Chapter 6
Sloane
Easy.
Just one picture. Maybe two.
Rhys’s hand on my waist or maybe wrapped around mine while we did disgustingly couple-y things like returning a shopping cart together.
Easy. No problem.
“You look like you’re going to puke.”
I shifted in the passenger seat of Rhys’s Audi, clearing my throat. “I uh—I get carsick.”
“Since when?” he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.
“Since always,” I snapped, rolling my shoulders like I was preparing for battle as he pulled into the department store parking lot.
I knew he didn’t believe me; I’d never been carsick a day in my life.
But deflecting to get him off my back sounded a lot better than revealing I was on the verge of puking because soon everyone was going to know about my “relationship” with Rhys.
Stu would know.
And while I was sure Rhys’s presence would help with that, I was also scared of his retaliation. I wasn’t about to reveal that to Rhys, though.
A part of me wanted to believe that my anger was misplaced and Rhys didn’t deserve me snapping at him, but I also wouldn’t be in the position to ruin the lovely interior of his Audi if it weren’t for the idiot driving it.
Did he deserve a guilt trip every day for the entire six months? No. I had agreed to this after all, but I wasn’t done milking it quite yet.
He sighed, whipping his car into a parking spot and sinking into the leather seat. A hand came up to rake through his brunette hair before he turned slightly to look at me. “We don’t have to do this.”
Aside from seeing him in that jail cell, for the first time in a long time, I was seeing his confidence waver. It stung a little to know he didn’t actually think I’d be able to pull this off. Because when had I ever not come through for him?
But I shook off the hurt before reaching for the handle. “Let’s do this. I can do this.”
Rhys’s seatbelt came off before he leaned across, him and his cologne invading my space as he reached to pull my door shut. “Hold on.” He sat back in his seat, still turned in my direction. “Maybe we should’ve practiced before we left?”
I stared at him for a second, blinking twice. “Practiced?”
His cheeks flushed, his hand reaching up to palm the back of his neck. “I mean, we’ve never like… touched each other. Don’t you think you’re going to stiffen up or freak out if my hand is on your hip?”
“Uh—” Admittedly, I hadn’t thought about that. But also… “Why would you be touching my hip?”
Rhys’s body slumped against his seat in annoyance, his eyes rolling. “Pip, because that’s what people in relationships do! They touch each other. They interact on a more intimate level than we’re used to. And they don’t punch each other nearly as much,” he said pointedly.
“I know how relationships work, Rhys. I’ve been in several.”
His eyebrow quirked, and I resisted the urge to punch him right then.
“A few,” I amended, “I’ve been in a few. I don’t need an explanation. I can—We can hold hands. It’ll be fine.”
Rhys’s eyes stayed locked on mine for a second, his chest moving with quick, shallow breaths.
Before I could ask what was wrong, he shifted closer, and his hand lifted, fingertips gently dragging along my jawline.
It was soft, intimate. He was right. This was undoubtedly more intimate than we were used to.
A breath hitched in my throat when his rough, calloused hand slid against my skin. His palm was resting against my cheek. He stroked one soft line with the pad of his thumb along my cheekbone, and something blossomed deep in my belly.
His touch spread through my body, slow and addicting. My heart raced in my chest, confusion sweeping through me. His hands had been on me more times than I could count. But never like this.
Never so close and so intimate, I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes, like a sunbeam cutting through the thickest parts of a forest canopy.
I could feel his breath, warm against my lips.
For a moment, somewhere in the back of my brain, I hoped that he would kiss me.
He must’ve had the same reaction, judging by the way he gulped and pulled away like my skin was burning under his hand.
Fuck. How were we going to do this?
We sat in silence for a moment, wide-eyed and in shock at what had just happened.
And this right here… This is precisely how lines become blurry.
I cleared my throat, shivering slightly as the moment we just shared played through my mind again. My body and brain were unsure of how to react. “Um—shall we?”
Without verbal confirmation or looking me in the eyes, Rhys stumbled out of the car. His hands found his hips, and he stared at the beige concrete building in front of us while I slowly climbed out, gently pushing the door shut.
He turned to me, peering over the top of his car while we stood in the parking lot, looking like a couple of virgins caught dry humping by their youth pastor.
“Okay. Maybe we should go home and do this another day,” I offered, my hand already on the door.
“Nope.” He shook his head and took a breath. “I have a game tomorrow. We have to do it tonight. Come on.”
Okay. You can do this, Sloane. Everything is a-okay.
Slowly, I rounded the car, my brain still struggling to wrap around what just happened and the fact that I’d actually reacted to Rhys’s touch.
He waited for me by the driver’s side door; his hand extended in my direction.
My eyes flickered from his hand back up to his eyes. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Hold it, dumbass,” he responded, waving it around dramatically.
“Oh. Kay!” I snapped, slapping my hand into his.
Rhys’s fingers slid through mine; the calluses I was so familiar with in such a different way were a strange but nice contrast to the softness of my skin.
We both looked down at our joined hands, then back up at each other.
“We have to stop looking at each other like that if this is going to work.” Rhys laughed, turning and walking towards the entrance and tugging me along with him.
Okay… I thought to myself, awkward moment over?
“Like what?” I asked, taking several quick steps to match the few long strides he’d taken. I begged my brain to forget that I was holding his hand.
A small smile tugged at Rhys’s lips. “Like we’ve never touched another human before.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “I think the picture of a stripper arched across your lap is more than enough evidence to prove that you have touched other humans. Also, this is new. It’s… a little weird. Nothing wrong with that.”
“How much longer are we going to be on that?”
I grinned, lifting my shoulder in a shrug. “At least four out of the six months.”
He groaned. “Great.”
***
“It’s your fault.” Rhys’s accusation was mumbled against the palm of his hand while the two of us sat at the kitchen island.
My laptop was placed in front of us, with a few online tabloid articles pulled up, Cami’s video chat covering them slightly.
“It’s not my fault!” I argued under my breath, rolling my eyes.
Cami stopped talking, her eyes narrowing at the two of us. “Can you guys shut the fuck up for three seconds? I’m trying to tell you what to do!”
Dom snickered in the background, immediately shutting up when his wife chucked a pen at his head.
“And just so we’re clear… it’s both of your faults. You guys are two of the worst actors I’ve ever run PR for.”
I rolled my eyes. “Technically, we’re the only actors you’ve run PR for, so that’s not really saying much.”
Even through the grainy video on my laptop, I could see the murderous look flash through her eyes.
“You guys look like idiots!”
My eyes scanned the tabloid articles behind the video chat for the twentieth time, barely able to contain the grimace pulling at the muscles in my face.
The two of us did look like idiots.
Shopping was a complete disaster.
Awkwardness and tension oozed from the pictures that were taken of us, Rhys’s arm stiff around my waist, and my whole body looked revolted by the fact that he was touching me.
The tabloids were dragging us. Relentlessly.
Trouble in Paradise? Boston Bandits starting pitcher, Rhys Armstrong, spotted awkwardly embracing long-time friend, Sloane Taylor. Click Here to read why we think they won’t last.
I Smell a Fake Relationship. Rhys Armstrong and long-time friend, Sloane Taylor, were caught in an awkward embrace at the store. Smells like PR! Click Here for more details.
Awkward Hugs and Beige Towels. This newfound relationship between Rhys Armstrong and his friend, Sloane Taylor, seems as bland as their choice in bathroom décor.
That one felt personal.
Rhys’s face flushed when his line of sight drifted back to the computer screen, taking in the horrible pictures once again.
“I guess I didn’t know I grossed you out that much, Pip.”
I groaned at the ceiling. “You don’t! I just—I’m so nervous and in my head about it all. I’m so sorry—both of you. I’ll get my shit together, I promise. I’ll clear my schedule tomorrow, and I’ll go to the game!” I gave Cami my best “I’m sorry” look.
“You were going to the game before you guys messed this up,” she responded, quirking a brow.
According to Cam (and the websites in front of me), everyone was calling bullshit. No one actually believed we were in a relationship and were calling it exactly what it was—an attempt to make Rhys look better after he was arrested.
Not that I could blame them.
My gaze slid to one particularly cringe-worthy picture, one where Rhys had a hold of my hip, and I looked horrified. My eyes were bugged out, mouth wide. Clearly, that little moment in the car did nothing to prepare me for what it would actually be like to have Rhys’s hands on my body.
Clearly, I was not capable of pulling through for Rhys like I thought I would be able to.
Honestly, that was bugging me more than the public’s perception of the two of us together. It wasn’t believable because I looked like I couldn’t stand to be touched by him, and I promised my two best friends that I could handle this.
“You know what? I’m gonna go. I need a bottle of wine and to look at a screen that doesn’t have your faces on it. You gotta figure this shit out if we’re gonna salvage your career, Rhys.”
“Is it too late to find someone else?” I asked.
Cami’s jaw clamped shut, Dom cackling somewhere in the background.
“Yes. You two are the most frustrating people I have ever worked with. The game’s at seven, Sloane.
Be there, or I swear to god, I’m gonna punch you in the tit.
” Her hand reached up, and the next thing I knew, the screen was black, and our call was disconnected.
She’d clearly had enough of us.
Rhys and I sat in silence for a second, both staring at the computer screen and the awful pictures in front of us.
“Rhys, I’m so sorry. I told you I could do it and—”
“I had no idea you were so repulsed by the idea of being in a relationship with me.” He ended the sentence with a half-hearted laugh, but I could detect the sadness he was trying to hide as his eyes shifted to his hands.
Great.
On top of being a shitty fake girlfriend, I had almost managed to offend my best friend in the process. My eyes slid back over to the computer screen, shaking my head at the look on my face.
“Rhys…” I inhaled a deep breath through my nose, shutting my eyes until I exhaled completely. “It’s not you, I promise. It’s me.” I immediately slapped my forehead at the cliché that spilled out of my mouth. “Christ,” I mumbled, Rhys, chuckling next to me.
“I cannot believe you just used that on me.” He laughed again, shaking his head.
I groaned again, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I hate this so much. Jesus—I just don’t know.”
Rhys’s long fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the marble countertop.
He was nervous. “You do. You just don’t wanna tell me.
” He looked over at me, the left side of his mouth lifting into a small smile.
He reached over, tapping my temple with his index finger.
“Something is going on up there. You just don’t want to spill. ”
Fuck. Why does he know me so well?
But how the hell do I even begin to tell my best friend that I was genuinely worried about falling for him without sounding like I had some kind of crush on him already?
The last thing I wanted to do was make things weird between us.
Although it felt a little like that ship had already sailed when those pictures were leaked to the press.
I sat up straight, turning to face him. “Look. Here’s the thing. I’m a numbers girl, okay? I always have been. I just—Rhys, I know the stats on fake dating. I’m nervous.”
“Nervous?” His brows dipped together, his head shaking just a little as he tried to understand what I was insinuating. “What do you mean by ‘stats’?”
Wiggling uncomfortably in my chair, I finally let myself make eye contact with him.
“Most of the people who do this kind of shit… They end up—You know. They end up actually catching feelings for each other. We’ve known each other for so long, I don’t want anything to get weird, and it’s so fucking easy for lines to blur, and I just—”
“Pip. Stop babbling.”
My mouth clamped shut.
“Don’t worry about that, okay? We’re friends. Most of the people who do this shit don’t know each other like we do. They—I don’t know. They aren’t us. We got this. You don’t have feelings for me. I don’t have—” He paused to clear his throat, “—I don’t have feelings for you. It’ll be fine.”
I sighed, staring at my best friend. He was right. If I could just get out of my head, everything would be fine.
“You’re right. I’m really sorry, Rhys.”
He stood, pushing his chair in. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine. We’ll find our groove and go from there. Just get some sleep. I can tell you’re tired.”
I smiled, suddenly very aware of just how heavy my eyelids felt. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Rhys walked over, lifting his hand to gently caress my cheek. “I’m just gonna do little shit like this until you get used to it.” He leaned down, his lips brushing softly against my forehead. “Goodnight, Sloane,” he whispered, dropping his hand and disappearing down the hallway.
I tried to stop it. I wanted to pretend I couldn’t feel anything, but my damn heart was fluttering behind my ribs, and my mouth went dry.
This was fine. Everything was fine. No feelings. At all.
None. It. Was. Fine.