"It's fake!" he shouts, cutting me off and stepping closer.
"What?" I ask, otherwise stunned.
"Fake," he repeats just inches from my face. "Not real."
My mind attempts to interpret what he's saying, but that same erotic smell from before keeps distracting it. "I, I don't—what?" I stammer out.
Drew leans in, his arms wide. "It was a goddamn set-up, Brooke. A stunt. A chance for paparazzi to catch me out doing the shit my fans expect me to be doing. All. Fucking. Pretend. Just like the rest of it."
I search his face for any indication that he's lying, but his expression is strong, his eye contact steadfast. "But why? I don't understand."
He turns around, pacing a few strides before returning to his spot in front of me. "Because that's what people want from me," he spews out. "Because that's who they think I am. That's the guy I fucking snorted drugs to maintain."
I remain speechless, both waiting for him to continue and not knowing what to say. He blows out a breath, tempering his volume. "But none of that's real."
"Okay," I say unsurely. "So, what's real then?"
He blows out a breath as if he's considering what he does and doesn't want to share. "What's real?" he says under his breath. His voice grows louder, his energy rising once again. "What's real? Me bringing youhere,that's what's real. Talking to you about my mom and music and all the shit that'smine.That I don't let anyone know.That'swhat's real."
My stomach flips as I take in his words. That the guy I thought he might be—the one who he seems to be with me—is really in there. And has been all along.
Drew steps to me so the tip of his sock grazes the toe of my boot. I physically react, my pulse racing and my chest rising to nearly touch his.
"Andthis," he says, his voice almost a whisper. "Thisfeels pretty fucking real."
His breathing is heavy, and I hyper-focus on whether that's from his passionate rant or his body's response to his proximity to me. I get lost in his inhales and exhales, the sound both calming and intoxicating me all at once.
He somehow locks in on me even more than before, his mouth tight, his nostrils flexing under the strain of his breath. So many things fly through my mind—my mom's opinions, Ivy's words, Drew's actionsthroughout the day yesterday. The way my heart sank when I saw the picture of him with Zombie Girl.
And how I feel now.
A deafening silence settles in, one where not even a shuffling of feet in the hallway can be heard underneath the door. We stay like that, motionless—stuck in a game of chicken where no one speaks but no one pulls away either.
I replay the last thirty hours in my mind, every look, every laugh, every doubt and each defense. I have so many questions, but none that I can put into words with him standing so close to me like this. My brain runs through the list of excuses Drew justified for what feels like the hundredth time, when suddenly, his jaw grows tight, the only movement between the two of us.
My gaze lands on his gold chain shining like a light at the end of the dark tunnel of his shirt, and I flash back to it sitting across his sweat-beaded chest, damp and glistening. His ink on display, bold and vulnerable. My eyes resisting the urge to wander, my heart questioning his depth. His skin and true-self exposed just enough.
"Your move, Mystery Girl."
Or maybe notenoughat all.
I barely finish my thought when I'm in his arms, mine arranged around his neck. I kiss him hard, and he reciprocates, our lips melting together like they're one, as always, our tongues greedy for each other. Before I have a chance to question it—even one moment to second-guess—Drew slides his hands to the outside of my thighs, lifting me so I'm forced to wrap my legs around his waist.
The perfect cock I know he's restricting underneath his thin compression pants fights against the spandex. It swells between my legs as he pushes on my ass, holding me firmly against him. The friction he causes at the apex of my thighs isn't even close to the amount of pressure that I need.
I whimper as Drew drags my bottom lip between his teeth, while simultaneously turning and walking us backward. We pause when my back hits the wall, both of us panting. He slides his hand into my hairand holds my gaze, speaking to me with no words at all before he kisses me once more.
Moments later, my legs unfold from around him as I slide down his chest, setting my feet back on the floor. Drew moves his other hand from my waist so both are tangled in my hair.
"This real enough for you yet?" He presses his lips to mine again as he drops his hands and brushes his thumbs past the fabric covering my nipples.
"I don't know, Twelve," I gasp, pulling away. "I think you can do better than that."
Drew dips down and nips at my neck, grabbing my hand and pinning my palm to his cock. "How about now? Pretty real?"
I inhale quickly as I feel every minute of how long it's been since he's been inside me. "Yeah," I say breathlessly. "Better."
With that, Drew grabs hold of my hips and twists them swiftly, spinning me so that I'm sandwiched between him and the wall in the best possible way. "This has always been real to me, baby," he says to my back before leaning in so I can feel locks of his damp hair fall onto my cheek. "And you won't leave this room without feeling every inch of that."
