Page 50 of Pretend To Be Mine

I was still riding the high of an interview that had actually gone well. I didn’t just survive, I thrived. I kicked ass. And I actually enjoyed it.

“This place has the best coffee,” he said.

“We’ll see,” I replied with just a hint of coyness.

We were standing in line, Adrian’s hand resting casually in the small of my back, when I noticed the first phone pointed in our direction. A teenage girl near the window, trying to be subtle but failing completely.

“Don’t look now,” Adrian murmured, “but I think we’ve been spotted.”

“What do we do?”

“Order coffee and act normal. She’s just a fan taking a quick photo.”

But by the time we reached the counter, three more phones had appeared. And by the time we’d placed our order, I could hear whispers spreading through the café like wildfire.

“Is that Adrian Blackwell?”

“Oh my God, and his fiancée!”

“I just saw them on Liza Pizza’s stream!”

A woman approached as we waited for our drinks, her phone already extended. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you, but could I get a quick picture? I’m such a huge fan.”

Adrian smiled politely. “Of course.”

The picture turned into five more. Then someone asked for an autograph. Then a group of college students wanted a selfie with both of us. People were appearing from nowhere, materializing out of the Manhattan crowds like they’d been summoned. Which I was sure they had been. Social media was a blessing and a curse.

“We should probably get these to go,” Adrian said quietly. I could hear the tension creeping into his voice despite his calm exterior.

Our drinks appeared, and Adrian grabbed both of them, his other hand finding mine. “Excuse us,” he said to the growing crowd, his voice firm but not unkind. “We need to get going.”

But getting out was harder than it sounded. More people had gathered outside the café, some clearly having seen social media posts about our location. I felt hands reaching for me. It wasn’t aggressive, just enthusiastic.

It was overwhelming. Suffocating.

My breathing started to speed up, that familiar panic clawing at my chest. This was too much. Too many people. They were too close.

Adrian’s arm came around my waist. “Stay close to me,” he said, his mouth near my ear. “I’ve got you.”

He navigated us through the crowd, deflecting grabbing hands, politely declining more photo requests, moving us toward where his car was parked. When someone got too close he shifted to put his body between them and me.

A rock in a sea of madness. That’s what he was. Completely calm while I felt like I was drowning.

We finally made it to the car, and Adrian had me inside and buckled before I could fully process what had just happened. He slid into the driver’s seat, handed me my coffee, and pulled into traffic without skipping a beat.

“Holy shit,” I said, my hands shaking slightly around the cup. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah. That’s the price of fame.” He glanced at me. “You okay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” I took a sip of coffee, trying to ground myself. “That was intense.”

“That was mild, actually. Wait until Love Week starts. Crowds will be five times that size.”

The thought made my stomach drop. “How do you deal with it? You were so calm back there.”

“You get used to it. Or at least you figure out ways to navigate the world when everyone wants a picture or wants to touch you.” He turned down a quieter street, away from the main thoroughfares. “You learn which places are going to be mobbed and which ones are safer. You learn to spot the exit routes. You learn to smile and be gracious even when you just want to be left alone.”

“That sounds exhausting.”