Chapter 16
jett
She needs to stop talking.
Right now.
I glare lasers at the side of her head, but Sofía ignores it, lamenting about her idea to start a PR relationship, how many views we’ve had since, and the buzz it’s built around my docuseries and philanthropic efforts.
“So, yeah, that’s it…” She trails off, waiting for Molly and Doug to offer their thoughts about her fake-dating scheme.
An uncomfortable quiet echoes through the car.
I don’t know why Sofía decided to mention it. There was no lead-up to this conversation. No probing question. We didn’t get caught mimicking them. She simply blurted out the information, babbling her way through the explanation, and left me fully stunned in the process.
Maybe this is a part of the plan I’m not aware of.
“It’s been working well,” I add, as if to save some of our dignity. “We’ve sold three hundred tickets so far.”
Sofía glances at me, Molly and Doug sitting in the front seats as we head to a freshwater creek north of Townsville, somewhere in the Atherton Tablelands.
I trust Sofía, which is why I agreed, but the concept’s untruthful nature is not one I’m fond of.
Starting a PR relationship—something that, at its core, is built on lies and deception—with a person I can visualize dating is a problem.
When the words relationship and Sofía appear in my mind, there’s never the word fake anywhere near my fantasy.
Molly speaks first. “You two are going to…pretend you’re dating by modeling us?”
“Well, we’ve already started, but yes, that’s the idea,” Sofía says, quiet and unsure.
I hold my breath in anticipation of Molly telling her it’s a horrible idea and no relationship should be faked for the purpose of public relations. I wait, but that never comes. Instead, Molly bursts into laughter.
That’s it, they’ve both lost their minds.
“I’m flattered,” Molly says between breaths. “We’re like their love gurus,” she says to Doug, patting his free arm.
“I have to say, it’s an unorthodox idea,” he says. “But it has merit.”
He glances in the rearview mirror, cocking his head at my frown.
After Sofía left my room last night, I stared at the ceiling for hours, my mind a swirling nightmare of thoughts and memories of the panic when she was falling right toward the cliff’s edge.
The embarrassment and guilt she tried to hide when she thought she broke my camera.
The surprise when I tucked the flower behind her ear.
I surprised myself with that one, too.
“Neither of you think this a bad idea?”
“What’s the harm?” Molly says. “It will help the docuseries, and you’ve been working so hard on it.”
The harm is my sanity. If she touches me like it means something, even if it’s for a camera, that’s the way my brain will interpret it.
Physical affection always means something to me. I can distinguish the difference between friendship and romance, but I don’t think I can do the same for real and fake. Not when my pulse already races when she touches my arm or sits close.
Her cherry perfume is a damn aphrodisiac, and when she shares her joy without reservations, my heart stops and restarts in my chest.
The doubt Sofía held melts away like the last winter snow. She elbows my side, and electricity ignites my skin. “See? We can totally pull this off.”
I hum noncommittally and open the group chat with Mateo and Oliver.
They have to be close to boarding their flight for Australia by now, which means I have limited time for advice.
I can’t use the audio-to-text feature or send a voice memo, my preferred methods of texting, so I slowly type out a message, spending half the time fixing typos.
How do you kill a crush? Is that possible? Need answers ASAP.
Two responses come back almost immediately.
Mateo: I’m not the right man to ask. I’ll let you take this one, Olly.
Oliver: Does the person do anything that annoys you? Can you latch on to that until the feelings are gone?
I steal a look at Sofía as she records the drive, phone pressed to the glass. There’s not a single thing she does that bothers me. I’m frustrated with the way she views and values herself, but that’s a product of the environments she’s been in.
Nope. She’s perfect.
Mateo: Is the “she” you’re referring to named Sofía?
Ugh. Yes. Things are getting sticky here.
Oliver: I would say avoid her at all costs, but you’re kinda stuck together.
Mateo: I don’t know how to help you, man. You know I’m the last person who should offer advice on this.
Oliver: Try hypnotism
Horrible idea.
Mateo: Maybe not. You could look for a spell. Charlie might have one.
I love my friends, but this is the worst advice I’ve ever received.
Maybe that long plane ride will knock some sense into you two.
Use it to think of some better ideas.
I slip my phone back into my pocket. That did nothing to squash my crush. Mateo should recognize my struggle. He spent years working beside Charlie while harboring intense feelings. Shit, I don’t know how he did this for two years. The man is stronger than I am.
Two weeks into this trip with Sofía, and I’m hanging on to the end of the rope of what I can handle. The fruity perfume. The soft smiles. How she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear when she’s nervous. When she lets her personality shine, leaving behind the barriers she’s created for herself.
The rain overnight has turned the landscape into bright, mottled greens, with mountains reaching toward the sky behind fields of banana trees and sugar cane. Doug’s favorite ’80s rock plays in the background, and my knee bounces while we drive to the first creek.
A manicured finger taps the exposed skin on my thigh. Once. Twice. Three times.
My focus turns to Sofía, her swimsuit cover slipping off her shoulder, revealing bronzed skin and a thin black strap. I gulp, fixing my gaze on her face. She clutches her bag to her chest, the purse like a shield as she lowers her voice to a whisper, leaning in close.
“I never asked if you were seeing someone back home before I sprang my idea on you.”
I swear I’m imagining a nervous tremor in her voice.
My throat dries. “There’s no one at home.”
“No?”
Does she think I would agree to this if I were dating someone?
“I’m totally open to being your fake boyfriend.” I gulp again, my throat like sandpaper, and ask, “Is there…are you seeing anyone?”
I’ve never wanted to hear no more in my life than I do right now. She’s quiet, before she finally says that magnificent word. “No.”
“Sofía’s given up on dating,” Molly cuts in, and Sofía’s face falls. “Shame, really. I think a little fling could be fun.”
The muscle in Sofía’s jaw twitches, and Doug adds his two cents, even though no one asked. “I’ve been telling Jett the same thing. Never leaves the house. How’s he supposed to find that grand love he talks about if he doesn’t start searching for it?”
Sofía’s gaze locks with mine. “Grand love?”
“Oh yeah,” Doug answers for me. I kick his seat, but he’s undeterred. “Real hopeless romantic, this one.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at me. I want to dissolve into the seat. “Always talking about his special someone and how he hopes to find her one day.”
“That’s enough,” I mumble, humiliation flooding my cheeks.
So what if I dream of a love like Doug and Molly’s, like Mateo and Charlie’s? I don’t think it’s too much to want to find something special. It’s taken me a long time to believe in that dream again after Grace stomped on it.
“I think that’s a nice dream,” Sofía whispers. “A pretty great one, actually.”
Those brown eyes hold me captive, suspending the time between us until the rest of the noise in the car fades away and all I hear is the blood pumping in my ears.
If only she knew she’s becoming the star of that dream.
I am a lizard on a rock, absorbing the sun’s heat, living the life of an ectotherm.
At least, that’s what I imagine, eyes closed, sprawled out on a beach towel on one of the massive boulders at the creek.
The sound of rushing water and rustling leaves add to my illusion, and the comfortable warmth lulls me into a state of bliss.
Peace is shattered by the scent of cherries and vanilla and a shadow blocking my sunshine.
Begrudgingly, I crack an eye open.
“So this is what you call work,” Sofía teases, standing over me.
I lift a hand to block the sun—an immediate mistake. When I closed my eyes half an hour ago, she was still clothed in her swimsuit cover and denim shorts. Those are gone now, leaving nothing but a black string bikini that dries my throat.
The image burns into my memory despite snapping my eyelids shut. Keeping them open will only cause problems.
“I’m supervising,” I say, waving a hand around. “Keep up the good work, Doug!”
Sofía chuckles. “Doug and Molly went on a walk. It’s only us.”
“Well then, you’re doing a great job at…standing there.”
Her foot presses into my calf. “I thought we could try recording something to post later. For our PR relationship.”
Leaning back on my palms, I wrangle the attraction pummeling my chest and open my eyes. Sofía bounces back and forth on her feet. “Are your feet burning?” I ask.
“No.”
The skin of her calf is soft beneath my fingers as I wrap my hands around her and drag her onto the towel. She releases a relaxed sigh. “Stubborn woman,” I mutter, knowing she can hear me. “What did you have in mind?”
“I thought we could hop in the water and set up the camera to record us. That way we can crop the clip to mask our faces a bit, and we have lots of options.”
The ball cap I offered her on Magnetic Island—the one she silently stole—sits on her head, shielding her emotions from view. I slide my hand down and release a low hiss from the cut of my palm.
The sound sparks a reaction, and she retreats.
“Lead the way,” I tell her, guilt eating at me as I memorize the curves and slopes of her body, following closely in case she slips on a boulder.
Once I find the best angle, I perch my phone against a rock and hit record. There’s an area to leap about ten feet into the creek’s deepest pool, and I take a running start, arms flailing as I fly through the air, my heart pumping in my chest when I crash into the freezing water.
Sofía’s scream is the last thing I hear before I submerge. I hold my breath, allowing myself to acclimate to the chill, and when I surface, she’s peering over the ledge, her hand pressed against her chest.
“Are you crazy?” she yells. “What were you thinking? You could have been hurt.”
“People were leaping off earlier,” I argue, treading water. “I took an educated guess. Your turn.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll climb down.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure? Or are you too chicken?
” I taunt, and like I expected, she gets that competitive look on her face.
Kicking back, I give her space to land, and she spends thirty seconds staring down at the water, inching closer to the edge.
I’m ready to tell her it’s okay if she’s afraid when she lets out a banshee howl, tosses my hat to the side, and leaps in, flailing as she hits the surface.
My heart clenches as she hacks up water, hair plastered to her face.
Oh, shit.
I rip through the creek to reach her, the coughing fit morphing into loud, boisterous giggles. Her arms wrap around my neck, and I freeze, unsure of what’s happening but terrified if I move, the dream will dissipate like morning fog.
“That was incredible,” she yells, her legs circling my waist.
The addition of her weight makes treading water more difficult, so I trudge to the edge until I can reach the bottom. Her smile is marvelous, transforming her into a thing of rare beauty. My brain hasn’t caught up with the fact she’s still holding on to me, her lips mere inches from mine.
“Spin me around,” she demands, brushing a piece of hair from my forehead.
It’s an intimate touch, and I mentally have to repeat that it means nothing, that none of this means a damn thing right now, not with the camera pointed at the water.
I do as she asks, gently spinning us around until we make a full three-sixty. Her fingers trail down my cheek, along my jawbone, and settle at the nape of my neck.
God, I want to kiss her.
Professional boundaries and fake dating and reckless decisions be damned.
Kiss her and tell her she’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep. How I might be a hopeless romantic, but I think that means something. That I think she could be the end of the road for me.
Her eyes flick down to my lips, only for a millisecond, but I track it.
Does she want to kiss me, too?
The thought sends a ripple of pleasure down my spine. I take the leap and wrap my hand around her neck, tilting her head. She gulps, leaning into the touch. I collect every ounce of courage I have to ask if I can kiss her, when a howl rips through the air.
“Cannonball,” Doug screams, slamming into the water and splashing Sofía and me in a massive wave.
My back is a shield from the spray, and Sofía jerks out of my grip like we’ve been caught in a criminal act. “T-that should be good footage, right?”
Her voice is hoarse. Her chest heaves. A mild tremor shakes her hand.
“Great footage,” I respond.
Not a single person would question any feelings in that video. At least not from my end, because I wasn’t faking a damn thing.