Page 53 of Puck Prince

SUMMER:Explain.

OWEN:She’s my neighbor’s roommate and the press keeps seeing us together.

SUMMER:And your Coach’s niece…

SUMMER:Yes, Owen, I read the news.

I shake my head and keep typing.

OWEN:I’m trying to stay out of the limelight, and I figured if we make people think we are dating, it’ll become old news and the press will leave both of us alone.

SUMMER:So you’re lying to the world to save your reputation?

OWEN:…more or less.

SUMMER:Cool. Now when are you going to stop lying to me?

I’m lost. But when I don’t respond right away, she goes on.

SUMMER:I’ve seen the pictures O. You might think you’re pretending, but nothing about the two of you together looked fake to me.

A moment later, she blows my phone up with photos. I’m ready to unload on her, tell her she’s full of shit.Of course it's fake.

But I can’t.

Because, seeing the way Callie and I are looking at each other across the table, the way she lights up when I grab her hand, the way we both melt during the kiss—I can’t seem to defend myself.

Instead, I sit on the couch and down the rest of my beer.

That shit looks every bit as real as it felt.

18

CALLIE

I never thought I’d be so happy to be given the cold shoulder.

The pictures from my date with Owen are cycling and recycling on social media enough to keep the sharks at bay, which means I can finally live my life without camera flashes and the paranoia of someone jumping out of the bushes every time I walk outside.

Not that I don’t still check. Paparazzi PTSD is a real thing, apparently.

What the fuck even is my life right now?

The other upside to that is Owen and I are off the clock.

Meaning we don’t feel the need to make any more fake relationship public appearances for the time being.

Meaning we can avoid each other at work and at home and anywhere else we might just happen to run into each other… like crowded sports bars.

It’s been quiet, is what I’m saying.

So quiet.

… Maybe too quiet.

Okay, so I have to admit, it’s a little weird not talking to him at all. Not that I want to—the man drives me batshit crazy. But to go from all day, every day dealing with him to almost nada?

It’s unnerving.

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