Page 25 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

He’s quiet for a moment, and when I look up, his expression is thoughtful. “You don’t have to come to that, you know. The launch. It’s going to be frenzied.”

“I’m your fiancée, remember? Of course, I’ll be there.” I lean into his shoulder. “Besides, I want to hear the songs you guys have been working on.”

Something flashes in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe? But before I can analyze it, he’s reaching for my wine glass because his own is empty, taking a slow sip.

“Hey!” I protest. “Get your own.”

“Sharing is caring, sweetheart.” His use of the endearment sends a little shiver through me, reminding me of last night.

I clear my throat. “So, tell me about the new album. What can I expect?”

He sets my glass down, leaning back in his chair. “It’s different from our other stuff. More personal, I guess. Luke wrote and will sing some of the songs this time.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Yeah. Usually, Cass sings most of the songs, but...” He runs a hand through his hair. “Luke went through some stuff last year. The songs just poured out of him.”

I remember the way Luke looked at his fiancée, Lila, the obvious love there. “Good stuff or bad stuff?”

“Both. Life stuff.” He glances at me. “The kind of things that change you.”

The intensity in his voice makes me wonder what changed him. What stories lie behind those guarded eyes?

“And the drums?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light. “Any epic solos I should watch for?”

His lips curve. “Maybe a few. Though I know you’re already a fan of Midnight Confessions.”

I feel my cheeks warm, remembering our conversation the other night. “It’s a good solo.”

“Just good?”

“Fine, it’s brilliant. Happy?”

His laugh is low and warm. “Ecstatic. My fake fiancée likes my drumming. What more could a guy want?”

But there’s something in his tone that has the word ‘fake’ making my throat go dry. I take a long sip of wine, trying to ignore the way my pulse jumps when his fingers brush mine as he steals my glass again.

“Rachel wants us to do a couple’s interview,” I say, changing the subject. “We should probably work on our story.”

“What’s wrong with the truth?” At my raised eyebrow, he clarifies, “The version we told the band. L.A. party, love at first sight...”

“We need details. First date, first kiss—the stuff people want to hear.”

He shifts in his chair, turning to face me fully. “Alright, Lacey. Let’s hear your version.”

Well...“ I shift, tucking my legs under me, trying to ignore how his eyes track the movement. “You saw me across the room at that party. You were nervous—“

“I don’t get nervous.” His voice has dropped lower, and he’s leaned in slightly, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with the salt air.

“You were totally nervous,” I insist, fighting the urge to trace the stubble along his jaw. “But charming. You asked me to dinner the next night.”

“Where did I take you?” His fingers brush my knee, and even through my jeans, his touch burns.

“Somewhere quiet. Private. You didn’t want the paparazzi ruining our first date.”

His eyes are intent on mine. “And then?”

“Then...” I wet my lips, suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting. “You kissed me goodnight. A perfect gentleman.”

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