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"Why? Do you need a picture for your spank bank?" He says it like it's a joke, but it lands like a promise to me.
"Of my sister? Weird. No. It's for the rest of the internet. Unless you got bored of posting thirst traps," she says. "I mean, some of them might as well say, 'is my ex-boyfriend seeing this? I want him to know my new boyfriend is hotter.' But that's just me."
"How about you take some that say something more subtle." I find a hint of sass, but I don't feel it. I feel exposed.
Laurel doesn't notice. Or she doesn't call me on it.
She positions us on the couch, me sitting on the cushion, Damon between my legs, helping me into my boots.
He rolls socks over my feet. Then he slides the boots on, one leg at a time, running his fingers over my calves as he checks the zippers.
Without prompting, he places a kiss on my upper calf. The inside of my knee. The very bottom of my inner thigh.
Laurel keeps shooting the entire time. "Keep it PG-thirteen, kids. This is for the Gram. Or do you have an Only Fans I don't know about?"
"I do." Damon holds his position right between my legs for another photo, then he pulls back and pushes himself up. "But it's all feet pics."
"Hot." Laurel laughs. She motions for me to stand. When I do, she continues issuing orders. "Twirl."
"For the camera?" I ask.
"Yeah, sure, let's make a Reel for our account." She motions twirl again.
So I twirl.
The skirt is just loose enough to swirl around my thighs.
I land, look at the camera, blow it a kiss.
My sister laughs. "Oh, that is so perfect. Should we do another one of you two?" She looks between us. "No. I don't need you to go all rated R again." She smiles. "Okay, Damon, get lost. It's time for hair and makeup."
"Show's over?" he teases.
"For now," she says. "But I'm coming for you next."
Chapter Nineteen
Cassie
Even though hair and makeup aren't her expertise, Laurel transforms me into the version of myself who belongs at a Hollywood party. And makes my ex cry how did I throw that away tears.
Maybe, he will swallow his bullshit I threw you away with those tears. Let's face it. I look hot. Better than hot. Beautiful, creative, and professional.
The low-cut dress, boots, and glam makeup turn me into the perfect musician trophy girlfriend. Add the leather jacket, and boom, I'm cool on my own.
There is something triumphant about knowing my ex will be jealous I'm the perfect trophy girlfriend. But there's something false about it too. Is this really who I want to be?
Before I can consider the idea fully, Laurel interrupts. She parades Damon down the stairs like he's the one who's the real trophy.
He does look good in that suit. Way too good.
But I don't have a lot of time to consider the implications of that either. Laurel drags us to the car, calls shotgun, and insists on picking the music for the entire drive before I can say I have ideas for that tie.
Damon shoots me a look through the mirror. A pure couple look. Your sister sure is a character.
For a moment, I feel it. The sense we're really in love. Then I remind myself this is pretend. I remind myself I hate him. But it doesn't feel pretend.
And, at the moment, I can't recall why I hate him so much.
At the moment, he doesn't feel like my fake boyfriend. He feels like my friend, my partner, my lifeline.
And that's as scary as the possibility of losing this job.
The party is at a hotel in Hollywood. One known for landing celebrities on TMZ. And I do mean TMZ. It's a real aughts artifact.
After we park with the valet, we walk in together. The three of us saunter into the well-decorated hotel ballroom like we belong there.
No, like we're too cool to belong there.
For once, I feel it. I'm not just creative and smart. I'm not just talented with a pen. I'm so sexy and cool I outclass a party at a has-been hotel.
Laurel pulls me into a tight hug, wishes me good luck, promises she'll text if she leaves without me, and goes straight to the bar.
She chats up the guy in line in front of her. A producer who stares at her chest the entire time. Not that I blame him. Unlike me, she is very gifted in this area, and her current dress seems to defy gravity in its ability to both reveal and contain her boobs.
Then Damon wraps his hand around my waist, and I forget about my sister. I forget we're here to pretend.
Right now, I'm not faking anything. I want to show off my talented collaborator.
"Do you want a drink?" I ask.
