The Charm Offensive(70)
Dev follows Ryan following the crew upstairs to the hotel room. “I’m overprotective of him because Charlie isn’t ready for a sex date.”
“We ran this all by him this morning,” Ryan says calmly. “Charlie said he was fine with it.”
Dev turns and sees Charlie and Daphne, arms around each other’s waists, blissed out on good wine and good company. They stumble together into a staged hotel room with rose petals on the bed and a hundred white candles and a giant bowl of fucking condoms on the bedside table.
Dev has to watch as they fall together onto the bed, as Daphne straddles Charlie the way he usually does, as they kiss the way Charlie and Dev kissed in their own shared bed. His pounding heartbeat counts out each second of foreplay, and this, he thinks, is probably the reason you don’t get involved with your star when you work on a reality dating show.
“Cut!” Skylar finally says in Dev’s headset. The cameras have enough footage of the amorous couple. Everything else will be implied when they air the outside of a closed door.
On the bed, Charlie and Daphne untangle themselves, and as Charlie sits up, his eyes find Dev’s among the line of crew members. It’s like everything but Charlie’s gray eyes blink out of existence. He’s all Dev can see, and he wishes he could say something to change Charlie’s mind.
What would he say? It wasn’t just practice. It was never just practice. Please don’t do this.
He has no right to say anything to Charlie.
Dev feels an arm snake around his waist, and he assumes it’s Jules. He turns to find Ryan instead. “Come on,” his ex murmurs low in his ear. “Let’s go get a drink at the bar.”
Charlie
As soon as the cameras and the crew members are gone, Charlie and Daphne spring apart like repellent magnets. He sits on one edge of the bed, trying not to think about the look on Dev’s face, about Ryan’s arm on Dev’s hips. Daphne is perched on the other side of the bed. He has no idea what she’s trying not to think about.
He knows why he agreed to this overnight date. After screwing things up with Megan and Delilah, this is the least he can do to appease Maureen and make Dev look like a good handler again. Looking at Daphne, seeing her body language, he isn’t sure why she agreed.
Her thick blond hair is mussed in the back from their performance, and the sleeve on her blouse has fallen off her shoulder. He almost reaches out to fix it, but he can tell by her body language she’s nervous, so he doesn’t touch her. He studies her from three feet away.
She is so lovely. Her blue eyes sparkle in the dim light of the room and her pale cheeks are flushed from kissing. If he’s honest with himself—if he lets himself acknowledge the secret compartment of his heart that has always wanted some form of companionship—Daphne is the kind of person he imagined himself with. For one awful second, he indulges that fantasy. He thinks about how much easier this would all be if he’d come on this show and fallen in love with Daphne Reynolds instead.
The thought churns his stomach. He’s mad at Dev, but even thinking about Daphne feels like a betrayal. Not just of Dev, but of himself, of who he really is and what he really feels in the secret parts of himself. Maybe things with Dev were never real, maybe he’s off hooking up with his ex right now, but Charlie knows nothing can happen with Daphne off camera. Now he just has to find a way to tell her.
“I don’t think we should have sex!”
Conveniently, it’s Daphne who blurts this in a blind panic from the other side of the bed.
“I just… I’m not ready for… sex,” she fumbles. “I… I hope you understand.”
“I understand.” He puts his hand on the bed between them, an invitation for platonic closeness she can take or leave. “I don’t think we should have sex either.”
They are, however, trapped in this hotel room together until dawn without cameras. And she still seems uncomfortable about something.
“Daphne?” he tries. “Can I ask you something? Why did you come on this show?”
“For love,” she says, almost too automatically.
“Yeah, but you don’t love me, and you’re still here.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “You think I don’t love you because I won’t have sex with you?”
“No, I think you don’t love me because you don’t love me.”
Quite frankly, he isn’t even sure if she’s attracted to him. He could feel it in every stiff touch earlier, every passionless kiss. Now that he has a point of comparison, he realizes he’s not the only one who has been faking. Kissing Daphne is like kissing himself. The version of himself he’s always been with everyone but Dev.
“I should be falling in love with you,” she says after a tense silence. “If I’m ever going to fall in love with… It, uh, it should be you. You’re perfect.”
He snorts. “I am so far from perfect.”
“Well, okay. Sure. No one is perfect. But you’re perfect to me.”
“Perfect looking, you mean?”
“Well, no, actually.” She gestures to her shoulders. “Muscles don’t really do it for me. I mean perfect. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and you’re so sweet, and you make me laugh.”