Page 38 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

“Intense?” His fingers find mine in the darkness, warm and steady.

I turn to study his profile, outlined by passing streetlights. Even tired, he’s devastatingly handsome—and that’s exactly theproblem. This thing between us, this pull I feel whenever he’s near, it wasn’t part of the plan.

The car glides through L.A. traffic toward our hotel. Our hotel. The phrase makes my stomach flip, even though I know it’s just for show. Everything about us is for show, except when he looks at me like this.

“You’re frowning,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.

“I’m not—“

“You are.” He shifts closer, and suddenly, the backseat feels too small. “Want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Before I can answer, we pull up to the hotel. The doorman opens my door, and the spell breaks. We’re back to being America’s newest power couple, playing our parts.

The suite Rachel booked is all floor-to-ceiling windows and elegant minimalism, with a view that makes me catch my breath. City lights sparkle below like scattered stars.

“Not bad,” Nate says, dropping our bags by the massive king bed. The bed. Right.

I turn to face him, pressing a hand to his chest before he can step closer. “We should be smart about this.”

His heart beats steady under my palm. “Define smart.”

“Three weeks, Nate. That’s all we’ve known each other.”

“And how long are we supposed to know each other before we take that next step?”

The question hangs between us, dangerous in its simplicity. I step back, needing distance to think clearly.

“You take the floor,” I say finally, not answering his question. “I’ll take the bed.”

He raises an eyebrow, glancing at the king-sized mattress. “Seriously?”

“Completely.” I aim for playful, but my voice wavers slightly. “There’s plenty of floor space.”

Nate holds my gaze for a long moment before sighing. “Fine. But when I can’t walk tomorrow because my back’s shot, I’m blaming you.”

The bathroom door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it, taking a deep breath. Through the wood, I hear Nate moving around, probably making his bed on the floor. This is ridiculous—we’re both adults. We can share a bed without...

Without what? Without crossing lines that are already starting to blur?

When I emerge in my oversized t-shirt, Nate’s stretched out on the floor, one arm behind his head. He’s changed into sweatpants but left his chest bare, and I force myself not to stare.

“Comfortable?” I ask, slipping under the covers.

“Like sleeping on clouds.” His sarcasm makes me smile despite myself.

I reach for the light, plunging the room into darkness broken only by the city’s glow. The silence stretches between us, filled with things we’re not saying.

“How do you do it, Lacey?” His voice is soft, thoughtful.

“Do what?”

“Step into a role so completely. Make it feel real. I watched you tonight on that screen, and it wasn’t just acting. It felt like... more.”

I’m quiet for a moment before answering. “Sometimes, it is more. The best performances come when you let yourself feel it. When you stop pretending and just... let go.”

“Does that happen often?”

I exhale a heartfelt sigh. “Not always. But sometimes, with certain people, it doesn’t feel like acting at all.”

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