Page 22 of Your Rule to Break

I shush her. “What are you talking about?”

“You, blushing, smiling. Let me guess—Zack?” She gestures to the phone. I roll my eyes even though she’s spot on.

I shouldn’t be blushing or letting my mind wander. There’s nothing to think about when everything is fabricated.

I nod as I text him back. The grin I’m wearing pinches at my cheeks. It’s too damn easy to play this part.

Me

meeting at 6, as long as it’s after

I’ll be at your place at 9

The wave of warmth that runs over my skin at the thought of him picking me up. Ugh, swoon. I smile at Keegan because I can feel her watching me.

Buzz.

can’t miss out on a good photo opp

I don’t let my face show the drop in my mood. Damn it, Emilie. Why are you doing this to yourself? The scolding isn’t enough to take control of the situation and lessen the sting. The reminder. Even though I know none of this is real, there are these moments, glimmers, where it feels like it might be more than what we’re giving ourselves credit for.

It’s not fair to Zack for me to do that, put that on him. We have a clear agreement, with rules and expectations. There’s nothing sexy about that.

Hell, it’s not fair for me to fall into the pit with shards of anxiety and jealousy waiting at the bottom. I put my phone in my bag, not needing any other messages from Zack or anyone else at this point, and sip my coffee, wondering where my self-awareness escaped to.

Chapter 14

Emilie

We walk hand inhand, Zack obnoxiously swinging our arms back and forth, as we approach the bar. I prefer to hold hands, whether it’s with friends or partners, or in this sense, fake partners. My therapist tells me it’s a sensory thing, while I think it’s about needing to feel wanted. Maybe we’re both right.

“How was the meeting?” he asks.

Honestly, since Willow started her own label, it’s been a dream. “So good. It’s been so fun finding new venues for the second set of dates. Everyone I talk to is excited.”

Willow recently wrapped up her first leg of the new tour, and I’m currently planning a second. I love being in control of where she’s going to play.

“Sounds like we need to have some fun then,” Zack says, his voice smooth and convincing, like he’s daring me.

I look over at Zack and catch him looking at me, smiling. He’s wearing a black shirt, jeans, and these Nike sneakers I know he had to pull strings to get. Even in the most casual of clothes, he looks good enough to eat.

I also went with sneakers tonight, but paired them with a pleated red skirt, which hits right above the knee, and a black top which hugs my shoulders with a wide neck. Keegan picked it out, straight from her boutique, and the woman doesn’t miss.

The top dips a little low, enough to see my cleavage, but we’re going out. Plus, I feel good in it. Keegan has a knack for picking out things I’d never choose for myself, but I end up feeling like I belong in it.

We approach the door, knowing Willow and Tripp are already inside, and the security guard waves us in. The bar is dark but has strategic lighting placed throughout, which makes it feel intimate, but also not like you’re locked in a basement.

Walking into the VIP area is still something I’ll never get used to. The second the security guard saw us, someone was waiting to take us to our table. We walk up a short flight of stairs and to the spot—cozy benches with plush velvet pillows and some fabric intentionally draped to create a barrier between one section to the next. Willow and Tripp are sitting next to each other, waiting.

“Hey, love birds!” Tripp jokes when he sees us. Willow gives him a playful shove in response.

Playing the part with Zack has been too easy over the last three weeks. That isn’t lost on me as Zack leads me in front of him, his hand grazing my hip before I sit down. I so badly want to look at the places where his fingers touched the fabric, almost like he smeared me with paint, but I show some restraint. Now, all I can think of is his hands on me and how I’m not wearing tights under this skirt.

“Ready for some fun?” Zack says close to my ear, his lips practically in my loose curls, as he sits next to me.

Fuck, I need a drink.

The bar keeps bringingsamples of signature cocktails to our table, and it’s clear I haven’t eaten enough today. I’m only on mysecond Aperol Spritz but I’m a tad tipsy, the buzz of the alcohol running over my skin. When the bartender brings a basket of truffle fries, I practically throw myself in front of them.

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