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“You said you’d have me come out there so I could hang out with you, and I’ve barely heard a single peep from you! Just a quick text here and there.” Rachel mock pouts. I can tell she’s in her bedroom and it’s dark. Like she’s about to go to bed.
Considering she’s three hours ahead of me, that’s probably the case.
“I’m so sorry. I just—things have been happening so fast, and the days just fly by.” My apology is lame. So are my excuses.
“Right. More like you’re getting dicked every night and you’ve forgotten all about me.” Rachel bursts out laughing when she sees my shocked face.
“I am not getting dicked every night.” I glance around, like one of the security guys is going to pop out from behind a wall or lamp. I really hope they didn’t hear her. Pretty sure they’re currently outside. “But Tate and I have grown... closer.”
Rachel grins. “Ooh, please do tell. And that happened fast.”
“I know.” I smile, remembering how I said I wouldn’t stay here beyond two weeks. Thinking of all the time Tate and I have spent together and how I never want it to end. We’re so much closer now, and I’m always eager to see him when he finally comes home from the studio. Tonight, I plan on smothering him with kisses, and hopefully we can take a late-night swim. Or we’ll just go straight to bed.
The possibilities are endless.
“I don’t hear you complaining,” Rachel points out.
“There’s no reason for me to complain. I’m having fun.”
“Having fun. Is that code for getting naked with Tate Ramsey every night?”
I can feel my cheeks burn hot, and Rachel points at me.
“I knew it. You two are totally into each other, aren’t you? I see the photos everywhere. All over the internet. On social media. Your social media. He’s all you talk about.” Rachel shakes her head, as if she can’t believe it. “They follow you guys to every restaurant and place you go to, and I have to say, with all the photos I see—you two look like the real deal.”
“That’s because we are the real deal,” I admit, my voice soft. Like I don’t want to speak too loudly for fear that it’ll break this magical spell Tate and I are both currently under.
Things are going so well. They have been for pretty much the entirety of our time here in California. To the point that I forget about everything else and just focus on him. On our life here.
I’ve FaceTimed with my parents a couple of times, and I’m always so vague in my responses when they ask questions likeWhen are you coming home?andHow serious are you two?Mom texts me all the time, asking for more details about our relationship, and I just brush her off or change the subject. I don’t want to tell her too much. Our relationship feels so fragile still. I want to keep things private.
Just between me and Tate. No one else needs to know. Despite how popular we are online, that part of it still doesn’t feel real.
I have no clue when we’re coming home, and I don’t want to rush the process. Tate is doing so well putting the album together, and I refuse to leave him alone and go back to New York.
He needs me.
“I knew this would happen,” Rachel says vehemently, though I can tell she’s not mad. More like she seems really happy for me. “From the way you talked, like you two were always snapping at each other, I figured it would eventually turn into an enemies-to-lovers situation. Looks like I was right.”
“Enemies to lovers?” I’m frowning.
“Oh, you know what I’m talking about. Every great fake relationship in a movie or series or book starts out as an enemies-to-lovers story. They hate each other. Until they don’t.”
That’s exactly how I feel about Tate. I couldn’t stand him. And then I could.
Now I can’t imagine life without him.
I’m thinking he feels the same.
“I think that’s us. Well, me. He never seemed to mind me too badly.”
“So you’re telling me he’s a boy obsessed,” Rachel says, nodding.
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
My best friend sighs, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been reading, okay? Mostly romance books, and they have all of these tropes. Fake dating. Boy obsessed. Enemies to lovers. I don’t have my best friend around to hang out with—and I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I’m just stating facts—so I need to occupy myself somehow. And that means I’ve been reading. A lot.”
“I’ll be home soon,” I tell her, feeling bad even though she told me I shouldn’t. “I promise.”
