Page 41 of Knot Their Starlet

Beckham Knight is a charmer. A stunningly beautiful charmer.

Once we’re done with our makeup and hair, we move on to wardrobe, where we’re given our own pairs of jeans.

Beckham’s are slung low on his hips, accentuating the slope of his waist. Mine are a little tighter, hugging the curves of my ass. The ass that Gina would put me on some horrible diet to get rid of if having curves weren’t “in” right now.

I’m also given a basic black lace bra to put under a fitted, V-neck white t-shirt.

“Looks like we make a pretty official couple, huh?” I tease, leaning forward so only Beck can hear my whisper. “Matching outfits already.”

“Yeah,” Beck chuckles, his eyes lingering on my body before darting straight to the floor.

I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a little thrill that just ran through me.

The Beckham Knight just checked me out. Teenage girls across the country would riot.

Teenage girls across the country will riot when we go public with our “relationship.”

“Could I actually get a couple shots of us in a mirror or something for a day-in-the-life video I’m working on?” I ask, nervously shifting my weight from side to side. “It’s cool if not.”

“Nah, it’s cool, let’s do it!” he says with a grin. “Do you do this sorta thing often?”

“Days in the life? Yeah, they’re pretty popular these days. Though if it’s got you in it, it’s sure to go crazy.”

I gesture for him to follow me in front of one of the mirrors at the makeup station. I film a clip of us in the mirror, hitting a quick pose.

When I watch it back, my breath catches in my throat. I was so focused on getting the right shot that I didn’t notice the way Beck was looking at me the entire time. His eyes are bright with a warm affection that’s hard to fake.

He’s an excellent actor it seems.

“Thanks,” I say, past the lump in my throat, before offering him a grin. “The internet is gonna go crazy when I post this.”

The two of us make our way out of the dressing room together.

“Beckham, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Stephan,” the photographer says, extending his hand out for Beckham to shake. “I’ll be your photographer for today.”

“Nice to meet you. I’ve never—you know—done this before,” Beck says, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and rocking back on his heels.

“Nothing to worry about, I’ll make sure to give you directions. Let’s start over there.”

I’m not surprised Stephan doesn’t bother introducing himself to me. That tends to be how things work in Hollywood. The only people who matter in the room are the ones with the most social sway, the most followers on social media, or the ones who those in power want to prey upon.

If anyone in this room were to check all three boxes, it’d be Beck.

Stephan directs us to our first pose. Beck’s hands rest on my waist while I stare up at him, my black hair cascading down my back in a waterfall of expertly curled waves.

“Good. Beckham, soften your left shoulder? Yes, exactly.”

As the sound of Stephan’s camera clicks, I can’t help but feel the heavy weight of eyes on my back.

When Beck and I are directed to shift poses, my breath catches in my throat when I catch Eli’s heavy gaze on the two of us. His expression is unreadable, but he’s definitely not happy.

“Okay, Andromeda, put your chest to his back. Beckham, slide your hand in her front pocket. Just like that.”

Click, click, click.

“This is... definitely something,” Beck murmurs, his hands flexing against my hip and pulling me further into his body.

The comment has my face splitting in a grin.