Page 47 of The True Love Experiment

Deflecting with humor, how very Fizzy.

“Nah, sorry.” I hand her a coffee. “But I do have this.”

She tilts the cup, readingVanilla Lattewritten in beautiful calligraphy on the side. These baristas are going all out. “How’d you know what I drink?” she asks.

“You ordered one of these after the Broad.”

At this, the small team of beautifiers steps away—I wonder if there is a vibe that readsPrivacy, pleasehere—and I take a sip of my cappuccino before putting it down again. More caffeine is the last thing I need right now.

One of the sound guys approaches with Fizzy’s small mic in his hand. “Ready?” he asks.

At her nod, he reaches for the front of her silk shirt and the words shove their way up my throat: “I’ve got it, mate.”

He hands it over without any indication that he’s heard the edge in my tone. But Fizzy has. Her smirk is louder than her bursting laugh could ever be.

“Quiet, you,” I mumble, smiling, and hand her the cord. I motion for her to slip it under the hem of her top and out the neckline. Sensation echoes down my arm, sending electric pulses to my fingertips. I remember the way her breast filled my hand, the gasp she let out when I closed my finger and thumb around her tight nipple.

She brings the end of the cord up and out of her collar and holds it out for me.

I take it, and bend, attaching the clip to the front of her shirt asunobtrusively as possible. Speaking into her chest, I ask, “How are you, Fizzy?”

“I am fine, Connor,” she says like a robot, and when I look up at her, she’s smiling at me.

“Still a menace, I see.” The backs of my fingers inadvertently skim her neck and collarbone, and she sucks in a quiet breath. “Sorry,” I whisper.

“It’s okay,” she whispers playfully back, and I connect the cord to the mic.

Tension thrums between us. Her skin is so warm and soft, smooth and kissable. This close I can smell the subtle scent of her shampoo and body lotion. It makes me light-headed. Straightening, I adjust her collar to hide the mic.

“Should we talk about last night?” she blurts.

Behind me, there’s a cough, a gasp, a snorted laugh, the clearing of a throat. A glance over my shoulder confirms that every headset-wearing member of the crew has just given us their undivided attention. “You mean our conversation about today’s run of show?” I ask.

Awareness lands and Fizzy nods slowly, and then with more conviction, calling out loudly, “Yes!Of coursethat conversation! What other thing would we have to discuss?”

I gaze down at her, fighting a laugh as I reach forward to turn off the live mic. “I guess we don’t need to test your sound levels.”

She winces. “You should hold up a sign or something when you need me to be covert. Subtlety has never been my strong point.”

“I think a safe rule of thumb is to be covert when we are together on the set of your dating show.”

She snaps, pointing at me. “Good call. This is why you’re the boss.”

Pinned to the front of Fizzy’s blouse is a custom-made tag with the logo forThe True Love Experiment, and her name printed above the wordHEROINE. Each of the Heroes will have a name tag, too, along with his archetype. It’s all a fun gimmick to make the show stand out, but it’s also a reminder of whoI’msupposed to be. In fact, I should probably wear a name tag as well, though I’m not sure there would be enough space on it for all the reminders I’d need: Connor Prince III, Hot DILF only as an inside joke, Executive Producer, Not Boyfriend, Not Even Lover, Do Not Covet the Heroine

“But yes. About last night,” I start, and her expression falls, worry creating a gentle crease in her forehead. Words evaporate from my brain. “Which is to say—that is, it was lovely, and I know you know this, I’m just confirming…” She stares up at me, waiting, her eyes softening as I struggle. “We should probably not do it again.”

Fizzy nods. “I agree completely. In fact, I got home and didn’t think about it again, not even once. Definitely not twice in a row.”

I glare down at her. “Can we at least endeavor to go about this with sincerity?”

Rory calls that we’re two minutes from rolling, and Fizzy does some sort of scout gesture.

“I am endeavoring, I promise. Besties only. But may I say one more thing before you go?”

“Of course.”

She points to her mic. “We’re sure this thing is off?”

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