8. Connor
CONNOR
Eddy’s is packed, like always. There’s a steady hum of chatter, the occasional crash of pool balls, and shrill laughter slicing through the air.
I’ve spent many a Friday night here with Caroline, Wells, and a beer, shooting the shit and people-watching.
Eddy’s is a vibrant, living thing that usually captures all my attention.
But only one thing has my attention tonight.
Delaney leans against the wall by the back door, turned just enough so all I can see is her profile, brow furrowed, lips drawn in a hard line. Even with a sour expression, she’s so beautiful it hurts.
And that damn slinky little black dress. Somehow both completely out of place and exactly right at the same time.
The perfect explanation of her.
Whoever she’s talking to is clearly pissing her off, though that doesn’t narrow the list. She wears her anger like a badge of honor, but, contrary to what she thinks, I know her well enough to see it for what it is.
Armor.
As if a thick layer of ire will keep her safe from whatever the world throws her way.
She shifts, and I can see her temper flare. I bite back a laugh at the thought of whatever poor sucker is on the other end of the line.
“Earth to Connor.” Caroline’s wild waving brings me back to the booth. “I asked about the choir trip. Does Delaney know that you’re going?”
Wells grunts beside me, taking a long sip of his water. “Why would you volunteer to chaperone one of Mrs. Crane’s trips?”
Before I can answer, Caroline shoots Wells a look, glancing from me to the back wall, where Delaney is still deep in conversation.
“Hmm, yes. Why indeed, Wells? Definitely has nothing to do with a certain neighbor-turned-pop-star-turned-coworker who will most certainly be going on the trip.”
I hold my hands up innocently. “Hey, I went last year, too. It has nothing to do with Lanie.”
I glance back her way just as she shoves her phone into her bag. She stalks towards us, eyes locked on mine. Frustration lines her features, and she chews on her bottom lip as she crosses the bar.
Delaney slides back into the booth and drains the rest of her drink in one gulp before reaching across the table to do the same with my beer.
Those eyes, the ones that have haunted so many of my dreams, lock onto mine again.
“That was my dad,” she says. “And my publicist. And they, uh… they have an idea.” She grimaces, like the thought of it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.
Caroline turns towards her, giving her arm a squeeze. With a soft smile, she asks, “What’s the plan? Anything we can help with?”
“Yeah, actually, uh… fuck,” Delaney shakes her head, anxiety rolling off her in waves.
This worried, quiet side of her is unnerving. Anger I can deal with. I’ve sat through my fair share of her temper tantrums, most of them tied to an argument with her dad. But when my fearless girl is anxious… something is really bothering her.
She flags down our waitress for another drink while the rest of us sit in rapt silence, waiting for whatever bomb she’s about to drop.
Slapping her hands on the table, she finally lets it out.
“Fuck, okay, here’s the deal. Connor, you know how Rutledge took those pictures of you and me on Monday?
Well, my team sent them over to Star Power, and I guess they’ve cooked up this whole story about how I’ve reunited with my long-lost boyfriend and that’s the real reason I came home.
And apparently the story has really taken off, and now–” she pauses to take a long sip of her fresh beer before she continues on, “My PR team wants us to pretend we’re dating. ”
I blink, trying to process.
Pretend we’re dating.
A thousand thoughts rush through my head, like how much this sounds like torture, and not for the reasons she’s probably thinking.
She rushes to add, “We’ll pay you, obviously.
You won’t have to keep driving for Uber, so that’s a plus, at least.” The weak smile she gives me stings, like she thinks helping her would be some kind of burden.
“My team is sending an NDA, and–shit–” she glances around the table, “I guess I’ll need to get you two to sign one, too. ”
Wells breaks his stoic silence, “I’ll sign it, but it seems unnecessary.”
Caroline mimes locking her lips and tossing away the key. “Mums the word!” While her words are cheerful and light, she gives me a look from across the table that says, Holy shit, are you sure you’re down for this?
And I love her for it, a true friend through and through.
But I also know there’s no way in hell I’d ever tell Delaney James no.
“You don’t have to pay me,” I say simply, stealing a sip from her beer. “Of course I’ll do it.”
I scrub a hand over my face, a pit forming in my stomach as I consider what this will actually entail. I’m not exactly built for the limelight. The thought of my face plastered across gossip sites and grocery store tabloids doesn’t thrill me.
But a real, genuine, honest-to-God smile breaks across Delaney’s formerly worried face, and that pit disappears.
“Thank you so much, Connor. I know it’s so dumb. I fucking hate all these stupid games. But…” She shrugs, “it is what it is.”
That small shrug feels like a dagger to my chest. So defiant with everyone else, yet so utterly defeated when it comes to her career.
She soldiers on, answering some of the questions swirling in my mind. “We should only have to do it for a few months. Pictures, a leaked video of us on a date, that kind of thing, then let it fizzle out. I just need a feel-good, down-home story floating around me for a little while.”
Now it’s my turn to shrug. “No big deal. You might not remember this, but I’m a fabulous actor. Really should’ve pursued the theater.” I say with a flourish and ridiculous accent, desperate to win myself another smile.
It works.
She beams at me. “Always coming to my rescue, Connor Majors. How will I ever repay you?”
I can think of a handful of ways, none of which I’d ever say out loud. I shove those thoughts down.
“Anything for you, Lanie Lou.” I say, sneaking in her old nickname under my breath.
Caroline’s eyes bulge a little as she stares over my shoulder towards the door. “Well, get ready to prove it, Connor. Because I spy a very out-of-place man with a camera, and I’d bet my crappy teacher’s salary that he’s paparazzi.”
“Oh, I was born ready,” I say, digging up confidence to replace the apprehension that’s starting to build.
I slide out of the booth and take two sure steps to Delaney’s side, pulling her up beside me. Draping my arm around her narrow shoulders, I guide her straight into the lion’s den.
I lean in, lips just touching the tip of her ear.
“It’s showtime, baby.”
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
In keeping with my Saturday morning tradition, I’m sitting on my back deck, coffee in hand, enjoying the sunrise.
Teaching has forever ruined my ability to sleep in, but I don’t mind when the view is this good.
The deck looks out over the apple orchard and, beyond that, the rolling hills this part of Tennessee is known for.
The land has been in my family for nearly a century.
When my dad needed to step back, he asked me to take over most of the management of the orchard. A simple task in theory, but in practice, it’s been a bitch and a half to keep up with.
Still, as much as this place exhausts me, the rows and rows of trees are gorgeous, and the view pairs well with my morning cup of coffee.
It doesn’t pair quite as well with the glow of my laptop screen as I analyze the contract Delaney’s team sent over.
This thing is nothing if not thorough.
The exact number of pictures of us together and what kind, the details of three staged dates for paparazzi to capture, an amicable breakup by Christmas, it’s all there.
All there, and all wrong.
I scratch at my weekend stubble, a nervous habit, and read the contract top to bottom one more time, as if this time I’ll come to my senses and decline.
But I know I won't. After years of disappointing her, ignoring her calls and visits for the sake of my own heart, I can’t let her down now. Not when avoiding her made no difference anyway.
I’m just as in love with her today as I was the day she left.
A figure running past the tree line brings me back to reality. Delaney, out for a jog, with no regard to our property line, as per usual.
Shaking my head, I down what’s left of my coffee and head inside for my running shoes. I tell myself I was always planning on going for a run this morning, that my sudden urgency has nothing to do with a certain bleached blonde running laps through my trees.
That lie sits heavy in my chest as I jog off the deck and into the orchard.
It doesn’t take long for me to find her between the trees. I take her in as she rounds the corner and heads straight for me.
She’s tanned and toned, in a way that only fame and fortune allows. She’s wearing one of those fancy sports bras that criss-cross every which way, the tiniest pair of running shorts, and running shoes that probably cost half my paycheck.
But her high ponytail swinging behind her shows signs of the girl I grew up with. Her darker roots are starting to show, and a few loose strands of her hair cling to her face.
A little bit messy in the best way.
She notices me, and I reluctantly settle my gaze on her face.
“Hey, girlfriend,” I tease as she pulls out her earbuds. “Whatcha listening to?”
“Angry music.” She answers flatly, crossing her arms just under her chest. The action does good things to her breasts, and bad things to my inner thoughts.
“Hmm.” I force my focus back to where it belongs. “Wanna talk about it?”
Delaney sighs, “Just the same old, same old. Nothing to say, really.” Her shoulders sag in a way that breaks my heart.
“Okay,” I say slowly, a grin creeping onto my face. “Wanna race?”
She laughs, “Connor, not this again. We’re not gonna chase each other around in the apple orchard like we’re kids.”
I stretch an arm overhead, and I catch her eyes moving over me for a moment before she quickly looks back to my face. “You’re just scared you’re gonna lose.”
Delaney laughs again, deeper this time. Truer. And damn if it doesn’t make my heart soar. “Of course I’m gonna lose, Marathon Man! The odds are not in my favor.”
“All I’m hearing are excuses, Delaney. Just a sprint, I bet you can beat me in a sprint.” I gesture to the far edge of the tree line, back towards her property line. “From here to there.”
Her competitive nature flares. I see it in a spark in her eyes, a glimpse of the girl who used to turn everything into a competition.
She puffs out her chest. “Fine. But what do I win if I beat you?”
“Is being your fake boyfriend not enough for you?” I ask with a laugh.
“Definitely not.” She gives me a playful shove, then stretches out her calves. “If I win, you’ll make me supper tonight. I’m sick of bagged salads and rotisserie chicken.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Delaney. Please tell me you’ve learned to cook.”
She shrugs. “Never needed to. I have a team for that. Now I’m stuck in bumfuck nowhere, alone in that stupid house with no staff.” She cuts her eyes towards her family home, and the familiar mask of anger falls over her face again. “And I’m fucking hungry.”
“Okay, fair enough,” I laugh, “I’ll cook tonight if you beat me. And if I win…” I pause, weighing how far to take this.
Not that far, I decide.
“If I win, you have to come with me after school this week to help with track and field tryouts.”
Delaney scrunches her face. “Sounds sweaty and boring. I’m beating your ass for sure.”
And with that, she takes off for the edge of the orchard, ponytail swinging, arms pumping for all they’re worth, hauling ass as if she has a chance of losing.
As if watching her win isn't my favorite thing.
I ease into a steady pace to give chase but, as cute and talented as she is, Delaney James is not a fast runner. I’m basically speed-walking to avoid passing her.
I chuckle under my breath and pick it up just enough to make her victory feel earned.
She bursts through the treeline triumphantly, hands thrown in the air, me close on her heels. Chest heaving, she turns to me.
“I know you let me win, but I’m so desperate for a home-cooked meal, I’m not even mad at you.”
My chuckle grows to a full laugh, which earns me a swat across the chest.
She pouts, lips full and exaggerated. “You could have just volunteered to cook for me instead of making me run like a mad woman.”
“Nah, it’s more fun this way.” I shrug. “Besides, you needed the distraction. You and that angry music were ready to kill me when I walked up.”
Delaney huffs, lifting her chin. “You don’t know what I need.”
I shake my head. She’s insufferable.
“Damn it, Delaney, I’m just trying to be nice. But whatever. Enjoy your Saturday with that sour attitude. I’ll be over at seven to cook.”
She’s halfway gone when I call over my shoulder. “You didn’t turn into one of those L.A. vegans or anything, did you?”
She hollers, “No! But go easy on the gluten, it makes me bloated!”
She’s ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous.
But I guess, as I send off a signed contract to Delaney’s team an hour later, so am I.