Page 208 of My Real Love Affair

“She said she would.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, nervous energy coursing through me. “Cleo doesn’t back down from a fight.”

“Neither does Melody, apparently,” Cash said. “That post she made today? Brutal.”

I had seen it. Everyone had seen it. Melody in that leather jacket, looking like she could chew nails and spit them out. The caption about knowing your worth. The hashtags that made it crystal clear she was done with me.

The woman looked like she was ready to kick some serious ass. I was digging the leather. It was hot. Sexy as sin. And made me think about the many leather outfits I hoped to see her in someday.

My phone had been blowing up all day with texts from friends, acquaintances, even a few reporters asking for comments. The narrative was already forming. It was exactly what we had expected. Austin Bancroft, the reckless playboy, had finally pushed away a good woman. Melody was the hero of the story, walking away with her head held high.

It was perfect. And it was killing me to see the comments calling me every name in the book when all I wanted to do was tell the world how much I loved her.

But at least Melody wasn’t getting dragged. That was my main concern. She had come out on top. If anything, she was getting a huge boost in popularity. I was more than happy to take the hit in the eyes of the public if it worked out well for Melody.

“There,” Cash said, pointing. “Is that her?”

The building’s front door opened, and Cleo emerged. She wore all black like she was a cat burglar. Black jeans, black leather jacket, black boots. Her purple hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. I was pretty sure she was enjoying her little mission. She spotted us immediately and strode over, pulling open the back door and sliding into the seat behind Cash.

“Alright, boys,” she said, buckling her seatbelt with a decisive click. “Let’s do this.”

I pulled away from the curb, heading toward the restaurant Summer had chosen. It was an upscale place that was a hotspot for the young elite. It was a place to be seen, like showing up at the Grammy awards or some big movie premiere. She knew people would see them together. It was only going to fan the flames of her story.

Cash pulled out his phone, scrolling through social media. He let out a low whistle.

“What?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road.

“The comments on Melody’s post. They are not kind to you, little brother.”

“Let me guess. I’m a bastard who never deserved her?”

“That’s the gentle version.” Cash scrolled some more. “There’s a whole thread analyzing every photo you two ever posted together, claiming they can see now that you never really cared about her.”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “People see what they want to see.”

“True. But for what it’s worth, she looks incredible. That leather jacket is badass.” He paused, glancing at me. “I mean, it’s a good photo. Very empowering.”

“Watch yourself,” I warned.

Cleo leaned forward between the seats, grinning. “You know what? Maybe you’re not so bad, Austin. I like how you come to the rescue of my best friend. Very knight-in-shining-armor of you.”

“I knew you’d come around to me eventually. People can’t help but love me.”

“Don’t get too cocky. My bestie is in this mess because of you.” Her expression turned more serious. “The jury’s still out on whether you’re worth all this trouble.”

Cash chuckled. I glanced at him. He seemed relaxed. More at ease than I had ever seen him. I supposed he was glad I was getting scorched on the internet. He had gotten our father’s wrath and now I was getting it from the keyboard warriors. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I just like Cleo’s honesty.” He turned in his seat to look at her. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“Life’s too short for bullshit,” Cleo said. “Speaking of which.” She pulled out her phone and started scrolling. “Austin, have you seen your dedicated hate account lately?”

“His what?” Cash asked, frowning.

“The paparazzi Instagram account. The one with all his worst photos.” She held up her phone, showing Cash. “It’s comedy gold.”

Cash took her phone, his eyebrows shooting up as he scrolled through the posts. Then he laughed. “Oh my god. Is this really you?”

“Which one?” I asked, trying to see the screen without crashing into another car.

“The one where you’re coming out of a club at four a.m. with your shirt inside out and your shoes in your hand.”