How Good It Was, page 6
She wondered if he called every woman that, or if it was just a thing he did for her.
“Yeah, I’m good. I wasn’t expecting you back this early. I only just finished my workout. I borrowed the weights in your bedroom. Hope you don’t mind.”
Luke shook his head. “Don’t mind at all, but is that healthy with the . . . ?” He looked down at her stomach.
“You can say the word baby you know.”
“Yeah. Right. The baby.”
“I worked out every day before I got pregnant. My ob-gyn in Malibu says it’s fine to continue.”
“Fair enough. Wait, what the fuck is that spaceship on the counter?”
Willow picked up her cup and took a sip to hide her smile. “A coffee maker.”
“Jesus Christ. A family of four could live inside it.”
“It’s not that big.” She hopped down off the stool. “Would you like a coffee, Luke? You look tired.”
He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Sure.”
“What kind of coffee?”
“Surprise me.”
“It has a large brew head so the water flows through the grounds more effectively.”
Luke huffed. “It’s big enough to take a shower under.”
Willow bit back a grin and focused on frothing the foam. She’d tell him the beans were decaf later. Or maybe never, if he couldn’t tell the difference. With the double espresso shot in the cup, she added mostly the foam and a splash of milk. “One cappuccino. You’ll never want to drink anything else.”
“You’ve clearly never had a pint of Boddingtons at the perfect temperature.”
Willow placed the drink down in front of him. “Given it will be a while before I can compare the two, I suggest you just shut up and say thank you.”
“Thank you.” Luke tipped the cup to his lips and took a sip.
She tried not to pay attention to the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. And, geez, she’d read about preggo horny hormones, but lord, since the moment Luke had walked into the room, it was as if someone had let off a pheromone bomb, and she wasn’t immune.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the papers she needed him to sign, and they doused the low-grade tingling in her underwear.
Probably for the best.
“That’s good coffee,” he said, a whisper of white foam on his upper lip.
Willow gestured to her own lips. “You’ve got a little something.”
Lazily, Luke ran his tongue over his upper lip. She followed every delicious millimetre. Shit, there went those tingles again.
“Better?”
“Much,” she said hoarsely. “How was London?”
“You want the simple version, or do you want the truth?”
Neither sounded good. “A lie, or something that will likely hurt, right?”
Luke shrugged. “Neither are great options. Which seems to be a trend between us.”
“I think given we are hopefully about to set up one giant lie, I feel like the truth between us might be the very thing that grounds us and makes all of this possible.”
“Recording the show went great. We played together flawlessly. Then, I got blind drunk and, after watching this redhead who was fit as fuck for half an hour, I decided to go chat with her and see if I couldn’t get her to come back to the hotel with me.”
Willow swallowed, her stomach churning, and she tried to figure out her emotions. What did this mean for their deal? Did he not feel like he could do it?
Did he sleep with her?
Is that why he looked so damn exhausted?
Willow looked down at her coffee, and she suddenly didn’t feel like drinking it any more than if it was sour milk. Instead, she tipped it down the sink and rinsed the cup.
“Nothing to say to that, Will?”
She placed her hands on the edge of the sink and breathed deeply. Once, then again. She didn’t have a plan B. If he didn’t sign the papers, there was no way to pull this all off. She’d lose her sponsors and likely a fair chunk of her followers. The tears that stung the corners of her eyes were nothing more than tears of frustration, because a man like Luke couldn’t actually hurt her, right?
With a sigh, she pushed off and faced him. “I don’t know what you want me to say. Did I hope for better from you than that? Sure. At least we know now that you won’t be able to keep it in your pants. Better to learn that now before I not only pretend to be in a fake relationship with you, but also get humiliated for real. I’ll go pack. I’ll be out of your hair by lunch.”
She turned to head to her bedroom but was stopped when he gently gripped her wrist. “You think I slept with her.”
It was a statement. “Wasn’t that the whole point of telling me that?”
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m disappointed. Get over yourself. You let me down.”
Luke’s eyes, filled with emotion, narrowed. “I didn’t sleep with her. Didn’t even get as far as talking to her. Got about eight feet away from her.”
The air crackled between them. Willow bit her bottom lip. “Then what?” she asked, quietly.
Luke shook his head and let her go. “I don’t know. Some kind of force field kept me away from her, like we were polarised or something. Something spun me away from her.”
“Something?”
“Yeah. Something, flower. I left that nightclub and walked. Couldn’t face the hotel. I walked past the Tate Modern, along the Thames, past London Bridge. Past HMS Belfast, which my great grandad served on during the war. And I got to thinking about him and the sacrifices he made, and it put some things in perspective. But I kept walking. Over Tower Bridge, through St. Katharine Docks . . . on and on. All night, until I was back on the bank of the river with the sun setting fire to the Thames as it rose, and a thought that I should be here and not there.”
Fire.
Such a temperamental thing. But it only needed a spark and tinder.
“I went to the hotel, packed, and got on the next train home.” Luke stood from the stool and pinched her chin between his thumb and finger. “We’ll start after I’ve slept and showered, because I’m guessing our reunion photo shouldn’t include tired eyes and unwashed bodies.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Yeah, I’ll do it.”
Relief flooded her. “Thank you.”
His eyes narrowed on hers. “I’m sorry I’ve been behaving like a dick.”
“You have. Do better.”
“Don’t hold back, Will. I’m going to bed for a few hours. Don’t worry about noise, I sleep like the dead. Come get me around two o’clock. We’ll go shopping. For paint and whatever else we need for you to feel comfortable.”
“Thank you, Luke. I’ll try to make this—”
“We’ll talk later, yeah? I’m knackered. See you in a few.”
She watched his broad shoulders disappear down the hallway, heard the toilet flush, and a few minutes later heard the muttered groan as he obviously lay down in bed.
He hadn’t signed the contract.
And what if he’d not been polarised or magnetised, or whatever it was he said had happened in the nightclub? What if he’d stepped up to that woman and kissed her? It would be impossible to spin a happy reunion story if a woman popped up in the media twenty-four hours later saying he tried to hit on her in a nightclub.
Willow stepped over to the sofa and flopped down on the cushions. It felt like they’d made a step. Maybe they had. She just wasn’t sure whether the right thing was to push him to make the next one or let him come to terms with it on his own. Grabbing her phone, she messaged Riley.
He agreed to the deal.
Luke shot awake to the feel of a hand on his skin, and the edges of a dream where he’d been back in the hotel room with Willow.
“Fuck me,” he gasped, his dick harder than tungsten rod.
He took in his surroundings. His room, his duvet cover, and Willow sitting on the edge of his bed. In his dream, he’d been balls deep in her, pushed up on his forearms, looking down into those fucking doe eyes of hers, all wide as she came.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “It’s two o’clock, and you said to wake you if you were still in bed.”
Luke dragged his hand over his face as his pulse beat wildly.
God, how easy would it be to reach for her now, to pull her body to him. To slide his hands to her arse and grind her against his dick, which, given the way it twitched beneath the covers, was thirty seconds away from coming.
She’d been busy while he’d been asleep. Gone was the track pants, messy bun, and clear skin. In its place was a fitted white T-shirt, a calf-length black skirt, and a snug pale-blue denim jacket. Her face was perfectly made-up. Still her. Still stunning.
Her hair fell in soft waves, and he had to beat back the urge to pull on it, to tug her into his chest. Because it would be a pretty spectacular way to spend the afternoon. In his bed, her naked, the two of them exploring their physical chemistry.
But he knew it wouldn’t stop there. And before he knew it, he’d be living in Didsbury Village with her and their kids, and his plans for travel and a more adventurous life would be gone.
“Guess I passed out hard.” He pushed up so he was sitting, fluffing the duvet to avoid obvious tenting. “Let me just get a shower and we can be on our way.”
When she didn’t move, he noticed she was fixated on his chest, and yeah, while it did wonders for his ego, it did very little for the problem he had going on beneath the covers. He tipped his chin towards the door because there was no way he was getting out of bed in his boxers with a boner that could cut glass. “Willow?”
“Oh, right, sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll be in the living room. Do you want a quick bite to eat before we go?”
“No, I’ll grab something while we’re out.”
He waited until he heard her footsteps disappear down the corridor before he jumped out of bed and pulled on some joggers to make the one-minute hike to the bathroom. It took another minute to lock the door, get the shower going, and strip. He groaned as he stepped under the steaming hot water that eased the muscles in his shoulders.
Without wasting a moment, he fisted his dick. His abs flinched at how good it felt. He squeezed it firmly, a slow and steady stroke from root to tip, a slight twisting at the end. His other palm hit the shower wall, and he leaned his body beneath the spray and continued to pump. The water battered his scalp, bounced off his arms, and flowed down his face as he put himself back in his dream.
Willow, arching beneath him. The way she’d gasped and told him she had no idea it could feel that good. How she’d whispered against his ear that nobody had filled her like he did. Soft breath against his cheek, her fingernails dragging along his skin.
Nothing had felt that good before or since.
He sped up, his hips pumping into his hand, and he caught sight of himself in the glass shower screen. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to have her in front of him now, like they had in her hotel room. How good it would be to have something soft and warm to thrust into, to lose himself for a few minutes.
He imagined his palms pressed up against his shower wall as he bent his knees and slid into Willow.
The visual sent the telltale tightening to his balls, that electric spark that shot down his spine and tightened his abs to the point of cramps. “Fuck,” he hissed as he violently came.
“Shit,” he muttered, easing himself down again. Squeezing the last of his cum out of his dick as his heart rate finally lowered.
If this was to be Day One of their agreement, he couldn’t think of her like that again. She was a roommate. Nothing more.
She’s the mother of your kid.
Okay, so she was more than a roommate. But if they were to survive the year, that was all she could be. And he’d need to cut down on the partying. Certainly, it couldn’t happen here in his home. The thought of quitting coke hovered between a good idea and an almost immediate need to do a line.
But bringing things like that home would not only be disrespectful to her, but potentially harmful.
He washed and conditioned his hair, soaped the rest of himself and rinsed off. The nap and wank helped take the edge off how he felt when he’d walked in and seen her smiling and drinking her coffee.
In another fifteen minutes, he was dry and dressed in a black shirt and jeans. Dressy considering they were going to a paint store, but he knew Willow was just itching to get on with their subterfuge.
“Ready when you are.”
Willow was on her laptop. “One second. Just finishing building the content calendar for this month for each of the platforms. I took a bunch of photographs of each of your rooms for before and after images. I came up with an idea that we just moved in here, so it’s a renovation project, rather than me moving in and making you decorate, if that’s okay. And then, I’ve got a theme for each week. So, this one is ‘travel’ right up to our reunion. Would it be too much of a pain in the ass to go back to Manchester Airport so I can create a video of me arriving and you being there to pick me up?”
Luke shook his head. “But you’re already here.”
Willow stood. “I know, but I have this cool video for Shamaze. Watch.”
Luke looked down at her phone. Some song he wasn’t familiar with was playing about coming home to you. Willow, packing in a huge bright white room. A spin on a balcony capturing a beautiful white and glass house and an expanse of beach. Willow grinning and waving goodbye. Footsteps with a passport and ticket, a time lapse of a plane going into the air. The same of one landing.
“I need a clip of you at the end. It would just be better, more romantic if you were at the airport. I mean, if it’s a pain, I could always turn it into a video about me surprising you, and we could film me knocking on your door.”
Luke shook his head. “I’m not sure my acting skills are that good. You should have caught me at the studio. Doesn’t it bother you that most of that is fake? I saw how sick you were when you got here. And you told me how miserable things have been at home with your dad, which we still need to talk about properly. Like, don’t you feel like a fraud?”
Willow looked at him as though he’d just slapped her. “It’s my job. To curate aspirational content. I think of it like acting, to be honest. Each week I build a script, then I find images that fit the script.”
Luke glanced down at the app she was using on her laptop. Days of the week, content titles, boxes for images and videos. And he’d noticed in her bedroom a whole heap of camera equipment and ring lights that seemed to have appeared while he’d been away.
“I can’t fake it, Will. You either need to catch it while it’s happening, or I don’t think I’ll be able to do this. I can’t be something I’m not. I think that’s a boundary for me.”
“Okay. I’ll try to work within that,” she said, but not before he saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes.
Goddamn.
No, he wouldn’t yield. He’d feel like a bell-end standing in Manchester Airport pretending to be surprised to see her while people watched them.
“Good. First, the paint store.” He grabbed his wallet, sunglasses, and the keys to the van.
“Wait,” she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Come stand next to me. The light’s good.”
Luke rolled his eyes but did as she said.
Willow angled the camera, but instead of taking a photo, she pressed record, stepped up onto her toes and kissed his cheek, then grinned. She almost knocked him over in her enthusiasm. He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “There. Can we go now?”
“Perfect. You’re a natural at this, Luke.”
“Whatever.” But one corner of his mouth turned upward.
Willow walked alongside him to the van parked around the back of the flats. She stopped dead. “This is your car?”
“Yeah. Carries all the band equipment.”
Her nose was scrunched up. “Don’t you have another car? Like a proper one?”
“It’s got an engine, a steering wheel, four tires, and a valid MOT certificate. I think that pretty much defines a vehicle.”
“But it’s so . . .”
“Roadworthy? Utilitarian? Cheap to run? Well maintained because Ben is a mechanic? We can’t all be wealthy child stars, flower.”
“Which is why as soon as you sign the contract, I can sort that out for you.”
Luke opened the door for her. “Get in, before I change my mind about painting.”
“But this is a fixable problem, Luke.”
He waited for her to climb inside. “It’s not a problem that needs fixing.” He slammed the door shut, then walked to his side of the van.
When he climbed in, he took a deep breath before he turned to face her. “We couldn’t be more different if we tried.”
Willow studied his face, and he wondered what she saw there. “I’m beginning to see that. Do you want me to just go?”
Luke shook his head. He was pretty sure that here was better for her than whatever she’d head back to. “I’m worried that what you want is superficial. A bigger place. A better car. A posh hotel.”
She sighed and rested her elbow on the window. “Don’t conflate what I do for a living with who I am.”
“Shouldn’t those two things be the same?”
“Maybe I should leave. It would be better to know now that this isn’t going to work than do this weird dance we seem to be doing, where I feel like you’re in until you’re out.”
“I’m thinking out loud. Exploring shit. Seeing what all this adds up to. I’m a simple guy, Willow. My life isn’t social media worthy. I don’t give a shit about aesthetics or a million followers. I’d rather be real with a battered van than fake with a Mercedes that I don’t own.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I feel like this might be the reason you won’t want to do this three months from now—a life on display. I’m not a very good judge of people. I only just realised my own father ripped me off. I worry I won’t see the fallout with you coming when you figure out that me, the baby, this deal adds up to nothing. I worry that one day, months from now, you’ll let me down.”
Beneath all the worry was a sharp bite of loss. It would hurt if it all really added up to nothing. “I guess you’re just going to have to trust me that we’ll figure this out. I’m not out, Willow. I’m just trying to figure out how we both stay in.”
