Page 74 of Ripped & Shipped
“I’m not saying you’re not capable. You’re more than able to handle your business. This situation concerned me. So I had a friend check into the guy. Now, we see he’s come back under another account. If this happened to someone you know, what would you think?”
I’m quiet. Chris keeps his gaze on me. I take in his coarse sandy blond hair, the depth of his eyes, the scruff on his jaw. I was right. He’s growing out his facial hair.
“I like the beard.”
Chris chuckles.
Oh. I said that out loud.
“Good. Take some pictures with me and my beard. Tell your followers you like my beard. Didn’t you say they love me? They are going to eat up our fake relationship. And my beard.”
He lifts a hand and runs it over his jawline. He’s totally not playing fair, and he knows it.
“Low blow, Soldier.”
He’s quiet. Calm. Waiting for me to make the next move.
Joe speaks up. He’s been on the sideline, sitting next to Meg on our loveseat, holding her hand. The hand with his ring on it.
“Do you want my opinion, Ella Mae?”
He’s asking. A man who respects me enough to ask. Maybe the soldier could take some notes from my roomie’s fiance.
“I’d gladly entertain your opinion, Joe.”
“I think making the impression that you have a boyfriend can’t hurt, and it might help. And whenever something can’t hurt and might help, it’s good to give it a shot.”
“Lying to my followers,” I mutter. “I’ve maybe exaggerated things at times—you know, occasionally made things look better or different than they are to show off my life, or to help them see what I want them to see. But I’ve never outright lied to them.”
“I’m sure most of them would want you to do what it takes to stay safe,” Joe says.
At his side, Meg nods.
I glance at Chris. He purses his lips and tips his head like he agrees, but he’s silently conceding that it’s up to me.
Finally, it’s up to me.
I sigh, collapsing back onto the couch.
“Okay. Okay.”
Chris awards my choice with another smile. This one isn’t full, but it feels special, like the last chocolate in a Godiva box.
“And for the record, I’m only saying yes because the pizza’s going to be here any minute. I’m starving, and I don’t want to sit here debating this while the pizza goes cold.”
“Good reason,” Chris says, all smirky and gloaty, and full of himself.
My boyfriend, Chris St. James.
I laugh out loud.
And the laughter won’t stop.
I double over in hysterics.
“What?” Meg asks.
“Me and St. James!” I snort and then cover my nose for making that sound, but then I laugh some more.
