Lena shifts away from me again, lifting the phone to examine the photo. “Don’t act like you’ve never been handed something free for being part of the Vista City Kings.”
She’s not wrong, it’s just that anything I receive complimentary, I haven’t grown tired of yet. Even after almost a decade of being part of the Kings, it’s still exciting to see what people want to send my way. “Not very often.”
She rolls her eyes like I’m being modest, which maybe I am, but what’s wrong with that?
“Half the stuff I have to donate. I can’t travel with it all and don’t need most of it,” she says.
“You are quite the philanthropist, you know.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Suddenly, I’m even more self conscious than I was over my not-freckles.
“Like I’m some saint for giving away free clothes and electronics or peeling potatoes in some backroom of a church.”
“I mean, you’re also well known for your financial donations.”
She ducks her head, concentrating on the screen. “What if I told you that I just give my team a budget and they’re the ones that make all thosetimely donationsany time some tragic story pops up in the news? Would you still be looking at me that way?” When her eyes meet mine, there’s pain in them, like she’s somehow ashamed of the money she’s made and her ability to give it away on a whim.
“A donation is a donation. Your intent to help is there. That’s all that matters,” I say.
“Don’t make it something it’s not.”
“Do you like helping people?”
“Well, yeah,” she says as though it’s obvious.
“Then that’s it. You’re changing lives.”
“I have five houses, at least twice as many cars, and a private chef. Half my fans can hardly afford their gas, and I know some of them can barely buy dinner.”
This strikes a chord with me, one that I thank God I don’t struggle with anymore. A chord that definitely won’t ever be strummed again if my agreement with her pays off the way we hope it does. “I’ve been there. My family has been there. We’ve gone without, and we made it through, but a little help from others never hurts.”
The turmoil in her eyes softens as she stares at me with… Is that pity? I never meant for her to feel sorry for me. She’s got a softer heart than I realized, but I’m only stating facts. I want her to know from someone who has been there that help is help, regardless of who or what form it comes in. I didn’t mean to kidnap the conversation.
Lena shifts her weight on my lap, tilting her head as sad eyes cut into me. “I’m so sorry, Decker. I didn’t realize how… how you’d grown up.”
I lower my gaze, locking in on her, hoping she really hears my next words and that we can get off the subject of my financially unstable childhood. “You’re making a difference. Don’t try to act like you aren’t a good person. You may hate me half the time, but even I can tell you’re good.”
“Thanks.” She lifts a corner of her mouth, erasing the pity that had begun to cloud her vision. Leaning back in, she focuses on her screen as she uses her fingers to zoom in on our picture, and in a blink, we’re back to business. “This is honestly better than I expected.”
“We should probably take a few more though, just to make sure it’s the right one.” I worry I sound too eager when she smirks and arches a sharp brow, and I scramble to cover my tracks. “Or maybe in case Antonia and your mom wanna see?—“
“No.We’rechoosing this one.” Her pretty smirk drops, and I lift my hands in surrender.
“I’m game. Next pose?”
She chews her lip as she thinks, finally handing my phone back to me. Without warning, she leans in and plants a soft kiss on my cheek, the stubble I haven’t shaved in a few days an unwelcome barrier. I almost forget to take the picture. At the last second I snap it, just in time for her to miss the heatwave sweeping over my skin.
Really, Decker? You’re blushing over a kiss on the cheek? How old are you?
The heated feeling intensifies as I turn to face her, my eyes drawing down to her mouth. It always looked soft, but I didn’t realizehowsoft those lips could be. And now I know. There’s no more wondering. The worst part is… I want to feel them again. In a very not-posed-for-a-photo op type of way. My pulse rockets as I consider how far I should push this, which is immediately replaced by a question.Whydo I want to push this? And would she let me? There’s a war in my brain as I battle between leaving our boundaries firmly within our guidelines or trying to feel out if this attraction is more than the obvious physical.
Something about her is different. I can feel it. Lena isn’t that bratty girl I met backstage. Beyond her steely exterior is a girl who cares—about her fans, about those in need, and even about Princess. She has layers. I’ve witnessed them. She’s sweet and fiery, and I want more. After the impromptu cheek kiss—the one she initiated, might I add—I want to know if she could want more too. I drag my gaze up her face to meet her eyes. She’s still staring down at me, smiling. She doesn’t ask to see the photo. Then she reaches out and her fingers delicately graze my forehead. I don’t flinch. I’m completely still, completely willing in this moment to let her do whatever she wants.
Her fingers linger at my temple. “Sorry, you had a piece of hair. I thought I’d?—”
The front door flies open, and she jumps, nearly falling out of my lap. I steady her, and she shoots to her feet, staring down the man in the entryway. The contents of a cardboard box tower to his chin, but I can see him. My stomach drops as I finally register who he is.
