Page 25 of For One Night Only

And then Caleb kisses my cheek, reaches an arm around my shoulders, and marches me into the night. I know it’s all for the media, but the gesture makes my stomach flip.

It’s a lie, it’s a lie, it’s a lie.

But the tiniest part of me wants to believe it’s not.

8

Caleb

A part of me knew that coming back meant giving Valerie the power to hurt me again—I just didn’t realize how vulnerable I’d feel until last night.

How can she think it’s a good idea to pretend we’retogetheron top of everything? Valerie may be desperate for good press, but I don’t like this at all.

I played along just to get Ryan Tate off our backs, because I can’t stand that douchebag. But as soon as we got back from the bar, I hurried to my room without another word. Faking it or not, the motions felt a little too familiar for comfort, and it threw my thoughts into chaos. I could almost believe there was still something between us if my heart hadn’t been so shattered that night in Vegas all those years ago.

We need to set some boundaries.

I spent the night tossing and turning, and this morning, I skipped my jog in favor of scouring the internet. Nausea roils my stomach, and I know I need to put my phone away, but it’s hard tostop scrolling. Seeing my name everywhere triggers my instinct to run the hell away from all of this.

My chest tightens when I discover #CalErie isn’t just back—it’s trending. I loathe the portmanteau as much as I loathe how invasive it feels to have my private life speculated about all over the internet. It’s one thing when they’re talking about the reunion, or even the dynamics between the band, but I wish my relationship status was off-limits. It doesn’t help that Ryan took our statements and ran with them.

Or that there’s proof.

One camera caught me gazing across the stage at Valerie like I was completely in love with her. The caption says as much, and the old fan accounts are spinning wild theories in the comments about our supposed “rekindled romance.” The image is so startling that I stare at it for a solid minute before I come to my senses and delete the app, as if that could erase the evidence.

I waspretending, damn it.

We’re getting into the hotel a day early to increase security, so I busy myself by repacking my bag, gathering the shirts I scattered while trying to meet Keeley’s “minimum professional standards” last night.

The headlines flash through my mind as I fold each one. My reaction to all of this is ridiculous: I knew this was coming. We’re all over social media, just like Valerie wanted. We probably should have planned our first public appearance better, but the damage is done.

I just start to wonder if we should issue a statement when I hear a knock on the bedroom door.

“Come in,” I call.

“We’retrending!” Valerie squeals. This morning, she’s still got some of last night’s eye makeup on her face, and she’s wearing an old T-shirt and gym shorts, but she still looks like the girl I lovedwith that pink hair, and a visceral jolt runs through my veins. There are pieces of our old selves I’d rather not revisit.

I swallow thickly, settling on the bed. “I saw. I wish you hadn’t made up that stuff for Ryan. You knew he’d sensationalize it.”

She bites her lip. “I’m sorry. I just got the idea in the moment.” That’s her problem. She doesn’t think things through, and now the internet believes we’ve rekindled a relationship we’d never even confirmed in the first place.

“That’s fine, but we should probably issue a statement before fans get the wrong idea.”

“Actually…” she trails off, biting her lip.

Dread curls in my stomach. “What?”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s a terrible idea.”

I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at her. “You could argue this entire concert is a terrible idea. What do you want?”

It’s obvious when Valerie Quinn wants something. She breathes a little shallower, fidgets with her jewelry, purses her lips—and I check each action off one by one as I watch her from where she leans against the wall of the bedroom. Still, there’s something almost shy in the hunch of her shoulders that makes me want to know more.

“I think we should consider playing into it,” she says, not quite meeting my gaze. “Letting them think we’re together.”

Heat flushes the back of my neck. This is too far, even for her. “Are you serious right now? How’s that going to help your image?”

She clears her throat, looking anxiously over at me. “I know, it’s a huge ask, and maybe it’s a terrible idea. But I’ve been thinking about this all morning. I…” she trails off, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t think the reunion alone is going to be enough to fix my image—not in one summer. And, well…the press always liked me better when I was with you.”

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