Chapter 4

 

Mary

 

For being a fake boyfriend, at least Chris wasn’t bad looking.

He definitely looked like the type of guys I would go for, except they usually had a bigger bank account and job.

It’s not like any of my relationships had been normal lately.

Our agents completely staged my meeting with Eddie. Murray told me Eddie would be at the Teen Scene awards and we’d be presenting together so I should introduce myself and comment on his style. Somehow, that worked, and I ended up with the guy for over two years.

Though I should use “with” lightly.

Eddie cared more about his work than he ever did me. Though we were both famous in our own rights, I never felt we were equal. That I was always second, Hell, the third tier to his career.

And all of the songs he wrote. The ones about the girl next door and the girl getting away. I knew sure as shit that none of them were about me and when I did a little internet stalking, it wasn’t hard to find his former neighbor Brooke, who according to TNC, they’re now dating and living together in some small Texas town called Friendship.

If that wasn’t a blow to my ego, I don’t know what was.

Now I had this attractive publicist, sitting across from me and nibbling on egg rolls, and I was supposed to be pretending we had some sort of a relationship.

Not that he seemed like a bad guy or anything, but after being burned, it was hard to ever think of anything real happening again.

“Are you ready to head out?” I asked Chris in the middle of some small talk that I wasn’t even sure what we were talking about anymore.

“Oh. Um. I haven’t paid yet,” he said, reaching for his wallet.

I waved my hand. “It’s done. They know me here.”

His mouth gaped open. “If this is a date, I should be paying.”

“This is the 21st century and New York. I make a hell of a lot more than you do, so I’m paying,” I said, standing up and throwing my purse over my shoulder.

“Fine. Then I’m getting dessert.”

“Dessert?” I raised an eyebrow, wondering how long I’d have to get my ass on the treadmill to burn that off.

“Yeah. You didn’t think I’d end our first date this early did you?” He put his hand out.

“What’s that for?” I looked down at his outstretched hand.

Grabbing my hand, he pulled me toward the front of the restaurant. “Come on, Princess.”

“Wait. You know, I usually take the back door.”

“We can talk more about your love for the back door, later,” he said with a laugh, which caused a few tables to stare at us.

“Wait!” I yelled, and he finally stopped and turned toward me.

“What?”

“You can’t just drag me out there like some Neanderthal. This has to look natural. Like we want to be here together.”

He smirked, taking a few steps forward and closing the space between us. “Do you want to be here with me?”

I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. I hadn’t been this close to him yet, and instead of smelling like overpowering cologne, he had a clean scent to him. Like fresh laundry and soap. There was something comforting that had me want to bury my face in his jacket and inhale all of him.

“We don’t have much of a choice now that we’re Instagram official, do we?” I asked, chewing on my bottom lip.

He moved his hand to my lip, running his thumb along my now trembling flesh. “We can do whatever you want. Fake relationship or not, but I think the best thing to do is walk out that front door. Hand in hand. Let the press see those pictures. Get them talking.”

I nodded because my mouth felt too dry to speak.

“Now do you want me to hold your hand, or put my arm around your waist?” he asked, putting his arm out.

I reluctantly took his hand, and he intertwined our fingers, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “We got this.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d exited a restaurant to be mauled by paparazzi and fans, but it was definitely Chris’s first time, the way he stopped like a deer in headlights. I tugged on his hand as we stood just outside of the restaurant, but he didn’t move. It was as if he was afraid that the crowd wouldn’t part for us.

Instead of tugging and forcing him through, I turned toward him and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him to me and pressing my forehead to his. I wanted to scream through gritted teeth for him to move, but instead of being able to do any of that, he took my movement as another sign. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me tightly against him before his lips sealed mine.

I’d kissed a lot of guys. For, you know, the acting career. And I was pretty good at faking a kiss when it was subpar or that I was interested in someone.

But with Chris, there was no faking anything, and I found myself gasping in surprise as his warm tongue briefly met mine, teasing me as he smiled beneath our kiss.

I should have pushed him away or broke the kiss, but instead, I found myself melting into him, my body pressing against his as I fisted my hands in his hair.

“Okay, lovebirds, let’s break it up,” my bodyguard’s deep voice bellowed, knocking me out of possibly the best kiss of my life.

Chris gave me one last peck as if he was leaving his stamp on me before reluctantly pulling back, but keeping his arm around my waist.

Every part of my body was acutely aware of his touch, including my aching core.

Jesus, when was the last time I had real sex that wasn’t grinding for the camera and a PG-13 TV show?

My bodyguard, Brian, ushered us toward a waiting black sedan and opened the door, both of us sliding in the back before Brian got in the passenger seat next to the driver.

“You sure know how to make an exit, Mary,” Brian’s deep voice bellowed, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “And so does the new guy. Thought you were meeting with some new PR guy from Tate & Cane, not Mr. GQ for PDA.”

Chris smirked. “I am the PR guy and Mr. GQ. Or you can call me, Chris.” He stuck his hand out, and Brian turned around to shake his hand briefly.

“Brian Graciano. And the driver, here, is Lance. Didn’t know that Mary was mixing business and pleasure now and would like to keep informed of this so next time we aren’t ambushed.”

“No problem. Here’s my card. Send me a text, and I’ll get your number to text you about our plans beforehand,” Chris said, smoothly pulling out a white card from his wallet and handing it to Brian.

“We can take you both home now. Let me know where to drop you off, Chris,” Brian said, practically barking. The guy definitely wasn’t impressed with the new fake boyfriend. Not that he was impressed with anyone I dated and the guy had high standards, even for someone who was still dating my driver.

“Wait! I promised Mary dessert. Can’t go anywhere without that and then I can take the train back to Brooklyn,” Chris said coolly, obviously not rattled by the Italian beefcake with the shaved head and full tattooed sleeves.

“We can call in reservation somewhere. Make sure no paparazzi are around, or if you want them there, give us fair warning,” Brian grumbled the last part.

“You know what? No reservations. How about you just drive us to Brooklyn? There’s a vendor I know. Well, more of a guy on a bicycle. Best granitas you’ve ever had,” Chris said, putting his hands out as if he was reading the words off a billboard.

Brian snorted. “You’re serious? You want to take Mary to a street vendor?”

“Not just any vendor. The best granitas on either side of the river. Whatta ya say, Mary?” Chris asked, nudging my side.

I couldn’t remember the last time I ate dessert or really anything that wasn’t from a five star restaurant or prepared especially for me. If I really did have this princess reputation, and the porn star one, maybe going with an average guy to a street vendor in Brooklyn couldn’t hurt my reputation any more than it already was.

I shrugged as much as I could with Chris’s arm still around me. “Sure. Why not.”

Chris smiled, putting his arm out. “To Brooklyn.”