Page 59 of The Pucking Grump

I take an uncertain step. And then another. I’m aware of the crowd still cheering, but I can’t see a damn thing. How the hell does Faye manage to perform with lights like these?

“Blake?”

I blink. The stage comes into focus, as does everything else. The audience has finally spotted me. Hearing their screams, seeing a thousand phones pointed in my direction, is almost enough to convince me to turn back.

But Faye is only a few feet away. She’s staring at me, her jaw slack with shock. Her expression forces a ray of amusement through the dark clouds of uncertainty, and my lips tease into a smile.

I walk up to her. “Here. These are for you,” I say, handing her the flowers.

“Thanks,” she mutters, regaining control of her mouth. Up close, I can see tears of happiness in her eyes.

I have no idea why what I did makes her this happy. Maybe it’s not even me, but the fact that the show went well. Still, it’s in that moment I know I made the right decision. I would let my whole team mercilessly tease me for months rather than miss out on seeing how much joy this brings her.

It’s the most natural thing in the world to hook my arm around her and bring my lips to hers. Faye gasps, but in the next moment, I’m kissing her, forgetting and recalling the presence of a million cameras around us at the same time.

Do whatever feels right, Brit said.

Claiming her in front of the entire world is the rightest feeling ever.

19

STRIPPED BACK

“Are you even listening to me?”

I jump, pulling my gaze from my phone and looking back at Kevin’s worried face. “I’m sorry.” I mean it. He hasn’t slept for hours because of me, and the least I could do is to respect that by putting my phone away.

“So, what do you think?” he starts. “I know that you’re not sure what you want to do, but I’m going to be frank here. The heat from all of this drama is not going to last long. Your fans need to know you’re releasing a real album here.”

I squint, confused. “What do I think about what?”

He exhales sharply. “Faye.” There’s a warning edge in his tone. “You have to listen to me. Who keeps texting you, anyway?”

Heat burns in my cheeks. “No one.” I push my phone across Kevin’s glossy table, and it glides to the other end.

His green eyes are disapproving. “It’s Blake, isn’t it?”

There’s no use denying it. “Yeah.”

His brows knot with an expression between confusion and fury. I expect him to blurt out something about how Blake is being inappropriate, texting me during a business meeting. That, or ask me to surrender my phone for the remainder of our time together.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he merely asks, “Why?”

For a brief second, I assume he’s asking about the content of the text, and my cheeks burn even brighter as I recall Blake’s last message.

“Get over here, and quick. I keep touching my dick wishing you were here to suck on it.”

But then, as I study the confusion on his face, I realize he’s asking why Blake is texting me at all. What reason Blake would have to keep in touch, considering that our relationship is fake.

A dark feeling gnaws at my chest as I push away possible answers to that question, which I’ve been ignoring all week. Ever since the show, my head has been in a confusing place.

The performance was great. It was Blake’s and my first official public appearance. I had not planned for it, but that did not derail it. For weeks, our pictures and videos trended on social media under the hashtag FayLake. There are dozens of videos out there analyzing everything about us, from lipreaders guessing what Blake said to me on stage to music analysts pointing out possible references to Blake in my songs.

Somehow, though, that wasn’t the most overwhelming aspect of it all. Something even stranger is afoot. For the past week, Blake and I have been behaving like a real couple. Every day, after my studio sessions and meetings, I go back to his apartment in West Philly, where he proceeds to fuck me for hours on end. Sometimes we order in and eat between orgasms, but then we are back at it a few minutes later. When I am held up by a meeting or his practice goes on longer than expected, we sext, detailing what we’ll do to each other once we are together again.

We re-established our old cabin routine. But this time, it is much more comfortable.

Looking into Kevin’s face reminds me of the same question that’s been playing in my mind since Blake delivered those flowers to me on stage.

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