The Decoy Girlfriend(48)
Has anyone ever said his name like that before? It’s impossible, but he hardens further.
It’s not just physical attraction. He relishes the quiet intimacy, the precariousness of their situation. Dangling over a cliff’s edge, teetering toward a fall.
And he can’t deny that it’s a heady triumph having a little payback right now, to know she’s as affected by him as he is with her mere existence. He yearns to take them both over the edge.
Taft closes his eyes, savoring these seconds before the connection is severed. His breath hitches as his heartbeat takes off at a wild gallop. Careers are on the line. Nothing more can ever happen between them as long as he’s fake-dating Mandi. If Freya’s identity comes out, the headline fallout would make what happened at the club look tame in comparison.
There’s always after. A near future after the premiere in which he could date Freya out in the open. But the more he rolls it around in his mind, the hope sours into dry-mouth fear.
His staged relationship with Mandi isn’t uncommon. Lots of celebrities do it to spark a little intrigue or for a promotional boost, but as soulless as it might be, at least the contract held the safety of certainty. With Mandi, he’s never worried about any messy emotional feelings—his feels-too-much heart has been kept safe.
If he pursues things with Freya, she will be the first girl in years who has been his romantic choice. Taft will be vulnerable in a way he hasn’t been with any other date since moving to LA.
He knows he’s not a barnacle person, someone who everyone wants to stick with. He’s never inspired clinging, not even when he was in school. His friends had always liked one another more than they liked him and graduated from Taft like he was a stepping-stone meant to be outgrown. There are times he sees it happening with Connor and, without Banshee, maybe even Mandi.
If Freya discards him, too . . .
As hard as it is, he fortifies his resolve and retracts his emotional drawbridge.
Freya’s impromptu wake-up call was nice, but that’s all it can be. He can’t do this.
So what if Freya Lal is the woman who made his heart feel like that magical hold-your-breath moment before turning on the Christmas tree lights? Like recognizing the first five seconds of his favorite song playing somewhere totally random? Like untangling himself from a hug he isn’t ready to let go of yet?
The day she entered his life, she changed the filter through which he viewed everything. The only problem Taft had with that was . . . did he want to feel that way?
These days, he isn’t sure he’s been happy, exactly, not like the carefree days when he was little and thought strangers were friends who had yet to meet him. But he was comfortable in his loneli—isolation. In his solitude. Where he was protected from the possibility of getting hurt. Protecting himself from possibilities, period.
And he suspects that once the haze of lust defogs her eyes, Freya’s going to realize this isn’t any more than a proximity crush for her. It happens on set all the time. He’s seen on-screen relationships between costars break up the most solid of Hollywood marriages. It can be hard to untangle feelings when you spend so much time together every day.
Freya knows how to be Mandi, but he isn’t sure whether she’s ready to enter the fishbowl as herself—whether it’s even fair for him to subject her to everything that comes with his life.
He decided on his path before he turned eighteen. He went into it, mostly, with his eyes open. Freya never did. Taft wants her, but he can’t be selfish with her.
He desperately wishes he’d asked someone what would happen if he fell for someone else while he was in a showmance. What would happen if he fell for a non-celeb? He knows some of those relationships have stayed under the radar, but how? He wishes he’d even thought to ask.
If he’s being honest, he wishes for a lot of things.
“You were right,” Freya murmurs. “About what you said at the bookshop before I moved in. Getting closer, being friends for real. Needing to be more comfortable with each other. It was a good idea.”
The reminder burns him. He’s jeopardizing both his career and his heart for a girl he hasn’t even kissed yet.
A girl whom he shouldn’t even want to kiss, but he does, and what’s more, it’s all he can think about. The untapped desire lingers inside him, its very own level on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs right up there with food and water.
He drops his hand, ignoring her soft whine and his own sense of loss.
“And as friends,” he says stiffly, “we should set some ground rules.”
She twists around to face him, sitting cross-legged. Her warm brown eyes are filled with surprise. “Rules for what?”
He gestures between them. “Getting through this.”
With our hearts intact.
Taft glances down at the phone she still loosely holds, screen tilted to face him. The Texas-size lump in his throat grows. The caption reads: Feelin’ flirty this morning.
Followed by a string of flower and heart emojis. It’s sweet. Moira would lap it up and congratulate them for the thousands of comments and followers they’re sure to get. Gareth would be impassive, which for him was as close to praise as they’d ever see.
Freya’s unpracticed initiative is a masterstroke.
That’s the worst thing about this, Taft realizes with a sinking heart. That together, they’re actually good at the fakeness. Strategic, even. The dream team.