Chapter 8
“Counting Stars” - OneRepublic
Rhett
The text comes during my last set of bench presses. I hook the weights back into place and grab a towel from the rack. Rubbing it over my face, I head for the showers. When I’ve set all of my shit down on the bench, I drape the towel around my neck and pull my phone from my gym bag.
Saylor: OK.
My thumb hovers over the question mark key. What the fuck does she mean?
Instead of replying right away, I jump into the shower and mull it over. It isn’t until I’m lathering up that it hits me.
OK.
She’s accepting my proposal. She’s actually agreeing.
At least that’s what I hope it means, and not just that she accidentally texted the wrong person. I rush through the rest of the shower and jog out to my car, tossing my bag into the back seat.
There’s only one way to find out.
I still have her address in my GPS history, thank fuck, so I find the flat with no problem. Was the building this dingy the day I dropped her off? I don’t remember the cement being stained or her neighbor’s junk piled outside their door.
My palms start to sweat as I walk up the stairs. What if she’s not home? Or worse, what if she’s home but not alone? Shit. I definitely should’ve texted her back, but it’s too late for that now.
I rap on the door with my fist. She doesn’t even have a doorbell.
The same woman as before sticks her head out of the flat next to Saylor’s.
She gives me a pinched once-over before retreating inside to her reborn dolls.
I shudder. I’m about to knock again when the door swings open, and there she is.
Saylor couldn’t convey her surprise at seeing me any more blatantly if she tattooed it across her forehead. Her mouth drops open into this adorable little O shape, and her eyes widen just enough for the light to hit them.
It’s a little embarrassing how often I’ve thought about her in the past few weeks. Something about those eyes haunts me every time I slow down long enough for them to appear in my memory.
Her black hair is pulled back into a ponytail that accentuates her cheekbones.
She’s wearing long fuzzy socks and a tiny pair of floral-printed shorts, leaving her brown legs gloriously exposed.
Her matching camisole shows she’s not just a pretty face.
She also has an impressive rack that has definitely filled out since summer camp.
We process this information at the same time.
I react by letting a slow grin spread across my face.
She reacts by reaching for something behind the door.
At first, I’m afraid it’s a can of pepper spray—wouldn’t put it past her—but when she slips her arms into a big sweater that hangs past her thighs, I increase the wattage of my smile.
“Hi,” I say, leaning against the door frame as she tugs the cardigan closed in front of her.
Her eyes narrow. “What are you doing here?”
“I got your text.”
She blinks a few times, expression blank. “My text inviting you over? Sorry, wrong flat. Try Paula next door.” The door starts to swing shut.
I block it with my hand. “Saylor, you have to talk to me sometime.”
She halts the door, but her jaw has the definitive set of someone who is not pleased.
“I’m sorry for coming over unannounced,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“I accept your apology.” She sniffs. “I’ll call you tonight.”
This time it’s my mouth that drops open. Is she seriously sending me away? She’s agreeing to my proposal, but she won’t talk to me in person?
Damn. Why am I turned on by her rejection? I shove a hand through my hair and turn toward the stairs, unable to keep a smile from my face as I do. God, the next six weeks are going to be fun. And probably miserable as fuck.
My feet are on the first step when her voice sounds behind me. “Rhett, wait.”
I turn back slowly.
She’s still in the doorway, clutching that cardigan shut like it will save her from a predator. Is that what I’m supposed to be? “You’re here, so . . .” Her voice trails off, but I’m not about to make any further assumptions. They haven’t gotten me anywhere yet.
“So what?” I make her say it.
“We’ll talk.” Her words come out in a rush, and then she’s gone, disappearing into the flat but leaving the door standing open.
I’m not going to wait for a second invitation. I follow her inside, shutting the door behind me.
The place is small. Actually, my living room is small.
This is tiny. I could stretch my arms out and nearly touch both walls.
It’s not cluttered, but there is a lot of stuff.
The most jarring bit is all of the colors.
Orange sofa, green chair, humongous rug that covers nearly the entire floor and looks like rainbow vomit.
Plants line the long windowsill along the far wall.
It’s chaotic and way more color than I’m used to, but somehow it suits her. All the same, I can’t help teasing her. “Couldn’t decide on a color, so you used them all?”
She looks at me, unamused, arms crossed over her chest. “It must hurt your eyes to venture out of your sleek bachelor pad.” Her finger taps against her lip.
It’s the most distracting thing I’ve seen all day.
“Let me guess. Sofas too uncomfortable to sit on, edges sharp enough to cut you, and enough chrome to replace the mirrors?”
Ouch. Has she stalked me or something?
She moves over to her own sofa, which looks like something from the set of Mad Men, and folds herself gracefully onto one side of it. She takes up so little room that I could sprawl out and still not touch her. Which is the point, I think.
I sit down on the other end, making sure she’s aware that I have no nefarious intentions. Not today, anyway. I don’t say anything, just watch her. The ball is fully in her court, and we both know it.
I’ve tried reaching out to other girls with my proposition. By tried, I mean I thought of a few contenders. But every time I brought up one of their numbers on my phone, I couldn’t send the text. Saylor’s face kept coming to mind, taunting me with what I can’t have.
I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.
She shifts on the sofa, tucking her feet even more thoroughly under her legs. How long is she going to make herself uncomfortable to stay as far from me as possible? “We should probably discuss things.”
She bites her lip, and my eyes zero in on it, suddenly unable to remember why I’m here. It’s to fuck her, right? That’s why I’m here.
She releases the lip, leaving it cherry colored and slightly swollen. God, what it would be like to kiss it, bite it with my own teeth, watch it double in size.
She clears her throat, and my gaze moves back to her eyes, which don’t look impressed.
Shit. I lean forward with my elbows on my knees. “Yes, there’s a lot we should discuss.” I force my eyes to stay on hers, rather than traverse her entire body the way they very much want to.
“If I do this, there will be boundaries.”
I nod as if that isn’t my least favorite word in the English language. “Boundaries. Good idea.”
“I’ll pose as your girlfriend, but only when necessary.”
My forehead pinches as I process this. “What does that mean?”
She picks at a thread on her sweater. “Nothing in public.”
“No publicity. Got it.” I’m nodding so much now, there’s a good chance my head will roll right off my shoulders. Outwardly, I’m in agreement. Inwardly, my brain is already skipping ten steps ahead. “When you say not in public, what does that mean exactly?”
“Well, when are you needing me to . . . help?”
I haven’t thought through the logistics of it yet, mostly because I didn’t think this was actually going to happen. “Mostly at the after-parties,” I say. “That’s when things get a little crazy.”
She nods. “Okay. At the after-parties then. Nothing else.”
My brow furrows. “No one’s going to believe you’re my girlfriend if we’re not together other times.”
“What, then?” Her sigh is heavy, and it punches me in the gut that she’s this repulsed by me.
“At least around the band. Backstage. On the bus. Everyone in the industry, really. They’re the ones I need to sell the idea to.”
Saylor blinks as she considers this. “Will there be publicity in those places?”
“Not usually.”
“What about phones at the after-parties? I don’t want any photos taken.”
Damn, she really doesn’t want to be seen with me. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll ban phones from the parties. Anything else?”
“My name and face won’t be leaked?”
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you. Okay.” The muscles in her shoulders loosen, and she reaches for the crocheted blanket on the back of the sofa. “Okay,” she says again, tucking the colorful afghan around her legs. She’s taking up more space now.
“Is that what you’re worried about? Being in the spotlight?”
She tilts her chin forward. “That’s one thing, yes.”
“What else?” I have the sudden urge to vanquish all of her doubts and fears.
“Physical boundaries.”
My heart rate kicks up a notch, both in dread of the boundaries she wants to set and in anticipation of physical contact between us. “Yeah, absolutely,” I say, as though I was thinking the same thing and not about how much I would like to lay her beneath me on this sofa.
“No kissing.”
The floor of my stomach drops out. “None? I’m not sure anyone will be convinced if we don’t kiss occasionally.”
Her eyes flicker down to my mouth for the briefest of seconds. Is she thinking about our first kiss, too? “Fine, but no tongue.”
The side of my mouth quirks upward. “Deal.” I’m going to have a hell of a time planning a kiss spectacular enough that she changes her mind. “Is holding your hand okay?”
“Touching is permitted, but no boobs or ass.”
I notice she doesn’t mention her legs or the area between them, but I’m not about to bring this to her attention. “Stay away from the best parts. Got it.”
Her glare heats up, making my grin widen. “And absolutely no shenanigans,” she says.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “You want that in writing?”
“I do.”
God, she is hardballing me so bad, and my balls are here for it. “What constitutes a shenanigan?” I ask.
“I think you already know.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Something tells me you are the king of shenanigans.”
“What in the world gave you that idea?”
Amusement lights her eyes as the atmosphere in the flat shifts. She’s warming up to me again, and I can’t say it doesn’t make me feel like I could fly a fucking plane. “I see the headlines.”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “What if I said you can’t believe everything you read?”
An actual smile blooms on her face, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, like watching a flower open for the sun. “I’d say that I guess I’ll find out.”
“I guess so.” I shift back in my seat, my hands aching to pull her into my lap and show her why shenanigans should definitely be on the table.
“What about our breakup?” she says.
“Our what?” I blink at her.
“After the tour? Won’t you need to tell people we’re no longer together?”
“Yeah, of course.” How is it that she’s thinking of everything, and the only thing I can think is that I’m not sure I want there to be a breakup, and is that bad?
“Mutual and friendly, right? No hard feelings afterwards?”
I mumble something in agreement. Meanwhile, my head is so full of shit, I can barely think straight. She’s like a drug. Once in your blood, impossible to stop. She’s already planning the end of this thing, and I’m trying to figure out how to hold on to every single moment.
“All right, then.” She pushes to her feet, blanket discarded on the sofa, damn sweater still covering everything. It’s enough to shake me out of my stupor.
I stand up as well. “Thank you for agreeing to do this,” I say. Do I hug her? Shake her hand?
She keeps her arms wrapped around herself, so I do neither. “It’s kind of hard to resist that much money.”
“And here I thought it was my charm that won you over.”
“I agreed in spite of you.”
“Ouch.”
She shakes her head, a smile lingering on her lips. “When do we leave?”
“Saturday morning. I hope your passport is up to date.”
“It is.”
I take a step backward, in the direction of the door. “Should we kiss, just for practice?” I shrug like it’s no big deal.
She holds her finger up. “Shenanigan.”
“Shenanigans are the spice of life.”
“No spice allowed.”
“You drive a mean bargain.”
She tilts her head to the side, completely unapologetic. “You’re the one who wanted this.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“Mr. Cole, what did you think my mission was going to be?”
I breathe out a laugh and dig my hand into my hair. It’s hitting me that I lost the upper hand the minute we met. “By the way, my agent will email you an NDA to sign.”
Her smile melts away. “Do you actually think I’ll tell anyone about this?”
I think she’d rather cut off her own arm than leak that she’s pretending to be with me. “It’s not for me. The record label requires it of everyone.”
She nods. “Okay.”
I expected more pushback, to be honest. I open the door, then turn back to her and frown. “You don’t have a boyfriend who’s going to beat me up, right?”
She smirks and leans her shoulder against the wall. “No promises.”
I leave her in her colorful flat, already counting the hours until Saturday morning.