Page 24 of Rinkmates

I feel my cheeks heat up. “No, same. You go.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “I just wanted to know if you’re ready. The minute we step out of this car together, it’s real. There’s no backing out. I can drive you back now, but once we’re out, we’re linked together.”

I swallow, not entirely sure what he means but replying anyway. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m all in.”

“You know my life can be crazy. People know me out there, and it’s possible you might get photographed in situations you don’t like. It’s better to always be prepared. I have shades with me in case I feel like my eyes look like shit. People make the dumbest assumptions when you have rings under your eyes.”

“Do I have rings under my eyes?” I pull the mirror down and look. It seems normal.

“What? No. Damn. I didn’t mean—you’re beautiful. Um.” He swallows his lips as if he needs to stop himself from talking.

I look away, shutting the mirror. My cheeks are hot, glowing. He thinks I’m pretty? “Thank you,” I say, but it comes out in a shy whisper.

The minute we arrive at the apartment complex, Riley practically leaps out of the car to grab my luggage. I want to protest—being a woman doesn’t mean I’m incapable of handling my own things—but he’s already there, his grip firm yet gentle on the handle.

Standing next to him, I stare up at him. His cheeks have a rosy hue. Is Riley blushing? Because he just called me beautiful?

No. It can’t be.

He has at least five women on each arm. He must have called a dozen of women beautiful. This can’t make him blush. No.

I open my mouth to say something, but as he shuts the trunk, I catch sight of a group of teenage girls huddled together, their smartphones out, recording our every move.

I freeze.

Did they wait in front of his home to get pictures of him? Panic floods my system, and my heart races as I squeeze myself between Riley and his car—using all of him as my shield. This is why he asked me if I was ready. I had no idea how famous he is.

He tilts his head down and raises one brow in surprise.

“O-over there,” I say and nod behind him.

With a sly glance over his shoulder, he probably notices their love-struck gazes and winks playfully at them.

My face burns with embarrassment, but Riley stands tall and unbothered in front of me. He’s so used to this.

“Um, is this normal?” I whisper, hoping to blend into his broad chest and disappear forever.

He places a finger under my chin, softly guiding my gaze to meet his. “Listen. You need to get used to this. I have some crazy-ass followers, and while it’s nothing compared to those movie stars, you’ll encounter things like this on a daily basis from now on. I’m here. Always. They won’t get near you. They’d have to go through me first, okay?” I’m still frozen. “Okay?” he repeats, so I nod. “Just to be clear, they will take photos and might even follow you.”

I want to glance behind him, but his grip holds me captive. Suddenly, my pulse seems to beat for a whole other reason. But he’s right. And just in this very second, I realize that I need this fake relationship more than he knows. It’s better for people to talk about our romance than to wonder why I vanished for years.

“I won’t back out,” I say firmly. “I want this, Riley.”

“Good girl,” he says, his grip on my chin tightening ever so slightly. “I’m going to pull you in now.”

I pause, as if he’d just thrown a can of ice water down my back. “What. Why?”

“We need to give them something to talk about. So, are you okay with me pulling you close?”

I remain still but nod nonetheless.

I’ve agreed to this. I can do this.

He straightens to his full height, his touch both gentle and possessive as he cradles my face now, drawing me closer until our breaths mingle. There’s a jolt shooting through me. My stomach wobbles. Is he going to kiss me?

My skin tingles and my heart gives an impatient twang, but instead of closing the distance between our lips, he touches my earlobe with his lips. I shiver slightly at the sensation of his warm breath and the low, husky timbre of his voice. “I think we need to practice this,” he continues softly, the tip of his nose brushing against my ear like a caress.

There’s a playful edge to his words, and his touch shifts from my face to the small of my back, sending another wave of unwanted sparks of heat through my skin. I’m torn between the urge to lean into his embrace and the nervous flutter in my sternum. But this is ridiculous. I don’t even know him, and this is just proof that if you think someone is attractive, you go delulu. This is all about looks. But my heart bounces as if it needs to get out of his grip or—stay there. Stop it. We should be in love with a soul, not a face.

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