Chapter 33 Lex
Lex
I wake up the next morning with what feels like a hangover, my temples pounding, mouth parched, eyes dust-dry.
The sun outside my window pours obnoxious harsh light into the bedroom, bringing me back to reality before I’m ready to dive in.
I scrub a hand down my face, dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.
An image of Stevie helping me crawl into bed last night flickers through my mind.
Gently pulling the covers up over me. Pushing my bangs back with a warm hand.
Pressing a kiss to my forehead and whispering “good night.” I was so fucking exhausted, I barely managed to kick off my shoes before burrowing under the blankets and zonking out.
It’s then I realize I don’t have an alcohol hangover—I have a mental-breakdown hangover.
Splendid.
I’m still in my whole-ass suit, the tie twisted around my neck, shirt wrinkled, one pantleg halfway up my thigh.
Groaning miserably, I lift up on my elbows.
I kissed her last night.
Really fucking kissed her.
The “I’m one dirty moan away from shoving you into this bathroom and losing my virginity on a sink” kind of kiss.
And I should probably feel the hot pokers of regret scorching holes into me right now, but the truth is I’m honest-to-God grateful for her perfect mouth.
That kiss is the only thing burning brighter in my mind than the image of Bianca Kendricks laughing across the room with her gaggle of girlfriends while I gracelessly unraveled a few feet away.
I rip off the covers and manage to change into a pair of running shorts and a gray tee before popping into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Voices spill from one floor below, mingling with the scent of sizzling bacon. Sounds like Rudy, which isn’t ideal because it’s way too early to put up with him.
Gathering my wits, I head down the staircase and find my agent seated at the kitchen island while Stevie stands at the stove, cooking breakfast.
I should talk to her and apologize for giving her emotional whiplash. But Rudy greets me with a stupid grin, putting the damage-control conversation on hold.
“You look like shit.” His face-eating smile doesn’t waver.
Stevie glances over her shoulder at me, cheeks pink from the stove burners. “Morning,” she says, looking nervous as hell, before returning to her task of scrambling eggs and crisping bacon.
“Morning.” I take a seat beside Rudy, and we share a fist bump. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?”
“How would I know? I’ve only been awake for five seconds.”
“It’s ten o’clock. The rest of the world has been awake far longer and, in that time, has managed to leak some unflattering headlines and accompanying photos on the internet.”
“Awesome.” That’s just perfect. I reach for my cell phone on the island and try to power it on, but it’s dead. It drops from my hand with a clunky clatter. “Do I want to know?”
He sighs. “People saw you two fighting at the party last night. And then they saw you reconciling outside the bathrooms.”
“We weren’t fighting.”
“Pictures tell a different story.” He fishes out his phone and angles the screen in my direction as it glows with viral images posted on Instagram: Stevie, calming me down from the embarrassing spiral, followed by us making out like two teenagers who couldn’t wait to tear into each other during a prom after-party.
Chewing on my cheek, I glance up at Stevie. She’s faced away from us, her dark hair spilling down her back in freshly blow-dried waves. I’m sure her flush is ten times redder now.
“So?” I clear my throat, slamming my elbows to the marble. “We’re dating. Couples kiss.”
“It’s more the implication that went along with it.
Here, check out these pictures.” He scrolls a bit farther, and I manage a disinterested side-eye at the phone.
“The photographer caught this picture of you and Willa directly before the make-out session. You’re full of smiles as she kisses your cheek, and then— bam —lovers’ quarrel. Love triangle chatter is running amok.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Doesn’t matter. That’s what it looks like. Your mother has already called me five times.”
I cringe. I’ve been avoiding my meddling mother for weeks, dodging her video calls and ignoring her text messages. All I had to do was listen to ten seconds of a voicemail to know she’s pissed about the Stevie situation.
Avoidance to the rescue.
Stevie spins around with platefuls of food, then deposits them in front of us. Scrambled eggs sprinkled with chopped green onions, perfectly seared bacon, and a bunch of grapes. I catch her eyes for a beat, my lips twitching with a smile, and she ducks her head.
“I’m going to go upstairs and read,” she says, mimicking a light cough. “I’ll let you two talk.”
She’s already on the move before I can speak. My stool legs scrape against the floor as I haul myself up to slow her exit. “Hey.”
Shooting a quick glance at Rudy, she folds her arms and stalls at the base of the stairs. “What’s up?”
My eyebrows arch with a duh .
“It’s okay, Lex. We can talk later.” She’s flustered, anxious. Her fingers press into her upper arms as she avoids my eyes. “You should figure out the Willa thing.”
“There is no Willa thing. That was just two costars having a brief, platonic moment.”
“I know. I get it.” Finally, her eyes lift to mine. She swallows. “But the comments…”
“What comments?”
“On that post. They’re terrible.”
I frown. “You shouldn’t be reading that shit. It’s always a dumpster fire.”
She stares at me, her complexion chalky. “Yeah. You’re right.”
We hold contact for a few seconds, a swell of tension rising between us.
I can almost see the memories unfurling behind her eyes, the same ones battering my own mind.
Roaming hands, hot skin, wet mouths. The noises she made and the feel of her curves molding into me while my palm splayed across the velvet arc of her throat.
Fuck —I was into it. Removed from the world around me and entirely entangled in her.
Only her.
And the last thing I want to do is dive into my feelings and peel back the layers of every grope and groan, but something still nags at me to say more. To not let her walk away without a… “Thank you.”
She blinks the fog from her eyes. “What?”
“Thank you…for being there. Last night.” My hands slide into the pockets of my shorts.
I’m no good at this—this vulnerable, guard-down shit.
But she needs to know. She needs to know her efforts mattered, worked, and meant a whole fucking lot.
And as difficult as it is for me to voice the words aloud, it deserves more than a text message. “I appreciate it.”
“Yeah,” she whispers, nodding slowly. “Of course.”
Stevie hints the smallest smile, her cheeks gaining more color, and turns to walk up the stairs.
Rudy hassles me the moment I return to the kitchen, his eyes aimed at the staircase. “Lex, my man.”
“Don’t.”
“Who is that girl?”
I reach for my fork and start stabbing my eggs until they’re pulverized. “Stevie. My pretend girlfriend.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you asked.”
“I mean, who is she to you? Really? These photos don’t lie. You can’t fake that shit.”
Against my better judgment, I glance over at the grid of pictures he’s thumbing through.
The most notable is of Stevie tipped backward in my arms, lips parted like she’s about to break apart, her hair in chaos as my hand tangles around it, and my face buried in the sweet curve of her neck.
We look like we’re vying for the lead roles in some soft-core porno.
I go back to my eggs, jamming a forkful into my mouth. “It was just for the cameras. We wanted to sell it.”
“Try again.”
“You’re worse than my mother,” I grumble through a chew.
“Yes, but only marginally.” Rudy sets his phone down and pivots toward me. He’s wearing his tortoiseshell glasses today, so I assume he’s about to spew some sage wisdom. “You want my friendly advice?”
There it is. “Go for it.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Profound.” My eyes roll up, and I shake my head. “What’s your unfriendly advice like?”
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
I can’t help the grin from breaking free. Inhaling a piece of bacon in one bite, I swipe my hands on a napkin. “Fine. Maybe I was feeling the kiss and we got carried away. But the Willa stuff is garbage. She gave me a hug and pecked my cheek—hardly newsworthy.”
“Listen, I get it. And honestly, this is the stuff we want to see. Your name is trending, regardless of the context, and that gets more eyes on the show. I just wanted to keep you in the loop so you can anticipate the incoming interrogation.” He softens a bit.
“And Stevie should prepare for some backlash. The comments aren’t nice. ”
Angry heat spreads throughout my chest. “What are they saying?”
“See for yourself.”
Peering down at his phone, I skim over the comments.
Jesus. His girlfriend looks like a whore trying to earn back her last dollar.
I totally thought their relationship was a publicity stunt, but it looks like the Lexington Halls of the world really do take up with the clearance rack scraps. Maybe there’s hope for me.
#WillaFarrowForPresident
What is she wearing? That dress screams Renaissance bar wench. Or maybe she’s auditioning for the new Hocus Pocus movie. Wait, did they make that already?
Willa Farrow is the girl you marry. Stevie St. James is the girl you jerk off to while your wife is sleeping.
Guarantee you Lex is smashing them both. Dude knows what he’s doing.
My insides twist with revulsion as I slide the phone away from me. “I’m done looking at that.”
“Understood. Maybe convince Stevie to lie low for a few days. And definitely tell her to stay off social media.”
“Too late. She already saw.”
He winces. “Ouch. Hope she’s got a thick skin.”
She doesn’t.
Guilt chews through me with serrated teeth. I brought her into this callous prison, and now she’s trapped behind the bars of my own making while humanity and goodness slip further out of reach. Her light will drain, her smile will crack, and then one day…
She’ll be one of us.
My phone buzzes from the countertop, newly juiced, and I blink over to the screen as it lights up with a picture of my mother.
“On that note…” Rudy smacks me on the shoulder and pushes his empty plate aside. “Please answer your mother’s phone calls so she stops dogging me. And then go make sweet love to your fake girlfriend.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
He stretches a roguish grin.
I scowl. Guess I walked into that one.
When Rudy saunters out of my condo, I heave a breath and answer my mother’s video call. “Hey, Mom.”
Her eyes fill with relief when she sees me. “Lexington, it’s about time.”
“Sorry. Been busy.”
“Too busy to call your mother back? We used to talk every night.”
I swear a trace of sadness wraps around her words, and it tugs at places I wish it wouldn’t. “Yeah, I’ve just been swamped with appearances. And I’m in a relationship now. The last few weeks have been a big transition, moving Stevie in with me.”
“Mm. Of course.” She strolls down a city street, a giant pair of sunglasses shielding her eyes as the breeze scatters her hair in all directions. “That’s part of the reason I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. I’d love to set up dinner together, just the three of us.”
That couldn’t possibly be self-serving. “I’ll take a look at my schedule.”
“Tomorrow night at seven. Nobu Malibu.”
“Stevie doesn’t like sushi.”
“She’ll learn to. I’ll make a reservation.”
Experience has taught me there’s no point in arguing with my mother.
Once her mind is made up, I have two choices: submit or suffer.
Every time I’d push back, things got worse, and I wouldn’t call it wisdom, but I’ve definitely learned some valuable lessons over the years. Almost like a trained puppy.
Resist, and I get shocked.
Obey, and I get a pat on the head.
“Yeah, sounds good.” I swirl the eggs around my plate with the tines of my fork and glance over at the staircase. “We’ll see you there.”