Page 85 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

The minx.

But it’s during one of the ballads that everything shifts. The crowd fades away, and suddenly, I remember one morning as I secretly watched her dancing to this song in my kitchen, feeling that instant spark of attraction.

Now she’s mouthing the words, her eyes locked on mine, and the memory of our kiss as I joined her there in my kitchen floods through me. The way she tasted, how perfectly she fit against me, the electricity that crackled between us as we slowly danced together… then afterward…

The same electricity that’s here now, only stronger than ever.

When we finally leave the stage, she’s waiting in the wings. Her eyes are bright, cheeks flushed, looking exactly like she did that one night.

“That was so great,” she breathes, and before I can respond, she’s in my arms.

I don’t care that I’m sweaty from the show. Don’t care that the crew is bustling around us. All that matters is the way she feels pressed against me, how her heart races in time with mine.

“Ready for your behind-the-scenes tour experience?” I murmur against her ear.

Her laugh vibrates through my chest. “Lead the way, drummer boy.”

And as I guide her toward my hotel suite—our’s for the night—I realize something.

The music has always been enough before. The rhythm, the crowds, the rush of performing.

But now?

Now it’s even better because she’s here to share it with me.

Twenty-Six

Lacey

The Seattle skyline emerges through sheets of rain, the Space Needle a ghostly silhouette against steel-gray clouds. Nate’s rented BMW hugs the wet curves of I-5, and I watch his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

He’s been quieter with each mile marker, retreating into himself like the tide pulling away from the shore. At first, I thought I was imagining it—we’d had such a perfect couple of days together, stealing moments between shows, making the tour bus feel like our private sanctuary. But now the silence feels heavy, weighted with things unsaid.

When we finally reach the hotel, the valet takes our car, and Nate’s hand finds mine—but it feels different. Less like an intimate gesture and more like he’s anchoring himself.

Our suite overlooks the city, with floor-to-ceiling windows and modern luxury. Any other time, I’d want to admire the view of the city. But right now, all I can focus on is the way Nate stands at the window, his reflection fragmenting in the rain-streaked glass.

“Hey.” I approach slowly, wrapping my arms around him from behind. His muscles are rigid under my touch. “Talk to me.”

He lets out a breath but doesn’t turn around. “It’s nothing.”

“Nate.” I press my cheek against his back, feeling his heartbeat. “I know you better than that.”

Minutes tick by, marked only by raindrops racing down the window. Finally, he speaks.

“My mother lives here.”

The words fall like stones into still water. I wait, giving him space to continue.

I turn to face him, though his eyes remain fixed on the city below. “What happened?”

He swallows hard. “What didn’t happen?” Finally, he meets my gaze, and the pain there catches in my chest. “I told you about my father—how he left when I was twelve. Just walked out one day. No warning, no goodbye. Just gone.”

“Nate...” I reach over and squeeze his hand.

“That’s not even the worst part.” His jaw clenches. “It was what came after. Mom, she... she couldn’t handle being alone. She started bringing home these guys, one after another. Some were okay, but most weren’t. We never had enough money, never stayed in one place too long.”

I take his hand, leading him to the plush sofa. He follows, but his body remains tense, coiled like a spring.

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