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Appreciating.
I was infuriated, listening to that actress try to come for my boyfriend. I don’t care if he’s my fake boyfriend—the woman clearly had no boundaries and treated Tate like he was readily available.
Spying on their conversation, I also figured out that he definitely had a previous run-in with her before in his boy band days. A sexual encounter, from what I could tell. And while normally that would send me running away from him screaming, I don’t feel that way now.
I’ve learned a lot about Tate in the last few days while we’ve been in California. Some of it has been a struggle—he can be very frustrating. But some of it is also... enlightening.
Thrilling even.
There’s no way I can ignore that he has a past, and I accept it. What he did before me doesn’t matter. I can’t let it bother me, and I’m not thinking this way only because our relationship is supposedly fake.
The more time I spend with him, the more real everything feels.
It’s also so... sweet, how patient he is with me. He doesn’t push. Even when I can tell he wants to. He gets a certain look in his eyes, like he wants to pounce on me. Devour me. Every time I see that particular gleam in his gaze, my body responds.
I want to know what it’s like, to have him...
Consume me.
The food is delicious and the conversation interesting throughout dinner. Once Katrina returns to the table with her friend, they swap seats and ignore us for the rest of the meal, which is fine by me. Tate and I remain quiet, listening to a couple of the actors tell funny stories about their set experience. Some of them share how they got started in the business, and even Katrina tells a story about meeting a producer at the nightclub she used to work at, leaving out a few choice details.
Like how she slept with him. I only know this because I heard her say it to Tate point blank.
Spending time with all these people is making me think that this world isn’t as glamorous as it portrays itself to be. And if you’re young and don’t have a strong sense of self, I can see how you’d become easily influenced by everyone surrounding you. The good and the bad.
Mostly the bad, only because it’s always so tempting.
When we leave the restaurant, Tate keeps his hand on my lower back, just above my butt, as he guides me out of the building and toward our car. The moment we slide into the back seat, he pulls the door shut behind him and turns toward me, his expression full of relief.
“Thank God that’s over.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You were the one who wanted to do this.”
“Yeah, and it was torture.” He leans back against the seat, his hand darting out to grab me and pull me closer to him. “I thought it would be interesting.”
I go to him, resting my head against his muscular chest. “It was.”
“With the exception of Katrina.” When I glance up, I find he’s already watching me. “I’m sorry if she upset you.”
“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything.”
“But I did. I messed around with her a few years ago.” He grimaces. “And I barely remember it.”
Thank Godis what I want to say, but I remain quiet.
“I did a lot of shitty things, and getting back into the business is reminding me of all of those things I did. Stuff I’d rather forget.” He presses his head against the seat, taking a deep breath. “I wasn’t a good person.”
“You weren’t a bad person. You were just young and given way too much freedom,” I point out.
“And I handled it all wrong. Not everyone completely messed up their careers. But I did. I screwed it up royally, and I had so much regret. But I also believed it was all done to me. Sure, I was partially responsible, but I also blamed other people. Circumstances. It’s easy to point fingers when you don’t want to face where you went wrong,” he explains.
“A couple of years ago, I couldn’t take full responsibility for my actions. Hell, even a few months ago I probably couldn’t. But now? I see it. I see where I messed up. I see what could’ve been and how I threw it all away. I regret my choices,” he admits.
“You’ve been given a second chance, though,” I remind him, my voice soft. “And that’s a good thing.”
“I won’t screw it up this time.” His voice is fierce. The look on his face—determined. “Not after I lost everything before. I want to do this right. And while I regret what I did in the past, there’s one good thing that came out of it.”
“What’s that?” I ask, my gaze returning to his.
