The Decoy Girlfriend(40)
His brows scrunch, and his eyes laser into Freya’s with an expression of disbelief. “You really want to talk about her right now?”
There’s a hint of warning in his voice that they shouldn’t be discussing “her” in the third person with so many people around, but there’s also confusion.
“Yes.” No.
Oh, she doesn’t know anymore.
It’s always been electric when she’s near Taft, but something tonight has shifted. Life was simpler when all she had to worry about was losing her contract, not her heart. The undivided attention of his stare makes her feel a little unfocused and fidgety. Not how she felt before in the dress, but in a new and different way.
Taft takes a half step back, hands dropping to his sides. “She’s mindful of how our lifestyle can lead to excess.”
“Smart. I should probably cut myself off, then,” Freya says, not totally convinced she’s just talking about the booze.
“Probably a good idea,” he agrees. “That’s how slip-ups happen.”
“Are they still looking at us?”
“They’re looking at you. They have been all night.” He hesitates, and then adds in a voice so quiet it’s meant for her and her alone, “Freya.”
Startled, her eyes shoot to his. “They see what they want to see.”
Taft’s voice is a low caress. “Maybe them. But I see you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Taft misses the feel of her at his side. Soft curves pressed against him, trusting him.
Somehow—and he still can’t figure out how—he spooked her. Been too earnest, too real. After they paid Jen all the requisite birthday niceties, Freya muttered something about working best on her own, splitting them up to divide and conquer, and jetted off to drop more bread crumbs of their happiness around the room.
Celebrities are faster than the Internet when it comes to hot gossip, and right now #WeWillGoDownWithThisRaft is seconds away from trending on Twitter. And it was all thanks to the girl across the room, fake-laughing at some probably inane witticism from a familiar tanned action hero–looking dude with a square jaw and three inches on Taft.
Keeping Freya to himself had been a damn good plan. He hadn’t been entirely selfish. Using their coziness as a lure to smother all rumors of his alleged cheating worked like a charm.
Unfortunately, any good lure relies completely on the bait. And in this case . . .
He narrows his eyes at the growing group of men paying court to the girl they think is Mandi. If he wasn’t so irritated, he’d snicker at their transparency. Going by the expressions on some of their faces, they clearly forgot he exists and are plotting how best to woo his girl.
Hold up. His girl? Since when has he felt like that?
Taft tries to triangulate the origin of that thought: the club, his house, the bookshop.
Somehow, in all three places where he’s had significant meaningful interaction with Freya, she’s become someone he wants to hold on to. She’s reckless, somewhat morally dubious, a complete and total threat to his career, and . . . the most exhilarating woman he’s ever known.
It doesn’t help that Mandi insisted Freya wear that dress tonight. He’s always been an emerald-green man the way some men are ass or boob men, but he’s starting to reevaluate that.
He’s a Freya-in-emerald-green man.
He knows she thinks it’s borrowed from Mandi’s closet, one of the many outfits that haven’t yet been repeated, and he hadn’t corrected the assumption. Mandi had actually purchased the gown specifically for Freya, and maybe a little bit for him, too—she knows how much he loves the color. She’d asked him to send full-length photos of Freya wearing the dress for her approval. Mandi might have been the one to send back a wall of heart-eyes emojis, but he knows Freya saw the stars in his when he lowered the phone.
Taft didn’t agree with adding more pressure on Freya on her first big night, but Mandi thinks Freya will take it more seriously if she thinks Mandi has already hightailed it out of LA to her North Carolina Airbnb rental. In actuality, Mandi’s staying nearby for a few more days, just in case. She believes Freya can do this, but she doesn’t trust her not to mess up as a way out. If Freya gets busted, Mandi needs to sweep in to pretend this was all an amusing publicity stunt so she and Taft can save face.
Granted, he doesn’t know Freya that well, but Taft doesn’t think she’ll screw them all like that. He suspects that, despite evidence to the contrary, when she gives her word, she doesn’t give it lightly.
He’s so in his own head that it takes him a moment to realize Freya’s wiggling her fingers at him as if to say, Yeah, that’s my boyfriend over there. She’s holding her body taut, like she’s primed for flight, and the muscles around her fake smile are strained.
The guy she’s talking to follows the movement and sizes him up.
Taft manages a brittle smile before walking over. He’s sure he didn’t miss the look of blatant relief on Freya’s face. He drapes his arm across her shoulders, letting his hand dangle possessively over her chest, a breath away from touching. “Mind if I steal my girl for a second?”
He sweeps her away without waiting for an answer.
“Thank you,” she says through an exhale. “He was such a creep. Came onto me so obviously, ugh. Up close he looks even more plastic than a Ken doll. I think he was trying to feel out how monogamous we are.”