“Worried we’re going to be late?” I asked.
“No.” He smiled, but his shoulders were hunched slightly. “We’re good on time.”
I lifted my phone to snap a picture.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. No pics allowed.”
“Seriously?” I lowered the phone to my lap. “My friend Fallon is demanding photographic evidence that you’re not a serial killer.”
“Sorry.” He flashed a confident grin, and it did things to my stomach that I didn’t mind at all. “I’ve just learned to be very protective of my face.”
“Oh, really? Why’s that?”
“Reasons.” The grin was still firmly in place, but his eyes grew guarded.
Fallon wouldn’t share it, but now I was curious. “Is that why you never post on any of your socials?” The moment it was out, I cringed. Now he was going to know I’d once been high-key obsessed with him.
As soon as I started at DayGlow, I learned the difference between a dream and a fantasy. Dreams were things you could reach for. Fantasies were just beautiful things you weren’t allowed to have. And a life with Griffin Dupree was a fantasy. So I’d placed him in a lockbox and never went looking for the key.
He stared at me like I’d just blown his mind. He probably would’ve kept staring if he hadn’t hit the rumble strip. “You looked me up online?”
“Uh… yes… Last night.” At least that part was true. I pursed my lips. “It was extremely… disappointing.”
“Wow.” He rubbed three fingers over his lips, thinking. “Now I’m super glad I never let myself be on camera.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m not photogenic.”
I snorted. “A model who isn’t photogenic? That’s like a chef who can’t cook.”
“Fine.” He chuckled. “I didn’t use to be photogenic.”
“Really? Did something magical happen to make you photogenic now? Because I looked up that Hollister shoot last night too, and the picture where you’re wearing a zip hoodie unzipped, no shirt, all pecs?” I made a sizzling sound.
My fingers twitched, wishing I could run them over his chest right now. My biggest regret was that I never frequented Hollister and had missed seeing him life-sized on the wall.
“Ah…” He winced. “You found the shirtless photos.”
I let my gaze drop to his chest. “Indeed, I did.”
He chuckled and squirmed uncomfortably. It was so cute.
Just then, his phone rang, illuminating the dashboard.Incoming call: Momzie.
Momzie? Okay, that was adorable.
He sat up straight. “I need to take this.” There was an edge in his voice, asking if I could behave.
I held up my hands and whispered, “I’m not here.”
He tapped the accept-call button. “Hey, Mama,” he said, like talking to her was the best part of his day.
My pulse stumbled, and I glanced out the window before he could see what that did to me.
“Hey, bud,” his mom said, her voice soft and sweet with a slight southern twang. The kind that said refined, not redneck. “Looks like you’re almost at Zion.” So they were one of those families who stalked each other. “How was the convention?” There was a muffled sound in the background. She released an easy laugh, and I couldn’t help but smile. She sounded nice.Really nice. The kind of mom who reads bedtime stories every night or bakes homemade bread. “Dad wants to know if you tripped on the runway.”
I laughed silently.
