Fake Dating My Rockstar Roommate: A Sweet Standalone Romance (Fake Dates Book 3)

by Maggie Dallen

  Billy. The name jolted her back to her senses. “Wait, what?” She spun around. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

  He arched a brow, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.

  Oh jeez, was she panting? Her palms were clammy as she clutched the wooden spoon, holding it between them like a weapon.

  What was she doing? She dropped it to her side. “The favor’s not for me.”

  He blinked. Then he took a step back, his flirty smile morphing to a smirk. “Of course it’s not,” he muttered.

  She frowned. What was that mocking tone supposed to mean?

  “It’s not,” she said. “It’s for the local library.”

  He widened his eyes in disbelief. “Go on.”

  “They’re having a fundraiser,” she said. “For the children’s programs there?” She wasn’t sure why she’d phrased that as a question. “I thought maybe you could try out your new songs.”

  “What new songs?” His laugh was humorless as he turned away. “I have to write them first. Which means I won’t have time to play some...kids’ party.”

  There were not enough adjectives to convey just how disdainful his tone was when he said that.

  “But they could use—”

  “It’s a waste of my time,” he said.

  “Why not just—”

  “Look, I owe you, all right? I don’t owe this town anything, or these kids.” He fell back into his seat, his phone in one hand and his gaze focused on it, making it clear that whatever message he was reading was way more important than this conversation.

  Gina straightened. She hated being dismissed. “You’re right,” she said. “You owe me. And this is what I want.”

  He finally dragged his gaze from the phone to glare at her. “This isn’t for you.”

  “It is, though,” she said.

  “You don’t have kids,” he said.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

  “So?” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why is this important to you?”

  She debated evading the answer. She could think of a dozen half-truths that would fit the bill. But she’d never been a half-truth kind of person. Nope. With her, it was all or nothing. “That program was my saving grace when I was a kid.”

  He stared at her in silence, waiting for her to continue.

  She shrugged. “We didn’t have much money. My mom worked all the time to pay the bills. My dad was...not home often.”

  He arched a brow and she winced.

  Half-truths really didn’t sit right with her. “He was in prison off and on. And when he wasn’t there, he wasn’t much good around the house. Drinking and drugs don’t make for the best father figure.”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  She shrugged. “We managed. But my point is, the library was a safe haven for me, after school and on the weekends. I owe that place everything. And I’m not exactly swimming in cash to donate at the moment, so I’m calling in that favor.”

  She ended it with a petulant tone and a notch of her chin, just waiting for another argument.

  “Fine.” He sank back in his seat.

  She blinked. “You’ll do it?”

  He nodded. “But you have to go with me.”

  “Of course.”

  “No, I mean…” He shifted in his seat. “You have to go and play the role of doting girlfriend.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I agreed to go along with this already. But we all agreed that I wouldn’t have to lie.”

  “I’m not asking you to stand up and announce our relationship status. You can play dumb, act like you’ve lost your voice…I don’t care how you avoid the questions.” He leaned forward. “But if I’m going to do a photo op and look like some bleeding heart hero then we’re gonna make it count. We’ll show the world that I’m a nice guy and I’m madly in love with the biggest goody two shoes on the planet.”

  She flinched. Not because he’d called her goody two shoes. That wasn’t exactly an insult to her way of thinking.

  But calling it a photo op? Pretending to care about charities?

  She turned away with a sigh. “You know how they say you should never meet your heroes?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Yeah,” she continued as she added some oregano to the pot. “I’m beginning to see why.”

  “Ouch.” His voice was laced with mocking laughter. “The girl next door has got some claws.”

  She whipped around again. “And you have got some nerve. You got me into this, remember? Now you’re living in my home, in my town, and taking over my life.”

  His brows arched like he was waiting for her to make her point.

  “You want me to play the part of the doting girlfriend in public? Fine. But then you have to do something else for me.”

  He rested his elbows on the table, his gaze sharp and focused, his body tense. “Name it.”

  Stop being a jerk. She swallowed those words, settling instead for, “Be real.”

  His eyes narrowed in confusion. “What?”

  “Don't lie. To me, I mean. No more lies of omission. No sugar coating things. No using that sexy smile to get your way. Just...be real. Think you can do that?”

  “I don't—”

  She jabbed the dirty spoon in his direction. “No trying to manipulate me with your charms or I’m out.”

  His lips twitched but he met her gaze evenly. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” She let the spoon fall to her side.

  The silence that followed was long and heavy.

  “So you think I’m using my charms against you, huh?” He couldn’t keep the mocking laughter from his voice and she turned away with a huff.

  “Shut it,” she muttered.

  He did. He went back to whatever was so fascinating on his phone while Gina finished cooking.

  The silence grew way too uncomfortable. For her, at least. She never had been much good at holding a grudge and her mother had taught her that no meals should be passed in anger. It was sort of like the ‘don’t go to bed angry’ rule but even more meaningful because in Gina’s family, meals were everything.

  After a few minutes, she turned around with a resigned sigh. “I hope you’re hungry. I made way too much food.”

  Ten

  Twang!

  The echo of the harsh noise reverberated in the air. Aston cringed. One of the strings of his acoustic guitar was hanging loose.

  “Et tu, Brute?” he muttered to the thing.

  The string waved in the air like a white flag of surrender.

  He tossed the guitar onto the bed with a groan. This was useless. He wished he could blame the guitar, but that uninspired melody he’d been working on wouldn’t have sounded any better on another instrument.

  This guitar was a loaner since he’d left his acoustic at home. On tour he’d only needed his electric guitars, and those were en route to his LA studio right now.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, the smell of bacon the only redeeming factor at the moment. Slightly odd, though, because Gina had already made them breakfast. He’d polished off a stack of the best pancakes he’d ever had.

  He pushed himself out of the low office chair he’d been sitting in and cast a look around him. This tiny bedroom was definitely no studio.

  How was a guy supposed to write all new material under conditions like this one?

  He grabbed his empty mug and headed to the door. The perks of living with a barista, he now knew, was the endless supply of coffee.

  And pancakes.

  And pasta.

  And apparently bacon, too.

  He’d only been here two nights, but if he ended up sticking around all month he was going to end up shaking from all the caffeine and a solid twenty pounds overweight.

  “Hey you,” her now-familiar voice called out from the den.

  She was sprawled out on an upholstered recliner, her shapely legs slung over the side, her thick
curls piled up on top of her head, and a laptop in her lap.

  His chest tightened in the weirdest way. He’d never had a roommate before. Never lived with a woman. He hadn’t anticipated liking the company. But two days in and he’d become oddly fond of having her around.

  If he were being honest, it wasn’t so much the lure of bacon or coffee that had him leaving his room. He’d hoped to run into Gina.

  He’d known he’d find her here. Well, not here in this chair, necessarily, but in the house.

  She hadn’t left once since he’d moved in. He’d left. But then again, he’d gotten used to having eyes on him all the time. And besides, he was a man on a mission.

  Not that he planned on telling her about that. Miss Goody Two Shoes would read him the riot act if she knew what he’d been up to.

  “You want some lunch?” she asked. She was already shifting the laptop out of the way.

  “I can get it,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Nah, I needed a break anyway. How about an omelet with bacon? I know it’s late in the day for breakfast but this bacon is the best. Trust me.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. And not because he doubted her tastes when it came to bacon. It was more...the way she was talking.

  They might not have been living together long, but he was starting to get to know her.

  For example, he knew that she couldn’t end a meal without some sort of sweet. Preferably of the chocolate variety. He knew she had a special cheese powder concoction that she liberally sprinkled all over her popcorn while watching TV at night and it was a startling shade of orange.

  He knew that she could not get through five minutes of watching anything without either talking back to the characters on the screen or providing her own color commentary.

  All of this was to say that when she insisted on making him breakfast with that alarming glint in her eyes, he could well detect her desperation.

  “Gina,” he said.

  “Yes?” She didn’t turn around, already reaching for a pan hanging over the stove. The kitchen in this tiny home was roughly one-eighth the size of the kitchen in his house but this one was better organized and clearly used way more often.

  If he were a sentimental sort, he’d say one could feel the love in the air, as if the kitchen held onto memories of family dinners, homework at the well-worn wooden table, and late nights chatting over hot chocolate.

  But he wasn’t the sentimental sort, and he hadn’t been able to forget the fact that she’d had a tough childhood, so he had to assume that air of love was the result of some well-placed aromatic diffusers or something.

  “Gina,” he said again, trying to find the words.

  This time she turned to give him an expectant look.

  “Er…” He hesitated. He couldn’t help it. Asking after people’s feelings wasn’t really in his wheelhouse. “Is everything okay?”

  She stared at him with the pan hovering in her hand.

  Yeah. He’d shocked himself too.

  She arched a brow. “You mean, besides the fact that I’m fake dating the world’s most famous musician, my boyfriend cheated on me, and I lost my job?”

  He made a choked sound of amusement as he scratched at his stubble-covered jaw. “Yeah. Aside from that.”

  She nodded and turned back to the stove with a loud exhale. “Everything is great.”

  “Okay, well, as we’ve established, you’re a terrible liar.” He came up beside her and leaned his back against the counter so he could see her face. “I don’t know who you were trying to fool just now, but personally I’m not buying it.”

  She shot him a sidelong look that was at once exasperated, amused, and tolerant.

  It was a freakin’ adorable look.

  “Okay, fine. Maybe everything isn’t great,” she admitted grudgingly.

  He feigned shock with a loud gasp. “No,” he intoned.

  “It’s true.” She played along with a little smile as she worked. “I knew the job market wasn’t exactly stellar around here, especially now during the fall when the seasonal jobs haven’t started up yet, but…” She heaved another sigh.

  “No jobs?”

  She pursed her lips. “The prospects are bleak. And I guess...I guess a part of me doesn’t want to think about working anywhere else.”

  “You want to go back to the coffee shop,” he said.

  She shrugged. “I know it wasn’t the most glamorous job, but I was happy there. I liked chatting with the customers and being a bright spot in their day when they came in to fuel up for the day…” She shot him a sad smile. “It probably sounds lame to you—”

  “It doesn’t,” he said quickly, startling them both with his intensity.

  But it really didn’t.

  “The best feeling in the world is when you’re doing something you know you’re good at,” he said. “It gives your days purpose.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. That’s it exactly. I knew where I fit in this town. I knew my role.”

  “I’m sure there are other things you’re good at,” he said. “You’re bright and young and outgoing—”

  “You sound like my brother,” she said with a laugh.

  He smiled. “Maybe he’s right.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. I know it’s no use hoping for miracles, but I still find myself wishing…”

  She trailed off with a sigh.

  She wanted her job back.

  His shoulders went back as his spine stiffened with resolve. She wanted her job back, and he was going to get it for her. His ribcage swelled with new determination. He wasn’t sure how, but he was going to make sure Gina wasn’t screwed out of the job. He’d make sure Billy paid for breaking her heart too.

  It was the least he could do, right? This wasn’t personal, just...paying his debts.

  He scrubbed the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably because nothing was sitting right. Not his failed attempt at writing a new song. Not standing here useless while Gina’s world fell apart around her. Not that lie he’d just told himself that he just wanted to help her because he owed her a debt.

  He did owe her, but he also really wanted to help her. And he had no idea what that was about.

  He shifted uncomfortably as he watched her work. The silence between them was stretching too long, and his mind drew a blank when he tried to figure out what to say to make her feel better.

  He had no clue how to comfort someone.

  It had been a really long time since anyone had confided in him with their problems. He couldn’t remember the last time, actually. It wasn’t like Toby was going to come to him with his personal woes. He might be the closest friend Aston had, but he was still Aston’s employee at the end of the day.

  He frowned as he tried to think of any friends he had who weren’t on his payroll and came up empty.

  Aw heck. That was just pathetic.

  “I’m sorry, now I’m bringing you down,” Gina said.

  “No, no. Just...thinking.”

  She cast him a little smile like she understood what he hadn’t said—that he was trying to think of a way to make her feel better and coming up short. It wasn’t the first time he’d been sure she’d read his mind. He got the weirdest feeling that every time she looked at him she saw through him a little bit more.

  Heck, she’d seen through his humble country boy routine in a heartbeat.

  That had been a first.

  It also begged the question, how had she not seen through Billy? Or Tommy? Or Eddie?

  And why did she go for guys whose names ended in E? It sounded like a class of kindergarteners when he listed them all out like that.

  Maybe that’s what they were. A bunch of overgrown man-children.

  He watched her fuss with his omelet in the pan.

  “Do you want toast with it?” she asked.

  He straightened. Oh crap. That was exactly what they were. Each one of her exes was a man-child who wanted to be looked after and taken care of.

&
nbsp; And Gina was a natural born caregiver.

  Suddenly, the fact that she was making him an omelet felt so very wrong. She was having a bad day too, and she’d been fussing over him and cooking for him nonstop since he’d moved in.

  Without warning, he reached past her to turn off the stove.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “New plan,” he said. “You and I are getting out of here.”

  She blinked. “We are? But the omelet—”

  “Grab a jacket,” he said, already heading to his room to snag a sweatshirt. He’d already gone out once today so he knew firsthand that the weather was starting to turn. Summer was giving way to fall. Which meant his days until the tour were ticking down, and he had one song for this new playlist the powers-that-be wanted from him.

  One.

  And it was one he’d written two decades ago.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Out for lunch,” he announced.

  She froze. “I thought...I mean...is this for photo ops or whatever? Because—”

  “No.” His tone was too curt. But seriously. He was trying to do something nice for once in his life; the least she could do was understand that. “We can get takeout or drive-thru if that’s what you want. I just think you could use a change of scenery.”

  She was eyeing him warily, even as she grabbed a light jacket off a knob on the wall. “Are you sure you can take the time from work?”

  He winced. How much of that awful eardrum shattering crap had she heard?

  All of it, no doubt.

  This house was old and the walls were thin.

  “I think a change of scenery could only help at this point,” he admitted.

  She winced in sympathy, and he officially plummeted from the ranks of world-renowned superstar to pitiable wannabe musician in the span of a heartbeat.

  “I’ll figure it out,” he muttered as he followed her out.

  Deputies were waiting, just like they had been this morning when he’d made his coffee run. To Java Lava’s, of course, although Gina didn’t need to know that.

  He had a feeling she wouldn’t love the fact that he’d been going there in the hopes of having another run-in with her jerk of an ex. He hadn’t seen him yet.