Chapter 5
Sloane
“No. Nope. Absolutely not.” I shook my head, pocketing my phone while staring at Rhys.
Today was supposed to be uneventful.
Uneventful-ish.
After the last two days, I needed uneventful. Desperately.
Apparently, Rhys didn’t get the memo.
The tension I’d been carrying for the upcoming announcement of our relationship knotted every muscle in my back from the base of my spine to the nape of my neck, and the massage I got earlier did nothing but give me an hour without my phone.
I was supposed to head into the office after the massage, get a few hours of work done, come home, and enjoy a nice glass of expensive wine while the news of our new relationship dropped.
But instead, I’d been working from my phone all day, weaving in and out of sweaty men carrying boxes through my apartment, and the plans for our relationship announcement had changed at least seven times.
And there stood Rhys.
His Bandits hat turned backward, sweat stains forming a perfect ‘V’ down the front of his shirt, the thin material clinging to his heaving chest and showing just a peek of the tattoos and chain he wore underneath.
“Did you run here?” I asked, looking from him to the dog panting at his feet. “Never mind that. Still no.”
Rookie, Rhys’s slobbery, massive, hairball of a rescue dog, tipped his head to the side, his left ear quirking.
Rhys stared at me, Rookie’s leash in one hand, his mouth parted in surprise. “Sloane, come on!”
It’d been forty-eight hours since Rhys and I signed that PR contract.
I thought there would be a little more time to sort through all the jumbled thoughts in my brain, but alas.
Rhys had a home game tomorrow, and since his drug test did indeed come back negative, the higher-ups wanted everything sorted sooner rather than later.
The uneventful day I had planned was ruined entirely by Rhys moving his things into my once quiet, tranquil apartment, and now he stood here with a dog.
A dog.
And not just any dog.
A one hundred-and-fifteen-pound fluffy mixed breed with a line of drool hanging from his floppy, massive mouth.
And now, Cami was blowing up my phone again about our relationship leak.
At first, it was supposed to be just a simple post on social media. That’s it. Then Rhys decided that wasn’t good enough, and that people would just assume it was PR.
Never mind the fact that the fucking head of PR okayed it.
So then, it turned into a walk with Rookie. But Rhys argued there were hundreds of pictures of the two of us walking him, and no one ever suspected a thing.
My patience with the situation was wearing thin after the sixth video call about it before noon.
After going back and forth, Cami suggested something along the lines of a “soft launch.” We needed to be pictured doing something “domestic” together. Like stocking up our apartment after Rhys’s recent move, which was coincidentally being photographed today, too.
And already posted by some local gossip page.
Hence why I was also ignoring any and all calls from my family and Rhys’s. They’ve all seen them. They want to know why the hell he was moving in and if the rumors are true… and neither of us had addressed it.
That was a problem for another day.
An incoming text from Cami brought my mind back to the problem at hand.
Cami: Two hours until I need you together and cozy! You ready?
The ‘together’ part, Rhys and I could handle.
His movers would be done in forty-five minutes, and we would head to a home décor store in two hours to be photographed together while walking to and from the store.
The press part, Cami would handle.
She’d demanded a text exactly twelve minutes before we left our building, so she would have enough time to get someone there.
Just a simple picture of us holding hands or just… in very close proximity. Easy. That was easy. We stood close all the time.
But if it was so easy, why did my stomach feel as if it were being weighed down by a box of rocks at the thought of it?
The nervous sweats had definitely taken over, and I’d already changed my shirt twice today.
And now… Rhys was standing at my doorstep with his dog, trying to move him into my apartment.
Nope. Line = drawn.
He was supposed to be going to Lisa’s for the time being.
“Rhys, no. You are not moving that mutt into my apartment.”
I almost laughed. Rhys and Rookie both looked taken aback by my comment, but knowing him, it wasn’t because I wasn’t letting Rookie in.
“Don’t say mutt like that, like it’s some derogatory thing. He’s a mixed breed. And he’s wonderful.” He paused, looking at his feet. His words came out rushed.
“Andmymacan’ttakehimsohehastomoveinwithus.”
My eyes rolled. “Okay, sorry. I won’t use the ‘M’ word again. But what was that last part?”
Rhys looked down at Rookie and then back up to me. “My ma can’t take him.”
“Rhys!” I whined, drawing out his name dramatically, and adding in a few tiny foot stomps to really emphasize my point. “You know I love him, but he can’t live here! He sheds… everywhere. And you remember like three years ago when he peed on your couch?”
“It was three years ago, Pip,” he deadpanned, Rookie huffing next to him like he was annoyed I had the nerve to bring that up.
Living with Rhys was going to be hell, living with Rhys and his furry twin brother here? Worse.
A gentleman carrying two of Rhys’s boxes flushed as he walked between us, embarrassed to have been caught in the middle of this lovers’ quarrel.
Fuck. I knew determination when I saw it. I was going to have to live with a damn dog.
Rhys knew the moment I caved, even if I didn’t express it verbally. His shoulders immediately dropped, that signature shit-eating grin making its appearance, and he walked through the doorway like he owned the damn place, releasing Rookie’s leash to let him explore.
“You owe me,” I ground out through clenched teeth.
He winked, setting a slight flutter to life in my belly, then draped an arm over my shoulder. “Anything you want, my darling rose.”
Aaaaaaaand flutter gone. I scrunched my face in disgust at his poor attempt at a pet name and shoved him away. Though my push hardly did a thing.
He threw his head back with a laugh, walking past me and directing Rookie to his new room.
Welcome to Hell, Sloane.
***
After an hour of arguing with Rhys over which bedroom he was taking, Rookie had apparently settled it for us.
“For the last time. No! If you sleep in the room across from me, I’ll have to listen to you and that chainsaw snoring all night.” My arms folded over my chest in defiance. “By the way, you should really get that checked out. It’s probably from pet dander!”
Rhys rolled his eyes. “It’s not pet dander. You know, I don’t actually remember you being this crazy before law school. You used to have a heart. Being a lawyer has changed you.”
I scoffed, throwing my hands up dramatically. “I’ve changed? Hilarious coming from the theater kid turned coke-snorting man whore!”
He let out a laugh, shoving my shoulder gently. “No coke was snorted, and it was one play, Sloane. One. But I admit that was a good one.”
I bowed. “Thank you. I thought so, too.” Turning to walk toward the bedroom on the other side of my apartment, I pointed at the door. “Sleep here. Like you always do. It’s across the living room from my room. There should be enough distance between us.”
Rhys smirked, leaning his hip against the wall and crossing his arms. “Worried you won’t be able to resist me, girlfriend?”
My cheeks flamed. “I’m not—Jesus. No! I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about being able to sleep while you’re snoring loud enough to wake everyone in the fucking Harbor.”
He rolled his eyes again, and I bit back some snarky comment my mom or Lisa would’ve made about his eyes getting stuck like that.
“Rook is already settled.”
Sure enough, I walked over to where Rhys stood, and Rookie was curled up on the bed, his head resting on one of the pillows.
“Spoiled mutt,” I whispered under my breath, laughing as I narrowly escaped a slap on the arm from Rhys. “I need to call Zoey.”
Without waiting for a response, I stepped into my room and pushed the door shut behind me. I plopped onto my king-sized bed belly first, grumbling a string of obscenities into the fluffy white comforter before sitting up again.
I stared at the phone in my hand, dreading this conversation with my sister. She was going to laugh at me, without a doubt. I was absolutely never going to live this down.
But I needed someone outside of Rhys, Cami, and Dom to talk to about this. Cami saw it from a strictly professional perspective, and I didn't blame her. It was her job after all, but I needed someone unbiased and able to help me keep a clear head.
Statistically speaking, lines were easily blurred with relationships like this. I would not fall into the majority of that statistic. I couldn’t. No. Way.
The line rang twice before Zoey picked up. “Oh my god! Puh-lease tell me you’re calling with dirt on Rhys!”
The tension in my neck was slowly crawling to the base of my skull, a dull ache forming in my head. “I mean, I guess?” I let out a choppy breath. “Yes. Well, sort of.”
“Uh… Okay? Spill, please.”
“Are you alone?”
Zoey hesitated for a second. “Yes. Is it bad?”
The nervous sweats picked up once more. I pulled at the sleeves of my shirt, airing out my armpits. “Okay, don’t—You can’t laugh, Zo.”
“Oh, no.” I could already hear the amusement in her voice. “What did you do?”
After another shaky breath, I spent the next twenty minutes unloading on her while she sat silently on the other end. Or maybe she just muted herself so she could laugh without me overhearing. I’d never know.
But she listened, giving me the space to vent and fill her in on everything that had happened in the past seventy-two hours, from bailing Rhys out of jail to the meeting with PR.
I told her all about Rhys finding out I was no longer dating Stu, and finally…
About the two of us, our fake relationship.
And also about her being the only person in the loop.
And that she couldn’t tell a single soul.
Once I was finished, I took a deep breath and held it in my lungs, waiting for her response.
“So… let me get this straight. Rhys seemingly did coke… got caught… you paid to bail him out of jail, and now you’re dating him?”
“For appearances,” I reiterated. “We’re not actually dating. And his drug test came back negative. Just a… poorly timed photo.” She needed to understand that this was strictly a PR deal. Something to get his reputation back on track, and then we were done.
Zoey stayed silent on the other line before bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter. I groaned, throwing myself back against the bed.
“Zoey! You said you weren’t going to laugh!” I draped an arm over my face, hiding in the crook of my elbow.
“No. I. Didn’t!” She laughed, each word punctuated by a gasp for air. “You’re dating Rhys!”
“Fake dating!” I emphasized, which only made her laugh harder. I groaned again. “You know what? This was a mistake. I’m hanging up now!”
“No! No, wait!” It took her a second longer than I would’ve preferred to sober up, but I waited.
“It’s just—I mean, come on, Sloane. It’s funny!
You guys have spent all these years fighting the press, fighting our families, about being in a relationship, and now you’re doing it to help Rhys because he got caught with coke on a stripper’s ass. Like, come on. It’s funny!”
Admittedly… when you laid it all out like that… it was.
I chuckled, my arm slapping against the mattress as I stared up at the ceiling. “My god. What am I doing?” I asked.
Zoey must’ve known it was rhetorical; her end of the phone was silent as she let me work through this on my own.
She was good like that. Most big sisters were, I surmised. They would listen to you vent and moan about everything and nothing for years. Sooner or later, they started to know you better than you knew yourself.
“So, let me guess,” she said, shifting the phone in her hand. “I’m here to keep you grounded to reality?”
I sighed, a small but sad smile tugging at my lips.
“It’s just… I know the stats on this shit.
I know how it is. He’s gonna—” I gulped, this being the first time I’d admitted my reservations out loud, “—He’s gonna kiss me.
We’re going to hug and do all of the couple-y things.
I know how easily lines get blurred, and I don’t want this distorted version of reality to fuck me over in the end. ”
“Would that really be so bad?” she asked quietly, her voice small.
“Yes, Zo. It would be so bad. We don’t have feelings for each other. Rhys is just—He’s Rhys, I don’t know. We’re not compatible in that sense.”
She made a sound that suggested she wasn’t convinced, but dropped the subject. “Okay, well. Whatever you need, hun. I’m here.”
I felt like I could breathe again. Like this agreement with Rhys had trapped my lungs in a block of ice, and Zoey’s support melted it away with ease. A breath of relief shot out of me. “God, thank you.”
“Oh. You’re like… actually worried.”
“I—Well. No,” I replied, uncertainty lacing my words. “I just—I want to be safe.”
Was I actually worried? Was it even possible for feelings to develop after all these years?
Sure, Rhys was objectively attractive. Tall, muscular, broad, funny, charming.
He checked most of the boxes. But I was immune to that shit.
I knew everything about him—every nitty-gritty detail from the passcode on his phone to the crooked big toe on his left foot.
A sharp knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts, Rhys’s head poking through. “Did you tip the movers already?”
I shook my head to indicate that I hadn’t, and he disappeared through the doorway again. “I gotta run, Zo.”
“Well, if you find yourself falling in love with your best friend, you know where to find me.”
“If I’m calling you at that point, I think it’s too late for help.”
She laughed. “Maybe. But I’ll still have chocolate and wine.”
“I love you,” I smiled. “Call you later, okay?”