black shirt open at the collar, and his hair swept back into his signature man bun.

I wore a black wrap dress I'd designed specifically for moments like this. When you needed to look like you belonged next to someone who was on the cover of GQ.

“I'm not calculating anything,” I lied. “I'm mentally preparing.”

“For what? Dinner?”

“For the performance of a lifetime.” I gestured toward the window, where another flash went off as some poor unsuspecting couple tried to exit their car. “We have to convince them we're madly in love. In public. In front of cameras while eating.”

“Eating is the easy part.”