Page 64 of Official

“Sure,” I say, and it’s the only word I’ve contributed to this entire interaction.

In the camera, I look like I just wrestled a boar and lost. My hair is tousled from the wind, and my eyes are frowning, not to mention my shirt is untucked on one side from tugging at it in frustration.

Pretend.

I need to pretend.

I plaster on a smile, and Scarlett snaps about fifty photos, at the very least. By the end of the encounter, she calls us her best friends and rushes off to send them all to her “frenemy,” who’s going to regret not taking her to Coachella last year.

Evidently, they’ve both been following Sam for a couple years now and have completed all her workout guides. They’ve lived by her nutrition plan too. Scarlett gushed about the kiwi dessert, in particular, which she said she makes every week.

It made Sam blush, and although I’m happy she has a ton of people who look up to her like that, I’m beyond confused.

“Is it so terrible if we tell my brother about us?” Sam resumes like there was no interruption at all.

She was laughing with Scarlett, and now she’s scowling at me.

But at the mention of her brother, my chest expands with guilt, and my fucking heart drowns in it. “What would we even say?”

“That we like each other.” She lets out a sound that resembles something between a laugh and scoff. “We’d tell him the truth.”

“You don’t even know how to tell a bunch of strangers the truth, let alone Teddy.” I wave my hand in the direction Scarlett just disappeared. “Exhibit fucking A.”

She stands back with her lips parted and hurt in her eyes.

“Come on, Sam,” I plead. “You hide so much of yourself online. All your pictures and videos are pristine—every hair in place, no sweat to be seen. It’s like you’re embarrassed you work so hard.” I lick my lips, my throat clogging up with each truth pressed against the walls of it, begging to be let out. “You were too scared to tell your followers that Jason was your mystery boyfriend, but he dumped you. You were so terrified of being honest that you had to pretend to date me. And it worked too. The pictures of us are selling the lie, and you love it.”

“That was your idea.” She jabs her finger into my chest, but I barely feel it with the turmoil numbing it. “If you were so against it, why did you even suggest it?”

“Because I wanted to help you,” I whisper. “You were so upset, and all I wanted to do was fix it.”

“You did a damn fine job.” Her shoulders slump. “Thank you for your service.”

The heavy sarcasm in her voice lingers above us like a dark cloud as she brushes past me, but I grip her arm and turn her to face me again. “Sam…”

She dips her head, and when she lifts it back up to meet my gaze, I find tears in her eyes. “I’d take the pictures any day, Xander. The real thing always disappoints.”

My chest squeezes as she slips out of my hold.

“You know what’s funny about this whole fucking thing?” she snaps. “You’re lying too. To yourself and to me. It’s not Teddy you’re afraid of.”

I step back and put distance between us, but it doesn’t matter. I already know what she says next is going to sting like a motherfucker.

“What we have—or at leasthad—wasn’t just island fun, as you implied. It was real, and it scares you because you’ve never been in a relationship. You’d rather jump into bed with woman after woman because it’s easy. No complications with nuisances likefeelings,” she grinds out. “Trying to say Teddy and your friendship with him has any role in this is just a bullshit excuse to cover up the fact that you’re a damn coward. I lied on my profile because it benefitted my business, but I would never run away from a chance at something true just because it was messy or difficult.”

She turns her back to me and walks away without waiting for a response. Not that I have one to give.

Sadly—and admittedly, cowardly—it even relieves me not to, because it would be too hard to profess out loud that everything she said about me is true.

I am afraid.

I don’t want to look her brother—my best friend—in the eye and tell him I slept with his sister.

That I have feelings for her but don’t know how to be the man she deserves.

Or that it’s easier to walk away, no matter how much it pains me.

After one more refill of my wineglass, I slink back up to the room—the room we share for one last night—and find the main area empty, except for the heels she was wearing tonight. Each one is tossed to the opposite side of the room like she jerked them off in a hurried rage before disappearing into her bedroom.

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