Page 12 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

speak of the devil, Cass’s name lights up the screen.

“So,” he drawls when I answer, “want to explain why you acted like you didn’t know Lacey Monroe when we saw her in Atlanta the other night?”

I sink onto my leather couch, running a hand through my hair. “What?”

“At the after party. The one you bailed out on?” There’s amusement in his voice. “She passed by the private bar, and we all caught a glimpse of her. I asked if you recognized her, and you said—and I quote—Hard not to.”

Shit. “I, uh… I didn’t exactly lie, Cass,” I point out dryly.

“Only by omission. But I understand you wanting to keep it private.”

“Sorry,” I say, grateful for the easy out. “We weren’t ready to go public.”

Cass laughs. “Man, you’ve got some poker face. Though leaving early makes more sense now. Sneaking off for a romantic rendezvous?”

I hedge. “Something like that.”

“Well, the guys want to meet her properly. When’s that happening?”

I lean back, closing my eyes. This part, at least, is already arranged. Rachel’s team has our entire engagement scheduled down to the minute. “She’s coming to town this weekend.”

“Perfect. Dinner at my place this weekend? Cassidy is dying to meet her—she’s seen all her movies.”

“Even the company channel ones?”

“Especially those. My daughter is obsessed.”

I smile despite myself. Cass’s fourteen-year-old has the whole band wrapped around her finger. “Saturday works. I’ll check with Lacey, but I think she’d like that.”

“Cool. And Nate?” His voice turns serious. “We’re happy for you, man. She seems... different. Special.”

Guilt twists in my stomach. “Thanks, Cass.”

After we hang up, I stare at my phone for a long moment. On the screen, there’s a new notification—Lacey’s tagged me in a post. It’s a photo from the Plaza announcement, the moment right before our first kiss. We look... convincing. Happy and helplessly in love.

My thumb brushes over the image before I can stop myself. The memory of that kiss surfaces unbidden. It was supposed to be simple and perfect for the cameras. Instead...

I shake my head, pushing the thought away. This is business. A contract. Nothing more.

And now I have to introduce Lacey to the band. I grimace. To Vince, who will probably flirt with her just to get under my skin. And to Cass, who will ask way too many questions.

I scrub a hand over my face. I can already tell this is going to be a disaster.

Lacey is a professional, though. She knows how to handle the press, interviews, and appearances. She’ll be fine. We’ll stick to the story, play our parts, get through dinner, and everything will be fine.

Easy. Except, the thing is—nothing about the last couple of days felt like acting.

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the memories that keep surfacing: her hand in mine, soft and warm; the way her laugh sent awareness shooting down my spine; how she fit perfectly against me when I pulled her close. The subtle scent of her perfume still lingers in my mind, mixed with the memory of how her breath caught when I touched her face.

And that kiss.

It should have been just for show—a performance for the cameras, part of the act we were putting on. But the second my lips touched hers, everything else faded away. The press, the cameras, the whole damn charade—gone. There was only Lacey, the soft gasp she made against my mouth, and the way her fingers gripped my jacket like she needed to steady herself. It wasn’t calculated, wasn’t rehearsed—hell, it wasn’t even necessary.

But I kissed her anyway. And for those few seconds, it felt dangerously real.

I head to my music room, seeking the familiar comfort of my drums, but even the rhythm can’t silence one thought: Howthe hell am I supposed to resist Lacey Monroe when everything about her pulls me in?

I haven’t seen Lacey since the Plaza kiss.

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