And sooo not what he got.
No, what he got with his stupid idiotic idea was a termagant with an attitude that broke all the rules, ignored anything she deemed didn’t belong in her happy bubble of the world, and glared at him like he was the enemy.
Now the whole world thought they were getting married.
“What am I gonna do?”
Drake awoke the next morning,bleary-eyed and groggy, to his phone ringing. As he extended an arm toward it, rolled over, and then looked at the screen, the call ended abruptly, revealing his lock screen.
He had seventy-two text messages.
“What the…” he yelped, his eyes nearly popping out of his head as he stared in disbelief, horror, and confusion. There were messages from his brothers asking for a photo of the two of them – minus the plunger, text messages from his mother, who was still impatiently waiting for a photo, messages from his agent, old girlfriends, a few news stations looking for the scoop… and a spam text to extend the warranty on his vehicle.
Sitting up in bed, he saw it was nearly eight in the morning. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he grimaced as a flood of thoughts hit him once more. He’d stupidly, publicly told everyone that he’d proposed to Steffi and that she’d agreed. Every chance he could have taken to back out of it, to explain away the problem, the mistake, whatever you wanted to call it… Those chances had gone. It was now the next day, and he had yet to deny the fake relationship news that had seemingly traveled around the world already. This was a mess of his own making.
But was it so bad?
Hesitating, Drake swallowed as the silent thought struck him out of nowhere. Would it be so bad to have someone to attend the charity dinner with, to have someone to talk to or spend time with… would it be so terrible to have someone he could call his own? He’d been struggling with depression and loneliness for a while now because it was hitting him hard lately, realizing that even with all his fame and fortune, he had nothing. Noclose buddies that he could count on that didn’t want something in return, and every single aspect of his life felt transactional, which is why he mentioned to Steffi that he was rich. He was trying to ensure her compliance with his idea – and had looked so insulted at his words that it surprised him.
He didn’t get surprised often.
Throwing back the covers, Drake padded toward the bathroom to brush his teeth and grab a quick shower when he heard a knock at the front door. Changing direction abruptly, he moved to answer it… without thinking – and froze the second he saw Steffi on the front porch.
“Hello?”
“Um,” Steffi hesitated as she stared at him with wide eyes, swallowed audibly, and then plastered a fake smile on her face as she stood there in what could only be called a muumuu or a zip-up bathrobe. The horrifying paisley print mixed with vibrant daisies did nothing to make it appealing in the slightest – plus the gigantic rollers in her hair had her looking like one of those weird Pops dolls. “Do you need to put something else on?”
“Do you?” he shot back – and hesitated, looking down at his green boxers. “I’m fine. They’re practically shorts – but you still look like someone robbed a casket from the seventies.”
“A casket,” she yelped in disbelief as her expression changed from one of embarrassment to potential serial killer in seconds flat. “Why did I even bother to think that you could be reasoned with – there is no way in any sane sense of the word that you could ever…”
“What do you need?”
“Not you!” she shot back and bolted off to his left, back toward her house, and right through his immaculate lawn.
“Hey!” he snapped, racing after her… just as the sprinkler heads popped out of the grass. Their eyes met, and he could see the flicker of awareness in her face as the first bolt of icywater struck her dead-center in the chest. She shrieked and began dancing in place, but he wasn’t sticking around to give all of the subdivision an entertaining show. He grabbed her wrist, dragged her through the lancing sprays of water, to the front door of his house, and slammed it shut behind them.
“C’mon…” he began, and she wrenched her hand away, dripping all over the entryway.
“No.”
“Are you wet? Cold? Want some coffee?” he belted out in rapid-fire and without waiting for an answer, walked off toward his bedroom, where the master bathroom was that he loved, to grab a towel and a robe. Without looking over his shoulder, he felt her presence behind him and wondered idly if he was about to get conked over the head with something.
“I’ve got a second robe if you want it – and I can put that…abomination… into the dryer for you,” he offered politely as he dried himself, waiting with his back to her.
“It was my mom’s,” she said in a tiny voice that made him pause as he turned slightly to her. “I’m afraid that if I run it through the dryer cycle, it might fall apart.”
“I see,” he said simply – anything else felt out of place. “I’ll get a hanger for it, and you can warm up in a robe. Have you had breakfast?”
“I’ll just go home.”
“You’re here,” he countered, accepting the sopping wet garment like he was being handed a filthy diaper. “Quit being difficult because I’m trying to be nice to you.”
“Well, we’re behind closed doors, so feel free to let your real feelings show,” she snapped back at him as he rolled his eyes. This was not working out like he imagined it would. Every time he saw her, she rubbed him the wrong way, and he was starting to wonder if it was on purpose. Hanging up the threadbarehorror onto the neck of the showerhead, he turned to her and asked.
“Are you being like this on purpose?”
“What?” she asked, fastening the bathrobe around her and pinching the neck closed as if the sight of her skin would bother him – puh-lease…
