Page 256 of Just for the Cameras
I push my hand through my hair, stand from the couch, and walk over to the kitchen, where I start a pot of coffee.
Leaning against the counter, I take Maple in, letting my eyes roam over her and commit to memory this peaceful moment where there is a slight smile on her sultry lips, her stunning face relaxed with nothing bothering her. She’s peaceful.
She’s perfect.
And if only she could be mine.
The coffee pot beeps, and I catch her stirring, so I turn my back, grab a mug, and fill it up. I’m going to need this liquid encouragement to do what I need to do.
I blow on the mug while I hear her move off her chair and approach the kitchen, her cute feet padding across the floor. Before she can walk up behind me and loop her arms around my waist like she’s done in the past, I turn to see her enter the kitchen, her eyes still sleepy and her hair slightly rumpled.
Fuck, I want to pull her into my arms and bury my face in her neck.
“Good morning,” she says as she pauses at the kitchen island. Her voice is scratchy, as if she spent the night screaming my damn name, but I know that’s not the case. If it was, I wouldn’t be putting distance between us right now.
“What are you doing here, Maple?”
“I came to be with you.”
“And I told you, we’re not a thing.”
Her eyes narrow, and I can tell this is not going to be as easy as I thought.
“We’re not a thing? As in, we’re not dating?”
“That’s what that would mean,” I say, my voice remaining emotionless.
“Interesting,” she says as she props her hip against the island and folds her arms over her chest. “Because last I remember, you really liked me, so tell me where along the way this didn’t turn into a relationship.”
I blow out a heavy breath and drag my hand down my face. “Maple, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“Did you really just say that to me? Do you really expect me to just roll over, tuck my tail between my legs, and walk away from you after everything we’ve been through? It doesn’t work that way, Graydon. I’m not going to just leave because you’re trying to save me from whatever story you’re building in your head.”
“It’s not a story!” I shout, not helping my hangover. “It’s real life. The press is hounding you, it’s affecting your work, and this is…this won’t get easier.”
“And you think your feelings are just going to fade away as if I didn’t even exist?”
I stare down at my coffee mug, unable to look her in the eyes when I say, “Yeah, it’s not like it meant that much to me in the first place.”
Silence falls between us, and I can’t spare her a look because I know I’ll break. I know she’ll see right through the lie.
Honestly, the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
Because that’s not how I feel at all.
I fucking love her. I rely on her. I crave her.
I feel like I’ve found my person. Our souls have connected on another level.
Yet I realize the pressure my job has put on her, the dysfunction of my family, and the demand of my celebrity. I know that it’s a lot, and I know deep in my soul that she doesn’t deserve to be put through all of that.
She steps forward, closing the space between us until there are only mere inches between our chests.
“I didn’t mean that much to you?” Her tone isn’t sad, more inquisitive,like she just drummed up an entire plan in her head and is about to best me.
“It was good for what it was,” I answer.
“I see.” She moves directly in front of me and then, to my surprise, takes off her shorts, then her shirt, leaving her completely bare.
