Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Gianna
“Let’s look at the bright side,” Audrey says, stepping over the button mess still scattered on my living room floor. “The messier things get, the better you operate.”
“Or we can look at the other bright side.” Astrid laughs from Audrey’s phone, which is propped against a box that Lucia had delivered to me this afternoon. “Drake Bennett is going to be one hell of a fuck.”
“Well, there’s that, too,” Audrey says with flushed cheeks.
I dip my brush into a blob of crimson paint and splatter it against the canvas.
Each droplet drips and runs down the white background in vivid streaks.
It reminds me of the energy buzzing through my body and the heat blooming in my chest. Not to mention the ache between my thighs.
It’s intense and exciting … and a bit worrisome from a practical standpoint.
But when have I ever been practical?
“You know, that setup looks like the makings of a serial killer documentary,” Astrid says, her voice momentarily cutting out.
Phone service is bad on the ranch, we’ve learned.
“Clear plastic sheets covering a corner of your living room. A drop cloth with red droplets. Your art could pass as blood play. It’s very … Dexter of you.”
I lean back and take in the impromptu studio. It was unintentional, but it does look a little … violent.
“So what does this mean? I heard the show, but … are you really dating him?” Audrey asks, flopping on the couch. She curls her feet beneath her and sinks into the plush cushions.
“I saw the way Drake was looking at her,” Astrid says. “There’s nothing fake about it to him. I guarantee that.”
I bite back a smile, happy that my back is to my friends so they can’t see that Astrid’s commentary is kind of what I want to hear.
I’ll never date Drake—not really. He’s too traditional and jaded about what it means to be in love.
But the more I think about fake dating him for real, whatever that means, the more I like it.
There’s just one question that remains, and I can’t answer it. Or maybe I’m afraid to. What’s in this for him?
The question plagued me all afternoon and followed me into the evening.
When most guys want to date me, I know exactly what they’re after, and I’m more than happy to deliver.
Honestly, I’m usually in it for the same reasons.
But with Drake, I’m not sure what he wants to get out of this aside from the obvious: ratings.
“He’s clever,” I say, pushing the brush a little too hard against the canvas.
“He said on air that he wants to prove that my approach to relationships is wrong because I only date losers, essentially. But that’s to my benefit.
My show will reap those rewards. The only benefit that I can see him getting out of this is numbers.
His stats this week will be incredible. He’s tapping into a new demographic because my podcast is basically a free hunting ground for him.
And when we’re neck and neck for the Thursday slot, I have to assume that’s his takeaway. ”
“Wow. I didn’t think of it like that,” Astrid says.
“Me either,” Audrey says, sighing.
I add some yellow paint to my used egg carton and dab my brush into it.
Today has been a roller coaster of emotions, and I haven’t had time to sort it all out.
Every high was chased by a low, only to be followed by another high.
It’s exhausting, even for me as someone who admittedly loves drama.
I had to turn off my phone before I left the office.
Incessant calls, constant text alerts, ceaseless chirps notifying me of Social comments and messages.
It was all too much—especially since I don’t know what to say for once.
“Playing devil’s advocate here. What would you say if he isn’t doing it just for ratings?” Audrey asks. “How would you feel about that?”
I switch back to the red paint. “It would depend on what his objective is, I guess. Is he just wanting to have fun? Great. There are a million ways in which I can imagine fun with that man. Is he looking at it like a science experiment? That’s …
not as fun.” I study the art in front of me.
“Either way, I don’t think he’s being exploitative. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“Are you going to go on dates?” Astrid asks. “Have you talked to him?”
“He said he’d text me before he left, but that was the last that I’ve heard from him. I guess we’ll go on dates. How serious is he about that? Are we monogamous for the next month and a half? Is that even necessary?” I shrug because I simply don’t know.
Audrey glances at my phone on the coffee table. “Your phone is off. Do you know that?”
“Yup.”
“Well, you can’t hear from him if you literally can’t hear from him.” She giggles.
I just need a little time to get my thoughts together before I deal with Drake.
Astrid groans. “I wish I were in Nashville. I should be there with you guys.”
“When are you guys coming back to town?” I ask, creating an arch with the brush over a yellow blob.
“We’ll be back in January for the rugby season,” Astrid says. “But we do have a few meetings up there soon, so we’ll make a long weekend out of it so I can spend some time with you guys.”
“You can stay with me,” I say, etching a few trees into the paint with the back of my brush. “I have three extra bedrooms. Tell Gray to bring his cowboy brother. He can share my room with me.”
“You’d kill Hartley, Gianna,” Astrid says, laughing.
I laugh, too. “I’d be sure that he went out with a smile.”
“You’d better clear that with your new boyfriend.” Audrey picks up her phone.
“Hey, where are you taking me?” Astrid asks.
I look over my shoulder as Audrey props Astrid against a pillow on the couch. Then she reaches for the box Lucia sent. I told Audrey to open it earlier, but Astrid called, and we got distracted.
“Why do you have a proofing basket?” Audrey asks, pulling things from the container. There’s a basket, a couple of oddly shaped tools, and what looks like bonnets. “Are you into baking all of a sudden?”
“What the hell is that stuff?”
“This is a proofing basket for sourdough,” she says. “These are liners and covers for it. You have a scoring lame, a dough whisk, and a bowl scraper.”
I wrinkle my nose and set the egg tray on a bench I carried in from the garage. “I thought bread making was supposed to be easy.”
“I’ve been baking bread for Gray.” Astrid beams. “I did a cherry chocolate chip loaf the other day. And I did a pistachio brown sugar loaf for Hartley. He said it was the best bread that he’s ever eaten.”
A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. “If he wants to eat, I can help him out with that.”
“Gianna,” Audrey says.
“I meant sourdough, Auddie.” I unfasten my overalls and let them fall to the floor. “I swear.”
“Oh, that’s cute,” Astrid says. “What are you wearing?”
“This outfit is brought to you by my friend insomnia.” I dance in a little circle, showing off my chocolate-brown shorts and tank to my friends. “It’s so comfortable, and I think it was like fifteen dollars because I did get it on sale.”
Audrey frowns. “I wish my insomnia purchases were that cheap.”
As soon as she says it, regret sweeps across her features. Astrid and I exchange a look. If Audrey is making impulse purchases, something’s amiss. That especially worries me, considering how down she’s been lately.
I move Astrid back to the coffee table, and then I sit next to Audrey.
“Are you okay?” Astrid asks her.
Audrey plays with the end of the ribbon in her hair, looking anywhere but at us. Her big blue eyes are foggy, as if she’s holding back tears. I reach for her hand and squeeze it.
“What’s going on?” I ask softly.
“I almost bought a ticket to Boston the other night,” she says. “And then I remembered that it’s different now, so I bought a new pair of running shoes that I don’t need.”
“New shoes are never a bad decision,” I say, trying to bring some levity into the conversation.
Audrey almost smiles.
Andrew, Audrey’s brother, lives in Boston and is best friends with the guy who broke her heart.
She’s avoided visiting Andrew for weeks, and it’s killing her not to see him.
But she says she doesn’t know how to act around him and his friends, including Dipshit, and that she needs time to come to terms with reality.
Which—fair. But the cloudiness in her eyes just about breaks my heart.
“I feel so … boring,” Audrey says as a single tear streaks down her face. “I’m a dud.”
“That is so not true,” Astrid says.
“If you’re a dud, what’s that make me?” I ask, pulling her into a quick hug.
“You’re beautiful. You’re sweet. You have a literal doctorate.
There’s never a moment when you don’t know the right thing to say, you know what fork to use in fancy restaurants, and there’s not a person on earth who could say a bad thing about you. ”
She pulls away, running her fingers beneath her eyes. “You have to say that. You’re my best friend.”
“True,” I say. “But that doesn’t make it a lie.”
“I don’t know anything, really,” she says. “Sure, I know what fork to use. Good for me. I don’t know how to talk to men. I can’t flirt. I’ve had sex with one guy, and I have no idea how to give a blow job—and there’s no way to fix any of it.”
“I’ll set you up with some porn, and that’ll fix the blow job issue.” I grin as her jaw drops to her lap. “I’m teasing you. Don’t look so horrified.”
“See? I’ve never watched porn. The thought of watching two people have sex makes me so nervous. It feels … illegal.”
“Well, it’s not. In this state, at least. And it can be so hot to watch people get it on. It’s a fetish for some. I was at this party once and—”
“Before you start watching porn with Gianna, really think about this, Auddie,” Astrid says, side-eyeing me. “You don’t want to change who you are to try to attract a guy.”
I point at Astrid. “You just missed out on a great story.”
“I have no doubt,” she says, grinning.
“But she’s right,” I say, turning to our friend.
“If you want to try new things because you’re interested, then I’ve got you.
But there’s nothing wrong with you the way you are, and there’s nothing wrong with embracing that.
If a guy doesn’t want you like this, fuck him—literally or figuratively. It’s up to you.”
Audrey gives me a sheepish smile. “Anyway, is there any news about the hall tree?”
I hate leaving this conversation the way it stands. Audrey losing her self-confidence because of some asshole from Boston is asinine, and I want to be sure she understands that. But this is the most she’s opened up to Astrid and me about this, and I don’t want to push.
Well, I want to push, but I won’t. We’ll go at her pace, even if it’s slow as molasses.
I groan. “Coat Tree Woman has issues. She messages me four or five times a day. I finally quit opening them, but I think that makes her even madder because the messages came in faster after that.”
Astrid’s head whips to the side, her cheeks pinking immediately. “Don’t you dare come in front of this phone. I’m talking to Auddie and Gianna.”
“Hi, Gray,” Audrey calls out.
“Hey.”
“Bring our friend back, asshole,” I say.
“She’s mine now,” Gray says. “Deal with it.”
I laugh. “Keep talking shit. I still have my Taser, you know.”
“You and that fucking Taser.” He chuckles.
“I gotta go,” Astrid says, giggling. “Keep me posted on the Drake situation, Gianna. Love you, Audrey. Call me anytime.”
We say our goodbyes before she disappears from Audrey’s phone screen.
The house grows quiet. Audrey leans her head back against the couch and closes her eyes.
I want to be pissed at Dipshit—I am pissed at Dipshit—but I doubt he knows that he broke Audrey’s heart.
I hope not, anyway. Because I can’t imagine anyone hurting this girl, destroying her self-esteem, and being okay with it.
And I really don’t want to go to prison.
I consider turning on my phone but decide against it. Even though I’m dying to know if Drake has texted me, I want to wrap my head around this situation before I respond.
“Date me for six weeks. We can document it here for your fans. It’ll help your ratings if nothing else. You can think of it as an experiment to make you a better podcaster.”
“You want to fake date me to get our ratings up?”
“No. I want to date you for real to prove that your one-size-fits-all approach to relationships doesn’t work.”
A coy smile spreads across my face. If he’s being honest and really wants to do this, I can have some fun with it. With him.
Heat spreads through my belly and into my core as I think of what this experiment might entail. I’ve always told myself that Drake was best kept in my dreams, but that was to protect the sanctity of the workplace. If it’s to benefit the workplace …
It’s not like I’m actually going to fall in love with him.
So, what could possibly go wrong?