Chapter 4
four
. . .
Lucas
Her lips are so soft. I knew they would be. She tastes like champagne and toothpaste, with a hint of cherry lip balm. Her tongue finds mine like she’s actually into this, not just playing a part.
The casino noise fades into white noise. As I move to pull her closer, my hand finds the small of her back, and that’s when she breaks the kiss.
The look of genuine shock on her face is priceless.
I would laugh, but then I spot Madeline approaching, and I need Jess to pull it together.
She can’t look like this is the first time she’s ever kissed me.
Her hand flies to her lips, and I grab it, lacing my fingers through hers. I lean in, and my lips graze her ear.
“Get it together, Scoop. Now’s not the time to start falling for me.” The nickname slips out before I can stop it. It’s what I used to call her when she’d show up at practices and games to watch her brother.
That does it. She snaps out of whatever daze the kiss put her in and squeezes my fingers so hard that I think she might break them.
“Hey, Lucas,” Madeline says, lifting her hand in a small wave, approaching with the practiced hesitation of someone who’s been taught to appear demure.
I watch as her gaze flits between Jess and me.
She’s probably hoping this blonde isn’t actually “the girlfriend” I mentioned when responding to her texts earlier.
“Hey, Madeline. So good to see you again.” I slip into PR mode automatically, my voice taking on that polished edge I use at press conferences. “I’m glad we were able to grab a drink. Let me introduce you to my girlfriend, Jess.”
Jess steps forward and right on my foot. Hard. I just got these Common Projects sneakers last week for this event. Four hundred bucks, crushed under her heel.
“Madeline, so great to meet you!” Jess chirps in her “on camera” voice. “I’ve heard such lovely things about you. Lucas is a fan!”
Madeline’s cheeks flush as she looks my way, and I imagine pushing Jess into the hotel’s famous fountain. She has no idea the drama she’s just ignited.
“Oh, wow,” she says. “Well, Lucas and I do go way back. Our families have been friends for as long as I can remember.”
I internally roll my eyes. If, by “friends,” she means “political allies,” then sure.
“Jess and I go way back, too,” I counter, sliding my arm around her waist. “We met at one of my college baseball games. She couldn’t take her eyes off me.
” I give Jess a wink and shift her weight off my abused shoe.
“Limited-edition sneakers. Keep your monster feet off them,” I whisper, catching the floral scent in her hair.
“I was there to see my brother play,” Jess clarifies. “But I do remember Lucas tripping over his ego and faceplanting into a Gatorade cooler.”
“I don’t remember that at all, dear,” I say with a smile plastered on my face.
“Oh, Lukey-bear, are you taking all your vitamins?” Jess pats my cheek condescendingly. “I don’t want you to forget about our first real conversation, when you told me PR was ‘just journalism with better paychecks and lower ethical standards.’”
I blink. God, she’s sharp with an insult.
“Should we get a drink?” Madeline suggests.
I guide both women to a curved booth at the hotel bar. Jess maneuvers so that I’m squished in the middle, with her on my left, sitting as far away as possible without looking suspicious; Madeline is on my right, sitting inappropriately close.
“Lucas, tell me how work has been.” Madeline leans in, her perfume is overwhelming and makes me miss Jess’s fresh scent. “Daddy said your studio is making all the best movies right now.”
“It has been a good year for us,” I say, sipping my Macallan 18. I shift casually, trying to get Jess’s attention. She’s on her phone, and I need her to act like she’s into me.
Madeline turns to face me more directly.
Bringing one of her legs up onto the seat, she places her hand on my shoulder before starting into some political drivel about polling numbers and constituent outreach that I stopped caring about the day I chose USC over Stanford and baseball over becoming the third generation of Carmichael men in politics.
I kick Jess under the table. She kicks me back harder, still focused on her phone.
“Jess! You’re not following me, are you?” Marcus’s voice slurs after what appears to be one too many cocktails. He slides into the booth, pushing Jess closer to me. Well, that’s one way to get her attention.
“Oh, Marcus, you are too funny!” Jess’s voice drips with synthetic sweetness. “Looks like you’re having loads of fun!”
Jess nuzzles into my side, placing her hand on my thigh. My skin prickles with unexpected heat, and then she’s grabbing my leg so hard she’ll leave a bruise. I take that as a cue to place my arm around her and pull her closer.
I admit that Jess is attractive, with her sun-kissed skin and effortless beauty, but her personality should make it impossible for me to notice.
“I thought you and Lucas were together?” Marcus stage-whispers. “Who’s the hot babe with him?”
He’s not exactly whispering, and we can all hear him. His voice carries across the bar, and a few heads turn our way.
I see red, but I smile anyway. The PR version of me might be polished, but the man part of me? That one’s about two seconds from dragging him across the bar.
“Marcus,” I say evenly, “Madeline is a longtime family friend. She’s also terrifying in a courtroom, so I’d suggest not calling her a ‘babe’ unless you’d like to get acquainted with the concept of a cease and desist.”
He laughs like I’ve told a joke, too drunk to catch the edge in my tone.
Marcus reaches across the table to shake Madeline’s hand, and when she extends hers, he instead brings her fingers to his lips. Gross. But I look over at her, and she’s blushing all different shades of red.
“Oh, how cute!” Jess lunges at the opportunity to get away from Marcus. “Madeline, let’s trade places so you can get to know Marcus!”
Before I can process what’s happening, she’s sliding across my lap. Her ass scrapes across my crotch, and the pressure awakens parts of me that have no business responding to Jess Lexington. I realize that she’s moving deliberately, slowly.
I use the opportunity to wrap my arms around her waist and hold her in place. My lips grazing her ear as I whisper, “If you want my dick, you just have to ask, Scoop.”
That gets her moving, but not before I catch the slight hitch in her breath.
“We should get a bottle of Dom to celebrate old friends and new! Lucas’s treat!” Jess announces, signaling a server. Alright, she wants to play?
“Honey, don’t be shy,” I counter, my hand finding the small of her back. “You can tell them we’re celebrating our six-month anniversary and you confessing your love to me.”
I smirk as I take a measured sip of my whiskey, watching her eyes narrow dangerously.
Confusion creases Marcus’s forehead. “You’ve been together six months—”
“You love him?” Madeline asks simultaneously as the blood drains from her face.
Jess grinds her heel into my toe box, and I know that’s going to leave a mark on both my shoe and possibly my foot.
“I felt bad that you had said it so many times,” Jess says sweetly, “so I figured it was time to say it back.”
I twist my fingers through her silky hair. “Well, I know you want more. I see the searches for wedding rings on the laptop when you ‘accidentally’ leave the web browser open.” I tug her hair gently, feeling a hint of satisfaction when her pupils dilate slightly.
“Well, you did say you wanted to get married before you turn thirty,” she counters. “I know it’s coming up. I don’t know if we’ll make it, but at least you can say you’re in love with someone.”
The champagne arrives, and Jess tops off her glass. I’m not sure how many she’s had, but she’s getting braver and more handsy the longer this charade carries on. And this game of cat and mouse is unexpectedly entertaining. People nearby are starting to listen in.
“I know you didn’t meet that goal of being married by thirty, either,” I continue. “I’m truly sorry, babe. We just didn’t get together in time.” I glance at Marcus and Madeline, who are watching us like we’re engaged in a tennis match. “Hey, did you guys know Jess is older than me?”
She brings her knee up to rest her leg over my lap, but with a force that grazes sensitive territory. I grab her thigh and realize that my grip is much higher than intended. I look down and then up at her, and she raises her eyebrows challengingly.
“Yeah, I’ve always liked my women a little older,” I manage. “They’ve got more experience handling difficult situations.”
Jess’s chest heaves slightly. Not because she’s drawn to me, no, but because she’s preparing to slowly destroy me. And I’m a sick bastard for enjoying this.
She launches into a story about me taking her to Disneyland for her birthday, knowing about her secret love of Mickey-shaped pretzels.
What’s unsettling is how she’s incorporated real details, including my annual pass, which no one is supposed to know about, and my genuine affection for the Star Wars section of the park.
“And then,” she continues, leaning into me like we’re sharing an inside joke, “he bought me this ridiculous stuffed Chewbacca that’s still on our bed, even though I tease him mercilessly about it.”
I’m momentarily speechless because I do, in fact, own a stuffed Chewbacca. How does she know that?
More people join our table, and at some point, we switch to taking Vegas bomb shots because what happens in Vegas, right?
Our love story is now pulling a crowd, and a woman with a professional camera appears. I think it’s someone from the NAB Show—I’m not sure—but she asks to take our photo for social media. Jess presses against my side, lays her head on my shoulder, and beams.
“You guys are so cute together,” the photographer says. “How long have you been a couple?”
“Six months,” we answer in unison, and for a second, it feels almost real.
“My boss is going to love your story,” she says. We slide right by that comment with more backstory on our pretend relationship.
As the night progresses, our stories become more elaborate.
I find myself recounting how Jess hates roses but loves tropical flowers like plumeria and hibiscus, how she always steals the covers, and how she refuses to watch the end of sad movies.
None of this is true—or at least, I don’t think it is—but it rolls off my tongue with alarming authenticity.
Jess tells everyone about my supposedly secret love of cooking and how she fell for me when she found out I volunteer at an animal shelter. The first part isn’t entirely untrue. I do love to cook. How she knows this is beyond me.
“To the happy couple!” someone toasts, and then another.
“They’re all buying it,” Jess whispers, her breath warm against my ear.
“We’re pretty convincing,” I agree as I tighten my arm around her waist.
Her blue eyes, slightly unfocused from the champagne, meet mine. “Maybe too convincing.”
I don’t know what possesses me, but I lean in and kiss her again, this time slower, more deliberate. The crowd around us cheers, but all I can focus on is how right it feels, how the curve of her body fits against mine, how the taste of her lips is rapidly becoming my favorite flavor.
“You know what you guys should do?” Marcus slurs, slamming down his glass. “You should get married! Right now! Vegas, baby!”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Jess laughs, but her eyes don’t leave mine.
“I don’t know,” I hear myself say. “Could be fun.”
The crowd erupts in encouragement. Madeline has long since disappeared, giving up on any hope she had for us and the evening. The night has transformed into something unrecognizable from how it began.
“You’re not serious,” Jess says, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye.
The whiskey, Vegas bombs, and heat of her body against mine make me reckless. “Scared, Lexington?”
“You wish, Carmichael.” She downs her champagne and stands, wobbling slightly. “Let’s do it.”
The crowd roars its approval, and as someone starts looking up the nearest chapel on their phone, I have the fleeting thought that this might be either the biggest PR disaster of my career or the best night of my life.
Maybe both.