Chapter 24
She didn’t say yes.
Not really.
She laughed. She groaned. She threatened to throw coffee at me. And I let her. Because… I think it’s easier for her to joke than to feel, and I think I’m already falling for every part of her that’s still trying to armor up.
But she didn’t say yes.
And it’s driving me a little insane.
Because I hadn’t pitched fake dating like a man trying to fix his image. I pitched it like a man trying to stay close to something holy. Because the moment I saw that photo — her head tipped back, my mouth on her neck, like we were made for each other — I felt two things:
Oh, shit.
Of course it would be her.
It was always her.
From that drunk meet-ugly. From the convention snafu. From the accidental book delivery run-in. From the time she wrapped her fingers around my arm and kissed me, just to get a sleazy young kid off my back.
Jesus Christ, I would die for this woman.
And now… now I’m back in her orbit — again — and I don’t want to scare her. I don’t want to ask too much. But I also don’t want to be the guy who walks away just because the timing’s messy.
So I smiled. I flirted. I made it sound easy.
Fake dating. Low stakes. Good optics.
But every word of it was real.
Every look. Every touch. Every part of me that still remembers the sound of her laugh when she forgets to be guarded.
She doesn’t want to be someone’s headline. I get that.
But she’s already the story I can’t stop telling, over and over again. In my head, in my dreams, in mock reports in the mirror when I’m asked about “the new girl” for my movie.
The trailer smelled like makeup wipes and stale coffee. I honestly… don’t even remember driving here. Walking up to the door. Settling myself down in the trailer.
I was on autopilot… because of her.
Every single thought I’d had was of her. I was royally fucked.
Someone had left a script on the counter. A half-eaten protein bar. My costume jacket was draped over the back of the couch like a skin I wasn’t ready to step into yet. My next call time wasn’t for hours.
Didn’t matter. I wasn’t going anywhere.
The only place I wanted to be… I needed to keep my distance from.
I sank down onto the padded bench, elbows on his knees, phone in my hands. The screen was still lit up from the call log. Publicist. Missed call. Four texts. All variations of ‘we need to get ahead of this’ and ‘this could spin out’ and ‘you need to get control of the narrative.’
As if I could control any of it. As if any part of this felt remotely like a narrative I’d written. The irony made my stomach turn.
Because I used to know how to play a role. Say the line. Hit the mark. Smile for the camera and thank the interviewer and sign the Funko Pop with a little heart. I knew how to be charming. Uncomplicated. Shiny enough to market and just real enough to sell.
But Juniper wasn’t a role.
She was…
God. She was herself.
And the way she’d looked at me today — guarded, bright, pissed, funny, hurting — it undid something in me. Like I’d seen through the armor and caught a glimpse of the woman underneath.
Now she looked at me like a stranger with bad timing. I rubbed a hand down my face. “Fake dating,” I muttered, bitterly.
What the hell had I been thinking? That she’d say yes? That it would be cute, like some PR rom-com? That she’d pretend to fall for me until maybe — hopefully — she didn’t have to pretend anymore?
God, I was such a fucking idiot.
I leaned back against the wall of the trailer, head thunking gently against the flimsy panel. The light buzzed overhead. A muffled voice from the sound stage carried through the door. Someone yelled “cut.”
My phone buzzed again.
Another message from my publicist.
Another article link.
Another picture of her — wide-eyed, flushed, mouth just barely parted as I kissed her like I meant it.
Of course I meant it.
I turned the phone over so I didn’t have to see it. But it didn’t matter. That image was already branded on the backs of my eyelids.
I hadn’t meant to fall for her.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to convince myself I hadn’t.
Now I was in a trailer in a borrowed hoodie, pretending like I could fix it with good press and a few fake smiles.
I dropped my head into my hands and laughed. Soft. Miserable.
“Yeah,” I whispered, to no one in particular. “I’m so fucked.”
My phone rang. I was just going to ignore it. Send it straight to voicemail. But… something told me to turn it over.
JUNE BUG
“Hey!” I’d never answered a call so quickly, my phone almost slipping through my fingers.
“I’ll do it.” Her voice was soft on the other side, almost as if…
God, if I’d made her cry again.
I sat up straighter. “You will?”
“Don’t make me say it twice.”
I smiled — I couldn’t help it. “You’re going to fake date me?”
A pause. Then, “Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late,” I said, quietly.
Another pause. But I could hear the edge of a smile in her voice too. She sighed. “I don’t want you to think this means anything.”
“It doesn’t,” I lied.
“This is just PR,” she said. “A chance for me to help my childhood idol.”
“Of course.”
“That’s it.”
“I understand.”
“And we’re not actually together.”
“Nope.”
“And you’re not allowed to kiss me again.”
My throat tightened. “Copy that.”
A beat passed. Then, so quietly I might have missed it “Not unless I kiss you first.”
My breath caught. “June.”
Her silence said everything she wouldn’t.
I wanted to say a hundred things. That I missed her. That I was sorry. That she still made everything inside me short-circuit. But I didn’t want to scare her off. Not when she’d just started to come closer.
So instead, I said, “Okay.”
Simple. Soft. Enough.
I hoped.
“I’ll text you,” she murmured.
“Looking forward to it.”
She hung up first.
I sat there for a long time afterward, phone still in my hand, forehead pressed to my palms, trying to convince myself that fake dating wasn’t going to be the actual death of me.
Because if I kissed her again — on purpose, for show, with cameras watching and her mouth that close and her body against mine and a crowd of people pretending we were already in love?
I was never walking away clean.
I must have been sitting there too long, because a PA knocked on my door, giving me five minutes until make-up would be calling for me.
I was tempted to leave my phone in my trailer. One less thing for me to obsess about instead of doing my job — I was on thin enough ice already.
But as I rose from my pity party, my phone buzzed on the couch.
JUNE BUG
Can I come over tonight?
JUST TO TALK
Stupid fucking grin on my stupid fucking face.
Shoot ends at 7. I’ll pick you up.