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Gasping for me.
“Make It Marriage?” Kaelyn says. “They’re good. Really good.”
I blink rapidly. Either I’m losing it or—
No. I just have to remember where I am.
Who I am.
Why I’m here.
Hanging with Kaelyn always made me forget. She does that. Gets so deep under my skin that I feel like a different person. A better person. Not this puppet version. Not Pinocchio before turning into a boy.
She’s Kaelyn.
I’m not going there.
I’m not making this weird.
My gaze slides down her slim, willowy frame.
Kaelyn tilts her head and arches an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing.” I swallow hard. She’s never been shy about her body. About me watching her body. Hell, we braved our first skinny dipping dare together.
But that outfit.
It begs for my hands.
The bra is a tight black thing that hugs her lush chest and the skirt is as joyful, bold and feminine as she is. I want to grab a fistful of it in my hands.
I want to spread it wide.
See what’s underneath and—
What the hell am I doing? Why aren’t these thoughts leaving my head?
“You’re a little young to get married,” Kaelyn mumbles.
“Didn’t your parents get married around this age?”
“Not the point.” She tosses her head. Shoots me a whose side are you on look. “Do you want to do this?”
“Of course not.” Marriage? Dating? I’ve given up on both.
It’s not like I haven’t tried to walk that path, but it’s difficult to make genuine connections. My family’s prominence in the spotlight robbed me of all anonymity. The entire world had access to my personal life, my insecurities, my triumphs and my scars.
I’m Kastle Jameson—a character in their favorite show. A two-dimensional story feeding their need to escape. Women look at me and all they see is the brand. The orphan from that white family. The boy from the reality TV show. The billionaire. The ticket to a better life.
I did the rounds.
Dating. Hooking up. One-night stands.
Always, always, I walked away knowing that it wouldn’t work out.
In the moment, in the shadows—sure. I could make a woman groan. Make her body levitate off the bed. Make her forget her own name. And mine.
In the light of day, my name dripped off their lips with surprise, astonishment, excitement. That sheen of ‘oh my gosh, I slept with a celebrity’ refused to fade away.
