Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“I know because my mom told me. She didn’t know your dad was married. I’m sure there are two sides to the story, but she claims she saw him on television with your mom under his real name and realized she was being played. She ended things immediately.”
“Did my mom know?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I have no idea. I only know because …” She looks down at her lap. “I found out when I started at Waltham Prep, and she realized you guys went there, too. I think if she’d known that before, she wouldn’t have made me switch schools. She avoided every PTA meeting and school event like the plague for fear of running into your mother.”
“It’s a good thing Dad is in prison because, if he weren’t, I’d beat the fuck out of him right now.”
She smiles sadly. “I’m sorry for telling you that. And, again, there are two sides to every story.”
“Not this story. I believe your mom.”
“Well, believe me when I say that she still carries absolute disdain for your father to this day.”
“She can join the club. But what does this have to do with me?”
She laughs nervously. “I might have taken a blood oath that I’ll never date a Brewer. And although she didn’t specify, I’m pretty sure the vow I repeated covered fictional situations.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Afraid not.”
I raise my glass to my mouth to try to hide my bewilderment.
The air between us is awkward. The silence is heavy. It’s unusual for us to sit in the stillness without trading barbs, but here we are.
Vanessa swings by to see if we need anything. We both decline quietly.
“So …” Georgia says, adjusting the bottom of her top. “How real is this supposed to look?”
“What do you mean?”
She looks up and catches me staring, and sighs. “I’m not talking about my boobs, Ripley.”
“Trust me. I know they’re real. I’ve seen them, remember?”
Her cheeks flush, turning the same color as her lips. The memory of her topless rushes through my mind—because, unfortunately, Georgia Hayes has a fucking spectacular body—making me hard instantly.
Fuck, you better not think about her tits when you’re in front of the camera, Brewer.
“I mean this relationship while we’re filming,” she says, giving the top a final tug. “Is our connection supposed to be immediate? Is it supposed to be a slow burn?”
“A slow what?”
She sighs like I’m a fool. “A slow burn. Meaning it’s immediate chemistry, but it takes a while for it to burn. We’re coy with it. We make the audience crave it.”
Don’t think about her tits. Don’t think about her tits.
“Jonah said it’s a strangers-to-lovers kind of thing with an instant connection. We’re supposed to demonstrate the best-case scenario when people are matched based on their internet search history.”
“I’m not showing them my searches,” she says emphatically. “I told Sutton that. We can get a fake phone, and I’ll look up some random stuff for the sake of the show, but my phone is off-limits.”
“Oh. Something to hide?”
“Come on. Don’t act like you’d let someone near yours.”
I shrug. “I’m an open book.”
She grins like she’s caught me in a trap. “Give me your phone then.”
“Only if I get to see yours.”
“That’s so mature of you.”
“That’s called a fair trade. What would I gain by letting you see mine without getting something out of the deal?”
“Speaking of seeing my stuff,” she says, pressing her lips together. “I assume we’ll have to hold hands and touch a little. Keep your hands in respectable places. No touching my ass.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Any more than I already have. “If we kiss, no tongue. Try to control yourself.”
She snorts. “I think I’ll be able to manage.”
“I hope so.”
“So no dating anyone else while filming without the other’s consent, no touchy-feely crap, and no tongue.” She wrinkles her nose at me. “No showing up unannounced or spreading the word outside of our friend circle that we’re doing this with each other. Is that it?”
“That’s all I have,” I say, finishing my drink.
“Me, too.” Her eyes shine despite the dim light hanging above our heads. “Then, if you don’t mind, I need to go.”
I sit back, taking her in one final time. “Have plans?”
“Something like that.” She giggles, sliding her purse on her shoulder. “This all goes into effect on Thursday night. That means I have tonight and tomorrow night to”—she scoots to the end of the booth—“you know. Do whatever I want.”
I cross my arms over my chest and study her. She’s too happy—too compliant.
Georgia is just trying to rile me up. She’s not going anywhere but home.
“Have fun,” I say, smiling smugly. “Sitting at home on the couch all alone eating white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies.”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t particularly care,” I say casually, knowing it’s eating at her that I called her out. “I just know I’m right.”