“No,” I lie, before rolling onto my back. My tee rides up over my belly, and the sultry night air kisses my skin. The pale blue cotton panties covering my pussy are the antithesis of sexy, but Luka doesn’t seem to care. He stares with heavy-lidded eyes, his abs taut, each muscled ridge a magnet for my libidinous gaze.
The tension between us thickens while I wonder who he’s been with this evening. Did he fuck her?
“Liar,” he murmurs as the seconds stretch between us.
My mellow mood evaporates.
“It’s okay if you have other women,” I tell him. The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I mean it. I’m under no illusion that he has feelings for me.
“There’s nobody else,” he grits out as the heat in his eyes fades. I watch from the corner of my eye as he stares up at the stars. “It was a work thing. Nothing more.”
The edge in his voice says he doesn’t want to talk about whatever this is. But the weed has stripped the veneer off my inhibitions, and I’m not in the mood for more shady bullshit. I’m already living a monstrous lie.
“Work?” My question is soft, non-judgmental.
“Yeah. A fake date with an actress. Publicity for her and networking for me.”
“Sounds fun,” I quip.
“No, not really.”
“Anyone famous?”
He names a woman I’ve never heard of before mentioning the soap she has a regular role in. Again, not one I’ve heard of, but then daytime TV isn’t my bag.
“Is she hot?” I’m not sure I want to know, but I assume so. Even older actresses these days look way younger than their actual biological ages, thanks to the wonders of Botox, fillers, and facelifts.
“Yeah. I guess so.” He shrugs. Again, I sense he’s not being honest with me. Not about her looks—I assume she’s attractive—but about the evening itself.
“Show me.”
His eyebrow shoots up before he rolls his eyes. We both know I don’t have a phone, so he pulls his phone out and switches it back on. It surprises me that his phone is off, but I don’t ask why. It’s obvious why when I see the endless stream of notifications pop up on his home screen a few seconds later. He frowns but swipes them away.
After a moment or two of tapping, he holds up his phone.
“There.” I peer at a photo of an attractive brunette in her mid-thirties, at a guess. Her boobs look plastic as fuck, but I can see why guys would like her. She’s pressed up against Luka in a dimly lit bar, her hand resting on his abs. The photograph makes it look like the two of them are sharing an intimate moment, but I know Luka well enough by now to spot the tension in his body. He’s smiling, but it’s fake.
Before he can snatch his phone back, I scroll through the other images in the gossip site’s feed until I see one where her fingers have edged below his waistband and he stands frozen.
“What the actual fuck, Luka?” I snap before thrusting the phone in his face.
His expression is carefully blank, but when I look down, his knuckles are white where his hand grips the recliner.
“It’s a job.” The small smirk he slides my way is superficial at best. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“So she’s paying you to pretend to be her fuck for the evening?”
“No money changed hands,” he says with a brittle laugh.
His phone pings with more notifications. Endless social media likes and comments. Messages from a woman called Nolene. I click on one and read the thread, not caring that it’s an invasion of Luka’s privacy. He lies back, not attempting to grab his phone from me. I assume on some level he wants me to see this side of his life.
Nolene: Don’t ignore me, Luka!
Nolene: Angelina wants to see you again. Make her happy and we’re golden.
Nolene: I’ll set up a meeting with the casting director in the morning. This could lead to bigger and better things!
“Is this Nolene pimping you out?” It sure sounds like that.
