Page 26 of The Fake Divination Offense
Alexo hesitates.
That hesitation is a fist to the gut, socking right into my diaphragm.
But he says, “No. It’s just complicated.”
My eyes flick over his head to that guy, who’s watching us with a sneer.
The NDAs we signed strictly forbid us from telling anyone that this relationship is fake. But if he has a—fuck—boy friend, even an on-again, off-again piece of shit like that, we could make more problems for him with this fake dating charade.
“Is he someone who will have an issue with this arrangement?” I ask.
Alexo laughs. It’s strained, nowhere close to the real, ringing laugh he gave me earlier. “Ohyeah.”
Another sucker punch to the gut.
A winded, gasping grunt leaves my mouth, and before I know what I’m doing,why, I have Alexo’s chin between my finger and thumb and I’m bending down over him.
“We don’t have to do this,” I say. “If us dating publicly will cause trouble for you, we don’t have to do it. I can find another way to get you patronage on the cheerleading team.”
Alexo’s glare is sudden and intense and leaves me speechless. It’s all the fire of his performance, all the yearning of his song, and for a moment, I want to beg himnotto join the cheerleading team. I don’t think I’ll survive seeing him dance.
Through that look, he leaves his chin in my hand. Doesn’t seemat all put off that I grabbed him like this, keeping his face tilted up to mine.
“I’m not letting this opportunity go,” he tells me. It’s a promise. A threat. “I’m tired of running. Of dimming myself. This is a real chance, and I’m taking it. Yeah, there might be some people who have problems with it. Butfuck. Them.”
He punctuates the last two words with steps toward me, and I hadn’t noticed how much space we still had between us until he’s against my chest, his lips and breath andbeingheld right up under my face.
There might be some people who have problems with it. But fuck. Them.
My eyes flutter shut.
This guy is the physical manifestation of all my inner turmoil the past few months.
I really never stood a chance.
“All right,” I whisper.
It’snotall right.
Alexo nods in my grip, and when my eyes open, he’s backing away and glancing out the café window.
The publicists give us a thumbs-up and head back for the elevators. I completely forgot they’ve been immortalizing all this.
That guy is shaking his head, staring at Alexo, fury stark on his face.
“I have to go,” Alexo says. He gathers up the trash on the table, the muffin remains, mostly. “I didn’t realize what time it was. I—”
He startles as I take the trash from him and push the untouched pastries and his coffee toward him. “I got this. You need to leave?”
A lopsided smile. The ghost of a dimple on one cheek. He nods out the window, toward that guy. “He’s my ride.”
I think I crack a molar. That tension is all that keeps me from asking ifIcan give him a ride instead, because I don’t want him alone with that guy. Do they live together?
Not my question to ask. Not myanything.
But I dig my phone out of my pocket and slip to a contact entry screen before extending it to him. “Give me your number?”
Alexo grips his coffee cup, contemplating the phone, then my face.
