I fall back into my seat and take a long breath, trying desperately to get my wits together.
What the hell just happened here?
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Gianna
“Let’s look at the bright side,” Audrey says, stepping over the button mess still scattered on my living room floor. “The messier things get, the better you operate.”
“Or we can look at the other bright side.” Astrid laughs from Audrey’s phone, which is propped against a box that Lucia had delivered to me this afternoon. “Drake Bennett is going to be one hell of a fuck.”
“Well, there’s that, too,” Audrey says with flushed cheeks.
I dip my brush into a blob of crimson paint and splatter it against the canvas. Each droplet drips and runs down the white background in vivid streaks. It reminds me of the energy buzzing through my body and the heat blooming in my chest. Not to mention the ache between my thighs. It’s intense and exciting … and a bit worrisome from a practical standpoint.
But when have I ever been practical?
“You know, that setup looks like the makings of a serial killer documentary,” Astrid says, her voice momentarily cutting out. Phone service is bad on the ranch, we’ve learned. “Clear plastic sheets covering a corner of your living room. A drop cloth withred droplets. Your art could pass as blood play. It’s very … Dexter of you.”
I lean back and take in the impromptu studio. It was unintentional, but it does look a little … violent.
“So what does this mean? I heard the show, but … are you really dating him?” Audrey asks, flopping on the couch. She curls her feet beneath her and sinks into the plush cushions.
“I saw the way Drake was looking at her,” Astrid says. “There’s nothing fake about it to him. I guarantee that.”
I bite back a smile, happy that my back is to my friends so they can’t see that Astrid’s commentary is kind of what I want to hear. I’ll never date Drake—not really. He’s too traditional and jaded about what it means to be in love. But the more I think about fake dating him for real, whatever that means, the more I like it.
There’s just one question that remains, and I can’t answer it. Or maybe I’m afraid to.What’s in this for him?
The question plagued me all afternoon and followed me into the evening. When most guys want to date me, I know exactly what they’re after, and I’m more than happy to deliver. Honestly, I’m usually in it for the same reasons. But with Drake, I’m not sure what he wants to get out of this aside from the obvious: ratings.
“He’s clever,” I say, pushing the brush a little too hard against the canvas. “He said on air that he wants to prove that my approach to relationships is wrong because I only date losers, essentially. But that’s tomybenefit. My show will reap those rewards. The only benefit that I can see him getting out of this is numbers. His stats this week will be incredible. He’s tapping into a new demographic because my podcast is basically a free hunting ground for him. And when we’re neck and neck for the Thursday slot, I have to assume that’s his takeaway.”
“Wow. I didn’t think of it like that,” Astrid says.
“Me either,” Audrey says, sighing.
I add some yellow paint to my used egg carton and dab my brush into it.
Today has been a roller coaster of emotions, and I haven’t had time to sort it all out. Every high was chased by a low, only to be followed by another high. It’s exhausting, even for me as someone who admittedly loves drama. I had to turn off my phone before I left the office. Incessant calls, constant text alerts, ceaseless chirps notifying me of Social comments and messages. It was all too much—especially since I don’t know what to say for once.
“Playing devil’s advocate here. What would you say if he isn’t doing itjustfor ratings?” Audrey asks. “How would you feel about that?”
I switch back to the red paint. “It would depend on what his objective is, I guess. Is he just wanting to have fun? Great. There are a million ways in which I can imagine fun with that man. Is he looking at it like a science experiment? That’s … not as fun.” I study the art in front of me. “Either way, I don’t think he’s being exploitative. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“Are you going to go on dates?” Astrid asks. “Have you talked to him?”
“He said he’d text me before he left, but that was the last that I’ve heard from him. I guess we’ll go on dates. How serious is he about that? Are we monogamous for the next month and a half? Is that even necessary?” I shrug because I simply don’t know.
Audrey glances at my phone on the coffee table. “Your phone is off. Do you know that?”
“Yup.”
“Well, you can’t hear from him if you literally can’t hear from him.” She giggles.
I just need a little time to get my thoughts together before I deal with Drake.
