Lucy and The Love Pact: Young Adult Fake Romance (Love in Ocean Grove Book 2)

by Anna Catherine Field

  Every time her foster family is mentioned, Lucy’s expression closes off. Since we’re not fighting for once, I decide to change the subject.

  “So people were interested in that picture I posted?"

  “Did you not look? You had a tons of comments and likes.” She gives me a side glance. “Smart move not tagging me. Ups the intrigue.”

  I laugh. “That’s only because you hadn’t accepted my friend request yet.”

  She frowns. “I have now. I just really got in the habit of not checking that account. I mean, really, I shut it off for a long time. It wasn’t healthy for me.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets and we walk side by side. “You think you can handle it now?”

  “I think I’m going to have to. Thick skin, right?”

  She stops in front of a shop and I look in the windows at the dressed-up models. It’s high-end guy stuff.

  “Is this really necessary?” I ask.

  “You said I was going to have to go out in public with you. I need you looking acceptable.” She shakes her head at my current outfit of gym shorts and a hoodie. “This is not acceptable.”

  I want to argue but compared to Lucy, I can admit it. I look like a slob, so I grunt my agreement and follow her inside. The shop is empty, other than a sales guy talking on the phone in the back. Lucy heads straight to the men’s section and starts picking through the jeans. “Oh,” she says suddenly. “How was work today?”

  I can’t help smiling. “Good. I think I did really well.”

  “And you go back tomorrow?”

  “I do.” Another 4 a.m. day. “I’m going to need to find time to work out and do my homework.”

  “You’ll balance it out. In the Next Big Model house we were running on like, three hours of sleep. I don’t think that helped in my breakdown.”

  “I imagine not. The schedules are killer. I don’t think anyone realizes that.”

  She pushes through a rack of button-down shirts and picks up a few sweaters. Along with the jeans, she shoves them into my hands. “Go try these on and let me see them.”

  “I have to get your approval?”

  Her bright blue eyes cut my way. “Of course. I need to make sure the fit and the cut is right. What’s the point of working out all the time if you’re not going to show off that smokin’ bod?”

  When did clothes shopping get so complicated? Usually I just wear what my mom buys and leaves in my room. “Is this what it’s like being a girl?”

  She laughs. “Yep. So don’t think I’m going to feel bad for you.” She points to the dressing room. “Go change. I’ll be over here looking at some stuff.”

  I disappear behind the heavy curtain in the dressing area and change into the first outfit. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that Lucy knows what she’s talking about. It’s not that I looked bad before, just a little bland, but I understand what she means about the cut. The button-down fits perfectly on my shoulders, making them look both leaner and broader. Definitely accentuates my biceps. The shirt cuts inward just enough to show the length of my torso. And the jeans, they fit like a glove.

  “How does it look?”

  I push aside the curtain. She’s right outside, holding a few hangers of clothing. Her eyes linger over my arms. “Very nice.”

  She steps forward and tugs at the collar, then smooths the fabric over my shoulders. The feeling of her hands on me sends a shiver of pleasure down my limbs.

  “It’s not too tight?” I ask, shifting on my feet and turning away from her. Just ahead is a full-length mirror that captures both of us. Lucy’s the perfect height. I’m tall, over six feet, and she’s just a few inches shorter.

  “No, definitely not too tight.” Our eyes make contact in the mirror, where we hold it for a beat before she looks away. “Go try on the other stuff, but I think I got your size right, so it should be okay.”

  I look down. “What’s that?” I ask about the clothing in her hand.

  “Oh, just something I saw. I forgot to hang it back up before walking over.” She starts to toss it on the return rack but I grab it first.

  It’s a dress. Or a sweater? Whatever it is, it’s white and looks like something my grandmother knitted.

  “What the heck is this?” I hold it out. “An afghan?”

  “Stop. It’s a dress and completely in style right now.”

  I raise both eyebrows in disbelief. “Not even you could make that look good.”

  “Whatever, Dean. You’re just procrastinating. Go try on the other stuff.”

  “Fine, but I dare you to put on that monstrosity.”

  “What? No. This shopping trip is about you, not me.”

  “This is about both of us.” I hold the dress out. “Come on."

  She sighs and grabs the hanger, taking it into a dressing room.

  We’re quiet as we both change, but I can’t help but have a little extra awareness of Lucy being next door. I hear the rustle of fabric and a zipper close. I pull on the overly tight T-shirt she left me and a pair of brown pants. I try not to think about the way her hands felt when she touched me and remind myself that even though she’s gorgeous, Lucy isn’t a girl to date. She’s a partner in crime.

  We both step out at the same time, both barefoot, both with tags hanging off our clothes. My eyes roam from her feet up. Little pieces of fringe hang at her thighs and the fabric has transformed from frumpy grandma blanket into a killer, form-fitting dress, that hugs her curves in all the right places. I swallow and try not to ogle, which is very hard with her walking my way.

  “Well?” she asks, spinning in front of the mirror.

  Our eyes lock and there’s no real need for me to say what I think, but I force out, “Fine. Only you could make that abomination look good.”

  I tug nervously at the shirt and without speaking, she reaches over and tucks her fingers under the cuff of my shirt. There’s barely room for her fingers between the cotton and my bicep. Her fingers linger a beat too long and she swallows before saying, “Yeah, this one may be a little tight.”

  “I like it though,” I say. “Maybe a bigger size?”

  “Yeah,” she pushes a short lock of hair behind her ear. “Good idea.”

  She looks into the mirror and her face lights up. “Wait right here.” A second later she returns, holding her phone and aiming it at our reflections. She snaps the photo, opens her account and starts editing. A moment later, she publishes it.

  “First upload in six months,” she says. “We’ll see if anyone still cares.”

  She walks back into the dressing room, giving me a last view of her backside in that dress. Oh, they still care, I think as the curtain falls. I’m certain about that.

  17

  Lucy

  News about my agreement to participate in the next round of TNBM hits the media and it doesn’t take long for my life to shift back into familiar territory, although this time things are different. I’m different.

  The last time I made the cut, I was beyond confident. Completely secure in my future. I had complete faith that walking away from my family, my education, was totally reasonable. A perfectly acceptable sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.

  We all saw how that turned out.

  Now I’m the girl looking to make a comeback, working at a pizza place, and making deals with up-and-coming actors to help me get my groove back.

  “I see you and Dean are chummy now,” Jennifer says a few days after he and I went shopping. We agreed on a slow build to our social media accounts with a few teases about our friendship. You can’t give stuff away too fast. Bread crumbs. “What’s that all about?”

  “We realized we had some things in common and are helping each other out.” I wipe off the counter. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Dean Turner and Lucy Harrington hanging out? You and I both know that’s news.” She has a list of drinks to prepare and heads to the soda machine. “So is this personal? Are you dating?”

  I look around to make s
ure no one is listening. Eric has on his headphones and is making pizza. Irving is out front. “No, it’s not personal, but we’re not really labeling anything.”

  “Are you sure, because I’ve seen you both in the same place at the same time and I think there’s chemistry.”

  “Jen, you know I’m not dating anyone and I don’t know about Dean, but he’s not interested in me. He says he doesn’t date but I have a feeling I’m not his type.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perky blondes that sing and dance? I don’t know.” I think about how we’re only hanging out because of our arrangement. We need each other. “We’re just friend-ish.”

  “Friend-ish?”

  “Yeah.” I reach for the pizza Eric just slid across the counter. “We’re not exactly friends but we’re, I don’t know, friend-ish.”

  I walk out of the kitchen and take the pizza out to the waiting table of customers. I make sure everyone has plates, silverware, and drinks before checking on the next table. The next twenty minutes are a blur until Jennifer nudges me and says, “You’ve got the back booth.”

  I adjust my apron. “That’s in your section.”

  “I’m busy. A ten top came in while you were running around.”

  “Okay sure, I got it.” It’s not like I don’t want the money from a bigger group. I grab my pad and walk over; that’s when I realize I’ve been tricked.

  “Hey,” I say to the familiar group. Dean sits in his normal spot, his friends around him. The past few times they’ve been here, Dean has been the only one who’s paid me much attention. Today, all eyes are on me.

  “Hi,” Dean says in a cautious voice. “So I figure it’s time you meet everyone. Guys, this is Lucy. Lucy this is Tommy, Adam, and Chris. They all go to school with me.”

  There’s a moment of greeting and saying hello. As usual, I definitely feel like they all know more about me than I know about them.

  “So what can I get you?” I ask, looking for a fast escape.

  They tell me their orders and Dean shrugs out of his jacket. I notice he’s wearing one of the shirts we picked out. The gray makes his already amazing eyes more amazing. I can’t help but smile and comment, “I like your shirt.”

  He looks down like he’s forgotten what he’s wearing, then grins. “Thanks.”

  The boys at the table glance at one another in confusion and I walk away to go put in their order.

  I come back a few minutes later with a tray of drinks and pass them around. I give Dean his water last.

  “So you’re the reason Dean keeps skipping workouts with me,” Tommy says.

  “You’re skipping workouts?” I ask.

  “No. I work out. Just at home.” He glares at Tommy. “You know this week was crazy.”

  “I actually told Dean he needed to start recording his workouts and put them online,” I say, not willing to get thrown under the bus with his friends.

  “Did you now?” Tommy’s blue eyes twinkle in interest.

  “Yeah, I think his fans will like it.”

  “I’ve been telling him the same for months. I follow a couple of celebrities that post their workouts and people love them.” Tommy leans back and smiles at me. “I like her.”

  Dean rolls his eyes. “I bet you do.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Record him next time he shows up, okay?”

  Tommy leans forward on his elbows. “How about you come to the gym with us and supervise?”

  My eyes dart to Dean’s. His expression is non-committal other than the slight narrowing of his eyes at his friend. The other two guys watch the discussion in silence.

  I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not very athletic.”

  “You don’t have to work out unless you want to. I’m thinking that between the two of us, we can figure out a routine that’ll appeal to his followers.” Tommy leans forward. “Plus, he’ll work harder if you’re there.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I notice one of my tables trying to get my attention. I grab the water pitcher and go refill their glasses, then do the same at two other tables. By the time I circle back to the guys, I’ve got their pizza and Dean’s salad.

  Tommy perks up the moment I return. “So listen, we’ll be at the gym tomorrow at about eleven if you want to join us.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, leaving them to eat. In the kitchen, I get out my phone.

  L: Take a selfie of you and your friends. Or of your sad salad or something.

  I’m cashing out a table when my phone vibrates.

  D: My salad was delicious. Thanks for the extra olives.

  L: Anytime.

  D: About tomorrow…

  L: It’s okay. I don’t need to come.

  D: I think you should. Come hang with us. Tommy really wants you there and nothing builds confidence like feeling strong.

  Tommy. Is that where this is going? Is he going to try to match me up with his friend? His very cute friend?

  L: Like I said, I’ll think about it.

  Another wave of customers comes in and other than handing over their checks, I don’t talk to Dean again that night, although Tommy does give me a big wave on the way out the door.

  Jennifer walks up after we close and holds out her phone. I see a picture of Dean’s salad, artfully arranged. The caption: It’s not pizza but the cutest waitress brought me this salad. #worthit

  “I don’t know what you two are up to, but he’s good.”

  It already has five thousand likes.

  I take a deep breath. She’s right. For someone needing my help with his social media game, he’s sure taken to it quickly. I just hope I can keep up.

  18

  Dean

  Marissa calls Saturday morning as I’m walking out of the house to go to meet Tommy at the gym.

  “The director loved your chemistry with Reese. He wants you to come back for another episode.”

  “Really?” I say. “That’s amazing.”

  “Yep. More lines. This one is shirtless, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m headed to the gym now.”

  “Good boy,” she says with a laugh. “And I’ve seen the changes in your social media profile. Excellent work.”

  “Lucy’s pretty smart about it all.”

  “She is, and you’re still helping her?”

  I get in the truck and toss my gym bag in the passenger seat. Truthfully, other than getting her to stop wearing hats, I haven’t pushed her very hard. “I’m working on it.”

  “There’s a Waybacks concert at the amphitheater. I’ve got VIP passes if you want to take her.”

  I like the Waybacks. I hesitate though. “Won’t that seem like a date?”

  “Not if you’re upfront about what you’re doing; this is a chance for you both to get a little visibility.”

  I shove my key in the ignition. “Okay. I’ll ask her.”

  “I’ll leave the tickets at the gate.”

  “Thanks, Marissa.”

  “No kid, thank you. You’re doing a great job.”

  I decide to wait until we get to the gym to ask Lucy about tonight. That is, if she shows up. Every day this girl inches more and more into my life. And it’s not as though she’s inserting herself there. She’s not like that. It’s more like our actions are converging and outside forces, including Tommy and Marissa, are pushing us together. Although, I think, as I pull into the parking lot of the gym, Tommy may have done that more for his sake than mine. Dude is a relentless flirt.

  I spot a shiny Lexus in the parking lot and I wonder if it’s hers. An Ocean Grove Academy sticker is in the back window. Although around here, that doesn’t mean much. I push open the door and swipe my key at the desk.

  I walk past the cardio machines toward the back. Sure enough, Tommy is already here, leaning against a weight machine as he instructs Lucy on perfect form.

  Lucy, who’s wearing tight black and blue exercise leggings with a matching tank that exposes her stomach.

  “Make sure y
ou keep your back straight and your butt out,” he tells her, gesturing with his hands. Even though he’s not remotely close to touching her, I consider breaking his hands.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, pulling my weight-lifting gloves out of my bag.

  “Hey! Dean!” he shouts loudly as he sees me. Lucy looks over at me and smiles. “You’re late.”

  “Marissa called on my way out the door.” I slip on the gloves, tightening the strap. “You guys got a head start.”

  “Lucy asked for a few basic exercises.”

  I nod and as much as I try not to, I can’t help but look her over. “You’ve got some muscles going on,” I say, nudging her biceps.

  She jokingly flexes. “It’s from lifting those trays at the pizza place. The first week, I could barely lift my arms after my shifts.” Her hair is held back with a thick band and she adjusts it a little. “You going to show me your stuff?”

  “Yeah, if you want.”

  She pulls out her phone. “Tell me when to record.”

  Tommy and I worked with the same trainer starting in freshman year. It took a while to build mass but once I aged up, genetics and hard work aligned. There’s no doubt that nature has something to do with it. Tommy and I both work out hard, but he’s skinnier than I am and it’s harder for him to carry the same mass.

  We start with an arm workout, using a mixture of weights and the pull-up bars. The routines are killer and I’m dripping sweat in just a few minutes. Lucy hangs back and watches and I won’t deny that just having her here watching is a motivator.

  Yeah, I’m showing off.

  “You want to add the other step?” I ask Tommy.

  “You mean the pushup at the end?”

  “Yeah, I’m game.”

  “What’s going on?” Lucy asks.

  “Dean’s going to do something we call the Death Cycle. It’s seven routines. Pull-ups, crunches, squats, another set of pull-ups, leg bends, sit-ups, and then push-ups.”

  Lucy stares at me. “That sounds horrible.”

  “Oh, it is. I’ll probably puke.”

  “Good. I’ll try to video that, too.” She laughs wickedly and I like the way it brightens her face. “Oh, one more thing.”