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"I don't know. Where are we?"
"You're the expert," he says.
"Let's start with this." Couples kiss. Even the couples who can't keep their hands off each other kiss in a loving way sometimes.
He nods sure and takes another step toward me. His next step is shaky.
He's nervous.
When did I last see Damon Webb nervous? When did I last see him sincere?
It's disarming.
"I can lead," I offer. After all, I'm the one who's been in relationships, the one who's been in love. I kissed Frederick a million times. The first time, it felt like a big deal. The second too. For a while, I felt the heat and affection and need in our kisses.
Then, it was just affection, but that grew and blossomed into something deep and pure. Love.
But how could something pure turn so ugly?
"Cass?" Damon takes another step toward me. "Are you okay?"
No. I'm supposed to set him at ease. I'm supposed to lead. I try to find something comforting to say. Nothing. So I go with a joke. "Thinking about other guys." It's true, and it's exactly what he needs to hear. This is fake. I don't really want him closer. He doesn't have to actually come closer.
"Not Freddy boy?" His nose scrunches in distaste.
My chest tenses. I don't want to think about him. I don't. But how can Damon judge me for it? "What's wrong with that?"
"Besides him fucking someone else?" he asks.
How does he know that? I didn't tell him. I told Daphne, yes, but she swore to secrecy. She wouldn't betray that.
He looks at me with pity, as if I'm pathetic for finding myself in the situation, as if I'm a loser for standing here, in the living room, begging him to play my fake boyfriend.
And, yes, I do want to make my ex jealous. I want him to seethe. I want him to go home and cry a million tears over me.
But this is about the job.
I need this fucking job.
I try to think of something to say to put us back on course, but Damon continues.
"He was all over the new girl's social media for months," he says. "They went official about two days after you two officially broke up."
"How do you know when we officially broke up?"
"You posted angry break-up lyrics on your Instagram for three weeks straight," he says.
"You check my Instagram every day?" Is he that interested in me? It's hard to imagine Damon sitting there, refreshing my profile. It's hard to envision him caring about anything I do.
"I looked last night," he says it casually, as if it means nothing that he scrolled through at least six months of my social media posts. And checked my ex-boyfriend's new account.
He's curious about me. Maybe it's so he can torture me more easily. Or maybe he still cares, deep down.
"And the pictures you've been posting." He shifts into his usual shit-stirring mode. Once again, he's the Damon Webb who never hurts. Once again, he's above caring. "A bunch on the edge of the shore. Or the one on top of a mountain. You might as well have written the lyrics to Survivor on those too."
"It's an iconic song." My chest warms. My fingers curl. I'm not sure if I'm angry or aroused. Both, maybe. I still like the way his attention feels. I hate that I like it, but I do. "And, yeah, I was hurt. Am I supposed to deny it?"
"You could have been more straight about it."
"Damon Webb is giving me advice on emotional honesty?" I ask.
"An outside perspective. It looks like you're trying to hide it."
"And what would you do differently?"
"It works, partially," he says. "That's your brand, as a writer. The tongue-in-cheek thing. You would hide from the pain. But you should be more clever about it."
He's… right, actually. Fuck. Why is he so smart about music?
He smiles. "Did I nail it?"
"You're good at this."
"I know."
"I'm glad we're working together."
His eyes meet mine. "You are trading up, sure."
"Why do you dislike Frederick so much?"
"Huh?" he asks.
"What do you care if I'm with some guy who's beneath me?"
"He's not good enough for you, as a musician."
A laugh spills from my lips. "Oh." My laugh gets louder, bigger. Of course, Damon isn't worried about me as a friend, a fake girlfriend, or even a human being. Only as his competition. "For a second, I thought you cared."
"You know I'm not capable of that." He returns the teasing tone, but he doesn't shake the nerves in his eyes. Even though we fit well in front of the piano, he's scared to connect with me. Or maybe because we work together well.
He's pushing me away on purpose.
But that doesn't matter. We're fake boyfriend and girlfriend. We don't have to actually like each other. I don't need to trust him. Not for this part.
