The Decoy Girlfriend(11)
Bantering with her, he’d heard his heartbeat in his ears, soft and petering at first, and then everywhere all at once. Hours later, he was still a little stunned that he could pull off verbal foreplay without some woefully underpaid writers’ room providing the script for him.
It was second nature when a camera crew was crowding a few feet away and a beautiful woman’s jaw was cupped in his palm. It was the kind of feeling that was easy to feign with the right angles and dialogue, a feeling that his characters felt all the time but which he rarely did.
Hell, his talent for intense chemistry was the reason he was in this situation in the first place. His ability to make a love scene smolder with Mandi in Banshee was what started the rumor that they were secretly dating off-camera, and when season three started to go the way of all once-great shows, the studio had reached out to their publicists to float the idea of a staged relationship to boost ratings. Since they weren’t dating anyone else and the audience was loving it, they kept the showmance going for season four, too, because they were at risk of losing their primetime time slot to another buzzed-about new show.
Everyone agreed that the showmance would only last until Banshee got renewed for season five, but it wasn’t enough to save them from an early death thanks to the exorbitant production costs. He was grateful that viewers petitioned to save the show, and it was because of their passion that there was a movie happening at all.
The only fine print? Give the fans what they want—Taft and Mandi are a package deal until the premiere.
It didn’t matter to the studio whether the relationship was real or not as long as everyone else believed it. And of course they did, because Taft and Mandi were damn good at their jobs.
Selling love was the easy part. He was fond of Mandi, and she of him, he hoped. Spending so many months of the year together in Dartmoor, it was hard not to bond. At first, he’d been a little in awe of her, but she was surprisingly easy to talk to, and she always said yes to spending time with him, whether it was running lines or going sightseeing. But it was abundantly clear to both of them that they didn’t feel romantically toward each other, so a contractual relationship didn’t seem like a big deal. There was no chance of a messy fallout that would derail their winning strategy. And it lifted their profiles, which meant both their managers and publicists were on board.
But thanks to the past couple of years of his scripted showmance, he was woefully unpracticed at flirting with a stranger. Which, in retrospect, was a good thing, considering that he shouldn’t have been flirting with anyone who wasn’t his costar and girlfriend, Mandini Roy.
And Taft Bamber is nothing if not loyal, showmance or not. He could never quite detach himself the same way when it came to the people he’d let in, even when it seemed like those people were living their lives just fine without him in it.
So after putting on the finishing touches on his going-out ritual—wearing his watch and dabbing a drop of cologne at the base of his throat—he reaches out to his best friend and former roommate, Connor Kingdom. This video call is another ritual—spaced out each month so Connor doesn’t realize Taft is keeping track of the growing distance between them.
“Hey,” comes Connor’s disembodied voice. His phone screen is aimed at the ceiling of his house before the angle is adjusted and his face comes into view.
Taft recognizes the coffered ceiling and recessed lighting from Connor’s Instagram Stories and the double-door steel refrigerator plastered with huge plastic number magnets and Polaroids of his one-year-old. The houses in his zip code are all new and gaudy, shamelessly I have arrived, and nothing like Taft’s taste at all. The Kingdoms haven’t had people over to their new house yet, but they love a good party, so a housewarming is imminent. Taft’s already picked out the perfect gift from Williams Sonoma.
“Sorry, we just got back from Joshua Tree,” Connor continues. “Lemme just put this shit down and— Do you have any idea how much baby stuff we have to travel with?”
A swift yearning hits Taft. Connor’s life is real, so solid and complete, while Taft is . . . alone. When he’s not doing something Banshee related with Mandi, he doesn’t know where he fits, or with who.
“Hey, man. Can’t say I do.” Taft laughs, because why would he? “How’s it going?”
A yawn pulls at Connor’s mouth, quickly morphing into his usual winsome smile. “Can’t complain. Hey, Holly. Holls. Say hi to Taft.”
“Conn. I’m sweaty and gross after the drive.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Connor proclaims, swiveling the phone to show off his wife, a stunning woman wearing a sundress that looks like a picnic blanket, and their sleepy-eyed daughter, Kora. The camera pans over an entire set of Louis Vuitton luggage piled on the white marble floors before turning back on the family. “And Taft doesn’t care.”
“I don’t care, and you’re always beautiful,” Taft confirms.
“You’re such a charmer,” says Holly, blushing, as she hands Kora off to her husband.
“Hey! He’s just repeating what I said first,” Connor says indignantly, adjusting his grip on the baby trying to scramble up his shoulder.
It blows Taft’s mind a little, seeing his best friend as a dad. Connor’s good with Kora, rubbing her back and not even caring that she’s trying to chew his ear with a mouth that’s more gums than teeth. A rush of affection courses through Taft for this little person in a pink dress and matching bow gathering her wispy black hair into a sweet Troll doll up-comb.