13. Thirteen
Thirteen
Nate
The bass reverberates through my chest as I work the drums, trying to lose myself in the rhythm. We’ve been rehearsing for hours, and while the music is tight, my mind keeps drifting to a pair of dark eyes and a smile that’s been haunting me for days.
Sam stretches, rolling his shoulders. “That last set was solid. Feels good to be back in the groove with these new songs.”
“Bridge needs work, though,” Cass cuts in, fingers dancing across his guitar strings. “Not enough punch before the chorus.”
I tap my sticks against my knee, nodding. “I’ll add some heavier fills.”
“So, Nate,” Vince smirks from his spot by the mini-fridge, “how’s your Hollywood fiancée doing? Did the movie premiere go well?”
I keep my eyes on my drum kit, aware of three sets of eyes watching for my reaction. “She crushed it.”
“Of course she did,” Sam whistles. “Pretty sure the whole world saw those red carpet photos. Who knew you could mix so well with the Hollywood elite?”
“Yeah,” Cass chuckles, “almost looked like you belonged there.”
I roll my eyes, but my phone buzzes before I can respond. Lacey’s name lights up the screen, and I fight back a smile.
“When’s she coming back?” Vince asks, stirring sugar into his coffee.
“Tomorrow.” I aim for casual, missing the mark entirely. “Photoshoot for People, some interviews.”
“Busy schedule,” Cass notes, giving me a knowing look.
“Rachel and Emily are making sure of that.” I run a hand through my hair, thinking about the packed itinerary. “Magazine spread, radio interviews, and more...”
“Sounds exhausting,” Vince says.
It is exhausting, I think to myself, but not because of the schedule. What’s exhausting is pretending my heart doesn’t race every time her name pops up on my phone, acting like I’m not counting the hours until she’s back, and pretending this is just business when it’s becoming anything but.
My phone buzzes again.
Lacey: ‘ Rachel just sent over the coming schedule. Is she trying to kill us?’
Me: ‘ Pretty sure that’s her goal. You okay with it all?’
Lacey: ‘ As long as there’s coffee. Lots of coffee.’
Me: ‘ I’ll stock up.’
I can picture her smile as she types, and I can hear her voice in my head. It’s becoming harder to remember why we need to keep our distance and why we can’t explore whatever this is between us.
But then I remember: Six months. That’s all this is supposed to be. Six months of carefully orchestrated appearances, of playing the perfect couple, of ensuring her company image. And by now, it’s really only five more months and then...
Cass claps his hands together. “Alright, let’s run that bridge again before we call it. Nate, give us something bigger on the roll into the chorus.”
I grip my sticks tighter and nod. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
The arrivals terminal at JIA is crowded, even for a Thursday afternoon. I adjust my baseball cap lower, grateful for the dark sunglasses that help me blend in with the other people waiting. The last thing we need is to cause a scene.
My phone vibrates.
Lacey: ‘Just landed. Getting my bag now.’
Me: ‘ Near the coffee shop. Baseball cap, black jacket.’
Lacey: ‘ Very incognito. Should I pretend not to know you?’
I smile to myself, scanning the crowd. She spots me and changes direction, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of her. Even in simple clothes, hair messy from the flight, she’s dangerous to my peace of mind. The oversized sweater slips off one shoulder, revealing a strip of skin that I force myself not to stare at. She looks nothing like a glamorous actress from Hollywood, but somehow, this version of her is even more dangerous to my peace of mind.
“Hey, stranger,” she softly says when she reaches me, and my heart does that familiar rapid beat.
“Hey, yourself.” I take her bag, letting my hand brush hers. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
We make our way to the parking garage, maintaining a careful distance. A few people glance our way, but no one seems to recognize us. It’s not until we’re in my Audi RS7 that we both relax.
“That wasn’t so bad,” she says, sinking into the passenger seat.
“Emily says the movie premier photos are still going strong. Fans are getting curious.”
She turns to look at me. “Are you okay with that? The attention’s only going to get worse.”
I pull out of the parking spot, considering. “I signed up for this, didn’t I? Just five more months of being America’s favorite new couple.”
Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before I can identify it. “Right.”
The drive back is quiet at first, comfortable in a way that makes my chest tighten. Lacey sits quietly beside me, watching the scenery. It’s so domestic, so natural, I almost want to lean over and pull her closer.
“Rachel wants us to practice for the interviews,” she says eventually. “She wants us to make sure our story is consistent.”
“It sounds like everyone is curious about our love story. The speculation doesn’t seem to be slowing.” The words taste bitter.
“Yeah.” She looks out the window. “They’re all caught up in the romance. You know—boy meets girl. Instant connection. Whirlwind romance.”
“Right.” I change lanes, maybe a little too aggressively. “Much better than couples’ managers arranging fake engagement to save their reputations.’
She’s quiet for a long moment. “Nate...”
“Sorry.” I exhale slowly. “Long day at practice.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Yes. No. I want to talk about how much I hate pretending. How greeting her at the airport feels right in a way I can’t explain. How suddenly our fake engagement timeline is starting to feel both too long and not long enough.
Instead, I say, “Nothing to talk about. Just tired.”
She nods, and we fall back into silence. But this time, it’s heavy with all the things we’re not saying, all the lines we’re not crossing.
As we pull into my driveway, she gives me a small smile. “Thanks for picking me up.”
The slight tension from the airport ride dissipates as soon as we cross the threshold. Lacey kicks off her shoes with a contented sigh, padding across the hardwood floors like she belongs here.
“God, it’s good to be back,” she says, and something warm unfurls in my chest at her words. “Mind if I unpack my suitcase first?”
“Make yourself at home.” I mean it more than I should.
While she’s upstairs, I order from a Thai place I like—she let it slip in a text that she loves Thai food.
When she comes back down, I have to remind myself not to stare. But it’s not just about attraction—though there’s plenty of that. It’s about how right she looks in my space, curled up on my couch with her feet tucked under her.
“Food’s on the way,” I tell her, settling into the adjacent armchair. “Thai Palace.”
Her face lights up. “You remembered.”
“Hard to forget when you raved about loving Pad Thai for three days texting.”
She throws a throw pillow at me, laughing. “Pad Thai is my favorite!”
The sound of her laughter fills the room, and I feel the last of the day’s tension melt away.
“Tell me about the new movie,” I say, genuinely interested. “How was filming?”
She launches into the story, animated and passionate, and I find myself leaning forward, drawn in by her enthusiasm. This is the real Lacey—the one who talks with her hands when she’s excited.
“It’s amazing. Though I wish I had a more complex character. You know, a princess with a dark past.” She leans forward, her eyes lighting up. “So different from my actual goody-two-shoes role the studio’s pushing. God, and working with Leo...” She rolls her eyes. “Let’s just say he’s living up to his diva reputation.”
“That bad?”
“Yesterday, he demanded we reset an entire scene because the lighting wasn’t capturing his essence.” She makes air quotes, nose wrinkling. “I’d kill for a role with actual substance. Something gritty, you know? If the company would let me pursue it.”
The food arrives, and we migrate to the kitchen. She hops onto the counter while I plate everything, and I try not to notice how her legs dangle and how the movement makes her shirt ride up slightly. When she steals food from my plate, her fingers brush mine, sending electricity dancing up my arm.
“Yeah, you probably make a terrible princess,” I tease, trying to distract myself from how her smile lights up the room. “Too much sass.”
She throws a napkin at me. “Hey, that’s why they hired me, because I can do sweet and innocent!” Her attempt at a demure expression lasts about two seconds before she’s laughing again.
We end up on the deck after dinner, the ocean breeze carrying away the Florida heat. Lacey’s curled up on one of the loungers, nursing a glass of wine, while I grab my bongos.
The rhythm flows easily from my hands, and I watch as she sways to it, her body moving in ways that make my throat tight. The wine has left a slight flush on her cheeks, and when she tilts her head back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, my rhythm falters for just a beat.
She closes her eyes, and I’m struck by how natural this feels. The percussion, the ocean, Lacey moving to my rhythm—it all blends into something that feels surprisingly good.
“I missed this place,” she admits, eyes still closed. “Being here. It’s like... everything else falls away.”
I know exactly what she means. Out there, we’re always performing—the rising star, the rockstar. But here? Here, we’re just us.
“Yeah,” I agree quietly, “I love it here.”
She opens her eyes, meeting mine with a soft smile that does dangerous things to my heart. But instead of fighting it tonight, I just let myself enjoy it. I let myself appreciate having her here, in this moment, without worrying about what it means or where it’s going.
The night stretches on, filled with easy conversation and comfortable silences. We talk about anything we want. Nothing is off limits—the band’s new songs, her upcoming projects, that weird documentary about penguins she’d like to watch. The bongos become a subtle backdrop to our conversation.
When she finally yawns and stands to head to bed, she pauses by my chair.
“Thanks for making this feel like my home away from home.”
When she leans down, maybe to kiss my cheek, I turn my head at the same moment. Our faces are suddenly inches apart, and the casual warmth of the evening ignites into something molten. Her breath catches, and I watch her pupils dilate in the dim light. Her scent surrounds me—wine, salt air, and something uniquely her that makes my hands itch to pull her closer.
For a heart-stopping moment, neither of us moves. The sound of the waves fades away, replaced by the thundering of my pulse. Her hand is braced on my shoulder, and I can feel the heat of it burning through my shirt.
We’re not fooling anyone, I realize. Whatever this is between us, it’s as real as the rhythm that drives every song I’ve ever played.
But tonight isn’t the night to cross that line—not with her family waiting to meet me tomorrow and with five months of the contract still ahead of us.
Lacey seems to come to the same conclusion. She straightens slowly, her hand sliding from my shoulder. “Goodnight, Nate,” she whispers, her voice a little unsteady.
“Goodnight, Lacey.”
I watch her disappear inside, my body humming with awareness of her. The ghost of her touch lingers on my skin like a brand, and I can still feel the heat radiating from her body, still smell the subtle scent of her skin. My fingers grip the arms of the chair, fighting the urge to follow her, to finish what that almost-kiss started.
The pretense of our arrangement feels paper-thin now, fragile as a spider web, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.
Every carefully constructed wall, every professional boundary, every rational reason for keeping my distance is crumbling beneath the weight of wanting her. Not just her body, though God knows that’s part of it, but all of her—her laugh, her mind, and her heart.
And that terrifies me more than any thrill of desire ever could. Because desire I could control. But this? This feels like falling without a safety net.