Page 21 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

Blaire laughs. “Let him. It’s the most fun I’ve had all week.”

I glance at Lacey. “I can see where you get it from.”

She frowns, and Blaire continues. “So, tell me, Nate—are you worthy of my younger sister? Because I’m very protective of her.”

Lacey groans again. “We are not doing this.”

I laugh, playing along. “I don’t know, Blaire. That depends. What’s the standard?”

“Oh, he’s good. I like this one, Lace. Keep him.”

Lacey rolls her eyes.

“Anyway,” Blaire says. “Mom and Dad are dying to hear all about your whirlwind romance, so expect a thousand questions at Sunday dinner with the entire family in two weeks.”

Lacey sits up, eyes wide. “Wait. What?”

“Oops! Gotta go, love you!”

The call ends. Lacey just sits there, staring at her phone. “She did not just—“

I chuckle. “Sunday dinner two weeks from now, huh?”

She glares at me. “My family is relentless. Loud, nosy, and entirely too involved.”

“They sound fun.” I resist the urge to reach out and push a lock of her hair off her face.

“You say that now, but wait until they start interrogating you.”

I shrug. “I’ll handle it.”

Her gaze holds mine, something unreadable flickering before she shakes her head. “You’re insane and asking for trouble.”

I grin. “But you like my confidence.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it.

The sun climbs higher, the morning slipping into midday. Lacey stretches as she stands. “Okay, I need to swim.”

I nod toward the water. “Go for it.”

“You’re not coming?” She crosses her arms. “What, afraid I’ll outswim you?”

My eyes are automatically drawn to the way her crossed arms highlight her breasts.

I give an arrogant shrug. “I can outswim you in my sleep.”

Lacey’s chin comes up in challenge. “Prove it.”

I shake my head, amused, but stand anyway. “You’re very competitive.”

“I know.” She winks before darting toward the waves.

I watch her go, my throat tightening. Lacey Monroe is too damn enticing for my peace of mind.

Before I can join her, my phone vibrates. It’s a text from Emily with this month’s schedule. I scroll through it and confirm there’s nothing scheduled for that Sunday.

Lacey emerges from the water, droplets trailing down her throat and over her collarbone. Her swimsuit clings to every curve, and when she pushes her wet hair back, exposing the elegant line of her neck, my fingers itch to trace that path.

“You coming in or what?” she calls, hands on her hips.

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