“And what, Rowan?”
“I want to branch off. Write and direct. But the studio won’t work with me unless I clean up my image.”
My mind starts running a million miles an hour. Searching his face, I suddenly remember what Logan told me.
“They want Rowan to be in a stable relationship. Something along the lines of not being a liability.”
“You need a serious girlfriend.”
All he gives me is a shrug of a shoulder and a slow nod.
Mother. Fucker.
twenty-four
The lookon Lizzy’s face has me cringing inside.
“Are you saying…” She starts slowly stalking toward me, punctuating every other word with each step. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”
I nervously scratch the back of my neck. “I wasn’t going to ask you right away. Honestly, I was kind of hoping to ease you into the idea?”
“Is that all this was? You coming here and apologizing just so you could talk me into being yourfake girlfriend?”
Jesus. This isn’t going the way I planned. At. All.
“Fuck’s sake, Lizzy. Of course not! I meant every word I said. I am so sorry for hurting you. I wasn’t even going to bring it up, but…”
A multitude of emotions cross her face before she speaks again. “You should go. Like I said, I need some time to think.”
The sharp tone of her voice guts me. Here I am, caught between wanting to pull her back into my arms and respecting her need for space. Her lips are still swollen from our kiss, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath that paint-splattered apron that’s doing little to hide what’s hiding underneath.
“Okay,” I say softly, backing toward the door. “I’ll go.”
As much as every cell in my body is screaming at me to stay, to grab her and kiss her again. Make her understand that I’m not just here for some fake relationship—that I want something real with her—I know pushing now would only drive her further away.
Pausing at the door, I turn to look at her, letting my gaze rove over her once more.
Guarded eyes meet mine before they flick away. “Goodnight, Rowan.”
With a clipped nod, I slip out, closing the door behind me. Somehow the soft click sounds more final than if she’d slammed it in my face.
Back in the apartment, I grab another beer from the fridge and collapse onto the couch. My head falls back, and I close my eyes. The taste of her still lingers on my lips. Fuck, I’ve made a mess of things. Again.
I should have waited. Should have given her more time before even hinting at the fake relationship idea. Now she thinks everything I said was just manipulation to get her to go along with it.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I groan aloud. “Fucking idiot.”
I drain half of my beer in one go, then reach for the script on the coffee table. Might as well be productive while I beat myself up over my spectacular failure at reconnecting with Lizzy.
For the next hour, I run through my lines. The words blur together after a while, my mind constantly drifting back to how Lizzy felt in my arms, the softness of her lips against mine, the little sound she made in the back of her throat when my tongue swept into her hot mouth.
Eventually, I give up trying to focus. Tossing the scriptaside, I throw the empty beer bottle in the trash and head to bed, stripping down to my boxers before sliding between the cool sheets.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. I toss and turn, replaying the night’s events over and over in my head. The way she looked when I first walked in—wild and free and so goddamn beautiful it hurt. The flash of vulnerability in her eyes when I told her about the movie. The heat coursing through my veins when I kissed her for the first time in years.
Slowly, I drift off and I find myself back in the treehouse. Sunlight filters through the wooden slats, casting dappled patterns across Lizzy’s face as she laughs, her smile a ray of sunshine.
Despite how tiredI was only hours before, I wake surprisingly refreshed. Memories of the previous night flash through my head. All I can do now is give Lizzy time to think about being my girlfriend.
