Page 22 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

I raise my brow. “Thought you started without me.”

“I did. But I’m willing to give you a second chance.”

I peel off my shirt, hyperaware of how her eyes darken as they trail over my chest, lingering just a second too long before she looks away. The flush on her cheeks isn’t from the sun, and knowing I affect her just as much as she affects me is both satisfying and dangerous.

She clears her throat. “Come on, Stone. Show me what you’ve got.”

I wade into the water, the coolness wrapping around my skin as I dive under, cutting through the waves effortlessly. When I resurface, Lacey is watching me, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

“Not bad,” she admits.

“Not bad?” I arch a brow, moving closer. “Sweetheart, I could swim laps around you.”

“Oh, that’s it. Race me to the buoy.” She doesn’t even wait for me to agree before she takes off.

Laughing, I follow, keeping just behind her as we cut through the waves. Lacey is fast—strong strokes and streamlined movements. But I’ve got power, and I know how to pace myself.

I push forward at the last second, reaching the buoy just before she does. She collides softly with my chest, the impact sending sparks through my system. Her skin is cool from the water, but her breath is warm against my neck.

Lacey groans, breathless. “Not fair. I want a rematch.”

I grip the buoy, aware of how close she is and how easy it would be to reach out and touch her. “You have a hard time losing, don’t you?”

Her eyes spark with challenge, droplets clinging to her lashes. “Only when I think I can win.”

“Cocky, too.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.

She shrugs, and I have to force myself not to pull her closer, wanting to feel her wet body against my skin. “I prefer the term confident.”

I don’t answer because that would be dangerous. Instead, I watch her for a second as she leans back and floats—her dark lashes fluttering shut, the way her body moves with the gentle waves, how completely at ease she looks.

I like this side of her—the unguarded version. The one who isn’t playing a role isn’t posing for cameras, just being herself. I like having her here—like this.

Once back onshore, we dry off and stretch out on the sand. Lacey is propped on her elbows as she scrolls through her phone. I try not to notice how the sun highlights every curve. When she shifts, her arm brushes mine, and the contact sends electricity dancing across my skin.

I close my eyes, tilting my head back, but that only makes me more aware of her presence beside me—the subtle scent of her sunscreen, the soft sound of her breathing, the heat radiating from her body mere inches from mine.

And then—

“Oh no, not again.”

I crack an eye open. “What?”

She groans, flipping her phone to show me the screen—incoming FaceTime from Mom.

I chuckle. “Are you going to answer?”

She grimaces but swipes to accept the call.

“Lacey Josephine Monroe!”

I choke on a laugh. Lacey winces. “Hi, Mom.”

A tiny, dark-haired woman appears on the screen. “Lacey, is that all you have to say? You’ve been in town for almost twenty-four hours, and not one update? Do you know how many headlines I had to read just to know you were still alive?”

Lacey sighs. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“And this Nate Stone fellow? Is he taking care of you?”

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