Chapter Seven
DELILAH
I’ve been scrolling for the last fifteen minutes, and with every post, the strange, roiling sensation in my gut seems to get worse. I’m used to a small level of notoriety, nothing major, I mean this is just local cable, after all—but seeing thousands of people speculating over my possible sex life is…odd. Especially since the other person being discussed is someone I’ve never even seen naked; not for lack of imagination, of course. My brain can do some pretty amazing things with memories of a younger Ian shirtless by the pool. Current me has had a nice time also working into the mix the new knowledge of all his tattoos.
“So,” I say finally, drawing out the o as if the extra few seconds will force my brain to catch up to the situation. “Everyone thinks Ian and I are…together?”
“They’re speculating,” Gia corrects.
I frown. “Right, I can see that.”
“You sure you didn’t plan that spoon bit?”
I twist my neck to glare at Ava, who is shrugging from the corner of Gia’s already-crowded office. “No. It wasn’t even a thing! It’s nothing that hasn’t happened a million times before with cooking duos.”
“Right,” Theo snorts. “Except the duo in question is hot.”
“You’re not helping,” I hiss.
Ben clears his throat from the edge of Gia’s desk, where he’s been contemplating quietly in between stolen glances at my agent. “Like I was saying, Delilah,” he starts, “this could be a good opportunity.”
“Yeah, you said that, but I don’t even know what that means.” I throw up my hands. “What exactly are you asking me to do here?”
“We’re not asking you to do anything,” Gia stresses carefully. “We would never ask you to do anything with your personal life for the sake of views.”
“Oh, but she could strongly advise it,” Theo snorts.
Gia’s eyes narrow as she shoots Theo a withering look, masking it quickly as she gives me a—what I assume is—pacifying smile. “All we’re saying is that we have an opportunity to capitalize on the buzz this is getting.”
“I have yet to hear anyone spell out what sort of opportunity is not being suggested,” I sigh.
Ben taps his fingertips together like some sort of anxious cartoon character. “All we’re suggesting is that it might be beneficial for you not to…quell these speculations.”
“Like, you’re saying I don’t deny it.”
Ben nods. “You don’t have to officially address anything.”
“So, what, you just want me to pretend to be dating Ian?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Ben assures me. “All we’re saying is”—he glances at Gia, who gives him an encouraging look like a parent encouraging a toddler to admit they did something wrong—“that you could let them continue.”
“And how would I do that? We already released the episode.”
“And it was the highest-viewed episode in a long time,” Gia points out.
I like Gia, I really do, but she could be a little less subtle.
“I understand that,” I say slowly. “But that still doesn’t give me any sort of opportunity to improvise another apparently sexy spoon-feeding.”
“You and Ian are friends, right?” Ben pipes up with enthusiasm. “Surely it wouldn’t be a struggle to just…spend time together.”
“Spend time together,” I parrot.
“Out in the open,” Gia tacks on.
I can feel the frown tugging at my lips; sure, it’s entirely possible that Ian and I would spend time together at some point, especially since he’s living with my brother—but since I just resolved to put a little friendly distance between the two of us, this feels a bit like cosmic irony.
“What does Ian think about this?”
“I’ve spoken to the team’s PR manager,” Ben says. “Ian is completely on board as long as you are.”
I feel a faint flutter in my stomach at this news. I know that Ian is probably looking at this from a PR standpoint only, and that he’s most likely assuming that it will be a piece of cake to hang out with his best friend’s kid sister like old times, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get all squirmy anyway, thinking about him agreeing to be in any sort of romantic rumor mill regarding me.
“I’m sure he is,” Theo grumbles. “With the way the internet is still hounding him about the fiasco with his ex, I’m sure he’s chomping at the bit for a way to take the heat off.”
I feel my pulse skyrocket, a rush of blood in my ears as a weird urge to fight the entire internet washes over me. “Are you saying this could help him with that?”
Theo gives me a look, one that I don’t want to analyze in the slightest because it’s probably laced with sarcastic disapproval. “It’s something positive attached to his name. People are really into the idea of there possibly being something between the two of you considering your history, so I’m sure Ian and his team are happy to further any sort of discussion that doesn’t surround him or his past.”
I consider that, my hands twisting in my lap. It’s completely idiotic to entertain this, given that my not-so-dormant crush is still hanging around—hell, it’s practically a stage-five clinger—but I’ve never been very good at saying no to Ian. Even when he’s not outright asking me to do anything, apparently.
Who am I kidding? If Ian were standing here right now, asking me to help him out, I would throw away every single worry I had in regard to my own feelings and dive in headfirst.
And that’s definitely an issue I need to look deeper at, I think.
“Can I think about it?”
Gia purses her lips. “We’ll want to jump on this pretty quickly. The internet has a short attention span. Something else could come along and make this old news.”
“Of course she can think about it,” Theo practically growls, like a mama bear. “You’re kind of asking her to rearrange her whole personal life for God knows how long—”
“Just until the start of the new season,” Ben corrects. “A month or so at most.”
Theo’s nose wrinkles in distaste, and I know it’s taking everything he has not to be rude to Ben; he’s probably only keeping himself in check because everyone in this room and, hell, probably this city, knows that Ben has a crush on Theo, and Theo isn’t as mean as he’d like people to think he is.
“Still,” Theo goes on tightly. “She can have a fucking day to think about it.”
Gia taps her manicured nails along the top of her desk, sighing. “Look, Dee, you know we would never even suggest something like this if we didn’t think it could be helpful to you and the show. We all know how the numbers have been…” She trails off, but the implication is clear. She shrugs lightly. “We just don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
I know she’s right, and if it were any other man with any other connection to me—it would be a no-brainer. But it’s not. It’s Ian, leading role to every teenage fantasy I had before I even knew what to do with them. Hell, pretty sure Ian led to my first attempts at masturbation. It’s a wonder I can even look the guy in the eye.
“Give me the night,” I say, inserting every bit of confidence I don’t feel into my voice. “I’ll talk to Ian, and I’ll give you an answer in the morning.”
Ben nods eagerly. “Of course. Yes. Think it over. You can get back to us in the morning.”
Ben and Gia begin murmuring back and forth, and Ava comes up from her little place in the corner to pat my shoulder. “You sure about this?”
“Doubtful,” Theo huffs.
I shake my head. “Not really. But I have to consider it, right?”
“Fuck that,” Ava says lowly, so that just the three of us can hear. “Don’t let the network pressure you into anything.”
I chew at the inside of my lip, finally taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. “I need to talk to Ian.”
Ava looks sympathetic, and I sort of wish I’d never even mentioned my pathetic crush. Theo just looks disgruntled, but that’s sort of his baseline.
I pull out my phone to send off a text to Ian before I can lose my nerve, surprised to find one already waiting for me.
IAN: Can we talk?
So much for one-on-one being off-limits.
I tell Ian to meet me at the same café we went to last time, thinking that the bustle of it will be a nice buffer for the awkward conversation that surely awaits us. Especially now that I apparently have to be looking over my shoulder, worrying about the possibility of someone snapping a photo of us together and analyzing it to death.
Of course, this would be the one day, the one hour, that the place is totally dead.
Ian is already sitting at one of the little tables in the corner when I come in, his head tipping up from where he’d been scrolling on his phone to watch as I step through the door. His thick, red hair is pulled back in a half bun that has no business being so fucking attractive, and I swear to God, when he tucks a piece of it that’s escaped behind his ear just before giving me a little wave—my stomach twists up like a balloon animal.
I summon every bit of confidence I possess as I move across the startlingly empty café to join him at the small table, trying not to greedily take in his bare arms and their shaded grays and sharp-lined blacks. No long sleeves today, because that would just be too easy on my poor nerves—no, Ian has opted for a worn green denim jacket that is slung over the back of his chair. I can tell just by looking at it that it looks amazing on him, that it goes great with his hair. I’m torn between wanting him to put it on so I can see him in it and hoping it stays right where it is.
“Hey,” Ian says, almost shyly, which isn’t like him at all. “Thanks for coming.”
I can’t help it, a laugh tumbles out of me. “?‘Thanks for coming’? You sound like you’re about to break up with me or something.”
“Fuck,” he says with a chuffed laugh of his own. “This is really weird.”
“Agreed.”
“Did you read any of the, ah, posts?”
“Yep. Loved the one that had a poll on how long it would take you to put a bun in my oven. Very on topic.” Ian’s eyes bulge, and for a second, he looks a little pale, and I laugh harder without meaning to. “If we’re even going to think about agreeing to all this bullshit, we’ll need to learn to laugh about it.”
He scrubs a hand down his face. “Yeah, well, you didn’t just come from a stern discussion with your brother.”
“Oh shit. How did that go?”
“Can you imagine Jack giving anyone the ‘hurt my sister, and I’ll kill you’ talk?”
“He didn’t.”
“He sure as fuck tried.”
My laugh sounds more like a snort now. “He didn’t even do that with Etienne, and he hated that guy.”
“Yeah, well, apparently our history makes the idea of”—he looks lost for a second, frowning, finally gesturing between us vaguely—“this even more wrong.”
I have to will my face not to scrunch up. I love my brother, but he is a total cock block. Granted, he doesn’t know this is a cock I might not want blocked, but still. Not that it matters anyway, since Ian looks like he kind of wants to die just talking about this.
“So I guess you got the same spiel as I did about this being good publicity?”
Ian nods. “Anything to get people not talking about me and my bullshit, apparently.”
His tone sounds almost defeated, and it takes all I have not to reach across the table and grab his hand if only to try to comfort him. I’ve done my best over the years to avoid the gossip about Ian, and suddenly, I’m wondering if that would have been time better spent on a burner account kicking social media ass on his behalf.
“Well,” I say, my voice teasing, “I could always take out the naysayers.” I punch my open palm. “Handle the problem.”
“No,” he snorts. “I know how you ‘handle problems.’?”
“If you’re talking about Kevin Powers—they never proved it was me.”
He arches a brow. “Are you saying you didn’t put a dead fish in his duffel bag?”
“He fractured your collarbone!”
“During practice! It’s hockey,” he laughs. “People get hurt.”
“Yeah, well,” I grumble. “He was always too rough with you.”
“His jersey smelled like fish for weeks.”
“Well, whoever put that fish in his bag was probably justified.”
That forlorn expression is gone now, and in its place is a warm smile that I know too well. It’s half the reason I was so obsessed with him. It’s hard not to be, when he smiles like that.
“You made like three dozen cupcakes to cheer me up.”
“I was just trying new recipes,” I sniff. “It was totally coincidental.”
He arches a brow. “Oh, was it?”
“Okay, no,” I admit. “I was totally trying to cheer you up.”
“But then I threw up all over Bea’s rug. If I didn’t have the fracture, I think she would have whooped my ass.”
“No one told you to eat seven in one sitting, Cupcake.”
His grin widens, setting off a flurry of little flutters in my stomach.
“Well, I was very grateful that someone had my back,” he says softly.
I nod, feeling my cheeks heat. I don’t say that I’ll always have his back, because it sounds lame even in my head. I focus my attention on a bit of chipped nail polish on my thumb, going for casual. “So, what do you think?”
His brow cocks. “What do I think?”
“Yes. About all of this. Is this something you want to do?”
“It’s not just up to me, Lila, it’s up to you too.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked if it’s something you want to do.”
I don’t know if it’s my tone or my words that take him by surprise, but I can tell it does from the small part to his lips, the widening of his eyes. I watch a dozen emotions play across his face as he considers the question, finally looking resigned and somehow small despite his massive frame when his shoulders slump.
“I won’t lie to you and pretend it wouldn’t be nice not to hear about strangers picking apart all my bad decisions for once, but I mean it when I say it’s not just up to me. My team tells me that this could be good for you with views and all, and if that’s true, then yeah, I think it’s great that we could help each other out. But that being said, I would never want to push you into something you’re not comfortable doing. We haven’t really spent the sort of time together that we used to in a long while. We’re just getting our footing back in this friendship, and if you think this is too weird, then I will stand by that one hundred percent, our teams be damned. I’ll tell both of them to go fuck themselves before I let them pressure you.”
I feel stunned by his confession, and a little touched too. He looks so serious, so sure of himself that he would handle all of this if it’s not something I want. That is definitely the Ian I remember. He was always one breath away from diving into a problem headfirst if it meant making sure someone he cared about didn’t have to. It’s just one of the many reasons I was always so gone for him. Still, the mention of his own troubles and the buzz about his past tugs at my heartstrings.
I want to ask about it, want to in a way I have for years but have been too chickenshit to do so—but I keep my mouth shut instead, thinking. Logically, I know that agreeing to this farce wouldn’t actually require us to do much. Hanging out, being seen a little bit, teasing the public, as it were—it’s nothing. Or it should be nothing, if you don’t have complicated feelings for your partner in crime. And would it even work? Would anyone really care if Ian and I looked a little too friendly?
Movement catches my eye outside the window we’re sitting in front of, and I notice a couple of girls standing across the sidewalk, not-so-surreptitiously taking a picture of the pair of us with their phones. When they notice me watching, they both have the grace to look sheepish, quickly scuttling away.
Guess that answers that.
I blow out a breath. “I think we should do it.”
“What?”
“We should just do it.” I nod, trying to convince myself even as I’m speaking. “I mean, what’s it really going to mean? We hang out a little? Maybe I stand a little too close? Laugh at your dumb jokes a little too loudly?”
His eyes narrow. “I don’t have dumb jokes.”
“You barely have jokes at all anymore, from what I’ve seen,” I tease. “But when you did, I do remember them being kind of dumb.”
“Brat,” he huffs.
My stomach twists again.
You have no right to be turned on by that, I tell my nether region. Down, girl.
“I really don’t see what we have to lose,” I reason. “You get some good press, I get some buzz that will bump my views…Seems like a win-win.”
“It could work,” he muses, his gaze far away as he considers. “As long as I can manage not to do something to fuck it up.”
I do reach across the table to grab his hand then, sensing his melancholy, and the second my fingers touch his, his entire body flinches.
“You’re going to have to practice not being so jumpy, if we’re going to do this,” I chuckle. “You’re acting like you’ve never touched a girl before, Cupcake.”
I can see a spark of defiance in his eyes, an old flame of endless competitiveness that I doubt either of us ever really grew out of. He almost makes me jump when his hand grips mine tighter, his thumb making a slow sweep across my knuckles, and his teeth flash in triumph when I suck in a breath.
“Maybe you need practice,” he murmurs.
Memories of stupid dares and foot races and a dozen more childish things that used to fill our days flash through my mind, and I lean in, smirking. “You don’t want to play that game with me, Ian. You’ll lose.”
“Whatever,” he laughs, letting my hand slip from his and having no clue just how much I’m mourning the loss of it. “Nothing makes me uncomfortable. You’d tap out way before I did.”
I feel my lips curl, daydreams about paying Ian back a little for years of clueless feeding into my silly wants bouncing around in my head. Because one thing is for certain, I am not that little kid anymore. Ian has no idea who he’s dealing with.
“We’ll see,” I say with a sly grin.
He looks serious again. “So we’re really doing this?”
What the hell, I think. When will I ever have a chance to indulge in all my old fantasies like this? Maybe it will finally give teenage me some closure.
“Yeah,” I say with a nod. “I guess we are.”