by Adams, Sarah
For me. It will be good for me is what he means. Because yes, it’s good for Nathan’s image, but let’s be real, he doesn’t need the money. I do. I want this money so I can pay him back.
But then another thought pops into my head. What then? What is my next step after paying Nathan back? Something about him buying the studio and me realizing he’s been paying part of my rent all these years has shaken up a restlessness in me. It’s made me a little antsy and craving more for my studio. Which completely terrifies me. I don’t like craving more, because I don’t like who I was back when all I did was strive for more. Contentment is what I need. If I had possessed even just an ounce more contentment back in high school, I wouldn’t have spent all of my time and energy trying to get into Juilliard. I would have gone to parties. Made friends. Maybe even had a hobby or desires outside of dance that would have kept me from spiraling into such a dark place when my one and only dream got snatched away.
I should be grateful for the help my friend has given me and find tangible ways to make the studio I currently have better. But instead, when trying to find new ways to not have to completely rely on his generosity, I accidentally stumbled across a new dream. One where my studio is not scented with pepperonis, and where it could officially function as a non-profit, able to accept more students who normally couldn’t afford dance classes.
The only way any of this would be possible is if I was granted the space in The Good Factory. The problem is, I’ve put all my eggs in one basket before, and it did not turn out in my favor. I’m terrified to want something just as much again.
Nathan’s phone rings, and he lets go of me so he can answer. “It’s my mom,” he says, looking a little weary before pasting on a tight smile and answering. “Hey Mom, what’s—” There’s a pause as he listens, followed by several mhmms and sures. His eyes shut tight for a moment like he’s in pain, and then he opens them again. I can only imagine she’s asking for something that takes too much from him.
Nathan has a problem saying no—especially to his parents. They’ve always expected a lot of him and have never been hesitant to ask for a lot too (and give nothing in return besides criticism). They always commit him for their charity events without truly asking him, manipulate him into dropping by their holiday parties just so he can be seen and sign autographs, and even ask him to float their lavish vacations because they know when something is paid for on the famous NFL quarterback’s black card, it gets them into a whole other sphere of luxury than even their padded bank accounts can achieve. They parade him around like a tiger at the circus and then whip him when he gets tired so he’ll perform better and keep that social status coming in for them. Yet another reason I never want Nathan to feel like he has to take care of me financially or carry me on his arm to special events. That’s not what he is to me.
I want to rip the phone out of his hand and tell this woman, Sorry, Nathan is no longer available for your constant soul sucking. Try taking up embroidery instead. But it’s not my place to protect him from his mom.
After a minute, he hangs up and sighs.
“Fun conversation?” I ask sarcastically.
He shrugs. “Not a big deal. She just wanted to see if I could fly home shortly after the season to show up to some charity event for them at their country club.”
“And you told her you’ll be taking some time off to re-energize?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
He looks down at his fidgeting hands. “I told her yes. I have to see them at some point anyway, so might as well do something for a good cause while I’m there.”
I hate that he does this. Nathan is convinced he’s Superman, and…well, I’m not completely convinced otherwise, but I know he has flesh and blood like the rest of us, and the load he’s carrying can’t be sustained for long. I don’t want to see him crash and burn. I want to strap him down and make him rest.
“How’s work life?” he asks softly.
“Don’t think I don’t know that you’re sidestepping my concern.”
He grins and leans his head back against the headrest to stare at me. “Hoping to. So what’s new at the studio? How are the girls?”
I settle back against the seat, thankful that some of our normalcy has permeated the strangeness of this luxurious environment. This feels more like us. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine we’re on his couch at home.
“It’s all been good. Imani has a new boyfriend who everyone and their brother can tell Sierra is jealous of, and…” I’m momentarily breathless at the sight of his soft genuine smile. He truly cares what’s happening with the girls in my class just like I do, and it makes my heart twist. “…Hannah’s dad got laid off again, but I was able to waive her tuition fees so she can still attend class because a certain generous benefactor bought the building and lowered my rent.”
I look out the window and see a car full of teenage girls riding beside us, keeping their car at the same speed as ours. The one in the passenger seat is telling us to roll down the window so they can see who’s in here. Gutsy. For all they know, it’s an old balding senator. My eyes slip to Nathan. Not an old balding senator.
“Because of you, these girls are able to continue to pursue their dreams. And knowing what I know now about how you’ve been helping with my rent all along, I realize I never would have been able to keep the doors open for them without you. So thank you.”
He’s frowning now. Not the look I was expecting after that speech. “You kill me, you know that?”
“With my devastating good looks?” I flash him an over-the-top debutante smile.
He doesn’t laugh at my quip. “You kill me when you don’t see your own worth. Bree, those doors are only open because of you. Those girls are achieving their dreams 100% because of you and the work you put into their lives. If I hadn’t bought the building, I know without a doubt you would have found a different way on your own. Probably would have worked a second job just so you could continue doing your first job! So no, don’t give me that credit. All I did was use money that would have been sitting around collecting dust.”
I swallow and clear my throat, not enjoying the sudden seriousness of this conversation. Even more, I don’t like that his words settle a pack of hot coals in my heart. It’s glowing and warm. Nathan makes me feel seen in a way no one else does.
But still, this conversation feels too intimate for our normal vibes, so I chuckle lightly and deflect. “You’re my best friend. It’s your job to say stuff like that.”
“Bree—”
I cut him off. “Hey, I have something I need to give you before we get to the set.”
“Now who’s sidestepping?”
I ignore him, dig the piece of paper out of my purse, and hand it to him. He looks at the folded slip of paper like maybe I’ve wiped a thousand boogers on it. I shake it in front of him with a laugh. “Here! Just open it.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a list.”
He gives me a look then takes the sheet of paper. It’s miniscule in his big hand. Nathan gingerly unfolds it like it’s a snowflake but then scoffs before he reads it aloud. “Rules for survival.” His eyes are annoyed as they slide to me. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
I nod toward the paper. “Keep reading! It’s important. If we’re going to make it out of this fake relationship with our friendship intact, we have to have some ground rules.” I scribbled this list after Nathan’s little practice exercise the other night. I can’t handle more situations like that, so it’s time to put some parameters in place to ensure it doesn’t happen again.
I watch closely as Nathan’s dark eyes scan over what I wrote. His jaw flexes and he clears his throat. “No kissing. No touching when not in public. Absolutely no snuggling ever.” I’m silently mouthing the words as he reads. “No flirting when alone. No…” His words trail off on this last one, and he tucks his lips into his mouth to lick them before continuing. “No hanky-panky.” His gaze swings to me, and I c
an tell he’s trying to school his expression so he doesn’t smile. “What exactly is hanky-panky?”
I roll my eyes. “You know what that means. Even my grandma knows what that means.”
He shrugs lightly. So innocent. “Is it a game? Or…I don’t know…a dance move? You’ll have to fill me in here. And please be as specific as possible.”
I slap his hard bicep. “Stop! You know what it means.” My cheeks are turning pink for some reason.
He raises an eyebrow. “Well, I have an idea, but you know, it leaves a lot open for interpretation. Hanky-panky is very vague. I might think it means old-fashioned sex, but then if that’s true…it means second base is totally up for grabs. Maybe even—”
“NATHAN!” My stomach barrel-rolls right out of this SUV because I do not want to hear what’s about to come out of his mouth next. We do not talk like this. Ever. Suddenly it doesn’t feel like we’re on his couch anymore, and I need to bring us back down to level ground. “No…sexual…anything!” I struggle saying each of those words. “And don’t be such a jokester about all of this. I’m serious.”
Don’t get me wrong—I’d love nothing more than hanky-panky with Nathan, but I know it wouldn’t mean the same things to us. I would never be able to separate my feelings from the act.
He hears the sharpness in my tone, and his amusement dies a little. “I know. I’m just playing. No hanky-panky…I got it. But the rest of this…” He scans the paper one more time before shaking his head and RIPPING IT UP! My rules are nothing but confetti falling to the floor now.
My mouth falls open. “Why did you do that?!”
“Because it’s ridiculous. We’re going to touch. We’re going to kiss, Bree.”
My heart stops. He said those words so matter-of-factly. Without hesitation or question. Just like, These lips will be touching those lips, no big deal. It would be a big deal for me.
“No. No kissing.”
“Couples kiss. If we’re going to sell this relationship, we’re going to need to kiss in public at some point.”
I sigh, a part of me knowing he’s right. “Okay, only if the absolute need arises, we can share a closed-mouth kiss. Just a quick peck for the cameras.” I’m not sure what would happen to our contract if the fake part of our relationship is discovered, and I don’t want to find out. I need that money.
He doesn’t agree, just picks up the shreds of my peace of mind and tosses them into a cup holder. He pulls out his phone. “Actually, all of this reminds me—we need to take a picture together and post it. An official ‘we’re a couple’ photo for social media to ooh and aah over.”
Oh right. That was in the contract—abundant social media lovey-dovey-ness. He turns the camera around to selfie mode and aims it in front of our faces. I lean toward him so our heads are almost together and cheese it up.
“Why aren’t you taking the photo?” I say through my smiling teeth.
“Because this pose makes us look like best friends.”
Duh. That’s what we are.
I drop my smile and turn my face to his. “Okayyyy. Well, what should we do then?”
He bites the side of his lip as he contemplates something and then unbuckles my seatbelt.
“Hey! Unsafe!”
Nathan loops his arm around my middle and, before I can protest, hauls me up onto his lap. HIS LAP! I guess that throws my no touching when not in public rule out the window. I can feel his solid chest against my back and his strong thighs under mine. He leans in and his breath warms my neck. My body doesn’t know how to react to this, so it just bursts into flames. “Wh-what’s happening right now?”
“Just relax. Pretend you like me.” Oh the irony.
His nose presses into the side of my jaw and I can feel his eyelashes brush against my skin as his eyes close. He holds the camera up in front of us, and my terrified expression is mirrored back at me. Eyes wide. I’m a deer in the headlights. But Nathan looks so natural, so like a man enjoying the feel of a woman—not his best friend. I hear him breathe in deep, and the hint of a smile touches the corner of his mouth. He’s a good actor. Before I realize it, my head is tilting into his, my eyes are closing, and my lips are curving up on their own.
He smells good.
So damn good.
I want to fill a pool with his scent so I can swim around in it all day long while sipping a margarita.
Sitting on his lap, I feel tiny. Like he could wrap his arms around me and shield me from a hurricane. So many sensations flit through my body as Nathan’s breath fans against my skin and his arm tightens around my waist. His lips don’t make any attempts at contact. He’s just hovering here in this nearness we’ve never had before, forehead and nose pressing into me like an affectionate nuzzle.
My skin is singed, and before I have time to worry that I’m letting myself enjoy his touch too much, the SUV crawls to a stop. Nathan pulls his face away from mine and cold air rushes over me. Acting complete.
“I think we got a few good ones. What do you think?” he asks with almost no emotion in his tone. Zero hints that he was feeling anything close to what I was feeling.
Still perched on his lap like this is my new throne, I take his phone and look closely at the photos. I can’t form any words because I almost can’t believe what I’m looking at. That’s not me and Nathan in this picture. This is a couple who’s head over heels for each other.
I know why I see that blissful look on my face, but why is it on his too?
I clear my throat. “Yeah. This works.”
I slide off his lap and tug at the bottom hem of my shirt, trying to put myself back in order before we leave the SUV.
The driver comes around to open our door, and just as Nathan is sliding out, my phone pings with an alert. It’s a new tagged photo notification from Instagram. Opening it, I see that Nathan already posted the photo along with a caption that reads: The only woman I want.
Nathan hops out first and holds his hand out for me to take. I look up into his eyes, trying desperately to not read too much into all of this, but already I feel my heart try to take liberties I swore I’d never allow it.
“Still with me, Bree Cheese?”
I don’t know…am I?
Nathan is holding my hand.
He’s. Holding. My. Hand.
Fingers intertwined, carry-my-backpack-on-the-way-to-science-level hand-holding. I feel a giggle bubbling in my stomach as my feet try to match his long strides into the sound stage where we are filming the commercial. It’s ridiculous. His skin is so calloused and hot. Is this what every football feels when Nathan holds it? Wonderful, now I’ll compare future men and their less-than-adequate hands to Nathan and his big primal mitts.
It’s time to get a grip on reality. That was a disorienting drive with Nathan’s face smooshed up next to mine, so naturally I’m a little off-kilter. But it’s time to center myself and prepare to be Nathan’s fake girlfriend. Emphasis on the fake, Bree. I can do this. I can hold his hand all day and not let it go to my head. Plus, I’ll probably hate being in the spotlight with him today. I’ll let the experience serve as a perfect example of why we will never be a real couple.
“You okay?” Nathan asks, feeling my spiral telepathically.
“Soooo okay.”
He smirks. He knows I’m full of crap. He turns to face me. “It might be overwhelming in there. There will be a lot of directions to follow and people who will want your attention. Just remember that they are all here for you.”
“You mean they are all here for you.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not the one who broke the internet. They wanted me to date you. That’s why we’re here, because the world fell in love with Bree Camden. None of this would be happening if it were anyone else.”
Goodness. When he puts it like that, this whole situation sort of hits differently. I’m not sure I like it. I try to brush off the parts of me that are grabbing on to his words for dear life. My heart feels like vanilla ice cream melting ove
r a hot chocolate brownie at the thought of people wanting me and Nathan together. I want to ring Kelsey up really quick and yell something obnoxious at her like, YOU SNOOZE, YOU LOSE.
The doors to the sound stage open and Nathan’s tall and gangly manager, Tim, steps out looking frantic. Then again, he sort of always looks this way. “Oh, you’re both here! Good.” He looks down at his watch then waves us through the door. “They’re almost finished setting up lighting, so you have just enough time to get into hair and makeup.”
We’re following him down a cold hallway now as he continues to talk a mile a minute. Nathan squeezes my hand.
“I explained to the crew that you’re on an incredibly tight schedule and they have three hours with you tops. Not a minute more because you have practice in the morning. Also, there’s a seared salmon and kale salad dinner for you in the dressing room, Nathan. I’ve already told hair and makeup you have to eat while they’re working on you.”
No dinner for me? See, it’s already happening—I’m seeing how miserable it would be to date Nathan. Everyone will fawn over him and I’ll fade into the shadows. This is good. Keep it up, world.
Tim barely takes a breath before he continues. “The full script is in your dressing rooms, but the gist of it is simple. You two are walking through a restaurant and women are rushing up and writing their names and numbers on Nathan’s shirt. He tugs you into a hallway to escape them, pulls a Tide-to-Go pen from his back pocket, and hands it to you. You guys exchange flirty looks and then Bree erases the names with the wave of her pen—in the style of I Dream of Jeannie.”
Oh man. That’s cheesy, but I can see how fans would eat it up. It’s the perfect nod to my drunken speech. The speech that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
A moment later, Tim drops us at a dressing room that has Nathan’s name on the outside. We’re still holding hands, and I realize I’m clinging to Nathan like he’s a buoy in the middle of the ocean.
“Smile,” Tim says, snapping a quick picture of us with his phone. “I’ll post this to your stories, Nathan.”
