“Sleek?” I scoff. “It’s candy pink. I look like I fell out of a pack of gum.”
She lifts a reluctant shoulder. “Ultimately, it’s your call.”
I know she’s right, but my whole life goal right now is supposed to be to get back on track, keep my record label happy, fly under the radar without removing myself from the spotlight entirely—which is truly a feat—and keep my career charging full steam ahead. It all feels impossible, but I know it isn’t, not if I listen to the coaching from my team. The people my mother and I have so carefully chosen. Their salaries alone should reflect how good they are. I should listen to them.Should.But the more I do, the farther I feel from the girl who hired them in the first place. That Lena didn’t know what she was getting into. That girl is in well over her head.
Marguerite leans in, whispering as though we aren’t alone. “I’ll see what I can do about your crystals. Now, go change. And don’t screw up my pins.”
“Or stab myself?”
“Yes. That too. Wouldn’t want to get blood on such a fabulous piece.”
I laugh as she retreats to her office and closes the door, giving me the privacy I don’t always receive during these types of fittings. My phone continues to buzz, but I’m much too eager to pull my leggings and oversized t-shirt back on. Decker’s shirt from last night, to be specific. The cotton was too worn and soft for me to give it up. I shimmy out of my costume, lay it across the tufted velvet couch nearby, and pull on my clothes. My bangs fall in my eyes, and I make a mental note to get them trimmed soon,but why wait for someone else to schedule it for me? I can book online right now. My phone buzzes in my palm, sending tingles through my hand, up my arm, and straight into my belly when I see the name blowing up my screen. Decker.
When I open our chat, I’m lost. And then I scroll up and see my cleavage. My stomach falls out of the bottoms of my size eight feet. In my hurry, I didn’t check which chat I clicked on. Joss didn’t get the photo I snapped. Decker did. It fills my screen, taunting me, taking our chat from barely there and G-rated to a whole new meaning of “barely there” andat leasta rating of PG-13. Because I’m a masochist—apparently—I reread our texts, scrolling past my suggestive picture with burning cheeks.
Me
Do you like?
Decker
I always like what I see when I look at you
But speaking strictly as your boyfriend, I’d say I need to see this get up in person to give a thorough review
A blush spills across my face, radiating warmth through my chest. I don’t know if I should be flattered or freaked out. Sure, he saw me in a towel last night, and yeah, we shared a kiss. A really hot kiss. But this feels sopersonal. Intentional. Even though it was an accident, I can’t help but want to play along.
I take a deep breath, preparing a response, debating how far I should push it. I settle on something flirty but mild. If this ends in embarrassment, at least I know the new direction my team is taking my image and costumes is effective. Besides, if I truly do want Decker, I need to feel this out. Mustering all of myaudacity, I let my fingers fly, and press send. It doesn’t take long for him to respond.
Me
That could be arranged.
Decker
Maleko rented out The Mule for his birthday tonight if you wanna join
Me
Is the bustier a requirement to attend?
Decker
You can wear whatever you want as long as I get to see you again
Am I flirting with my fake boyfriend? As wrong as I want it to feel, as much as I still want to hate Decker for the way he acted when we met, I know he isn’t a bad guy. In fact, he’s a really good guy. Maybe Cole was right. Maybe thisisendgame.
My throat tightens when I realize that I’ve never considered that with anyone else before. Not even Callum. Sure, I’d hoped we’d work out, but I never fantasized about something as menial as watching him from the stands.Endgame.It sounds so final, and I immediately regret thinking it at all. Endgame is for people in love, and I’m definitely not in love. Inlike, maybe, but in love? Absolutely not. My breaths become scarce, and I sit down and throw my head between my knees, counting and breathing.
Breathe in, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4. Get ahold of yourself, Lena! These are all just dumb words that mean nothing. You’re flirting, not asking him to marry you. Calm yourself.
I suppose we’re far past the flirt-texting milestone, considering the whole kissing thing last night, but that was staged. Me moving in on him was simply to cover both our butts.Plus, technically, he’s the one who put his mouth on me first, right? My heart flutters at the memory. I don’t know how I was expecting him to react, but a toe-curling kiss wasn’t it.
“Are you okay?” Antonia’s startled voice jolts me to my feet.
My mom stands behind her, poised per usual. “What are you doing?”
“Breathing exercises. Preparing for my session. Are we ready to go to that now? I didn’t know you’d be joining me today.” In fact, I’d hoped to have the studio to myself. There’s a few things I wanted to practice that I know they’d have opinions on, and I don't want to hear them.
