Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“With Britt?”
“Yeah. She’s got natural talent and became an overnight success.” I shrug. “I worked through it eventually, but when you grow up in a family where attention feels like its own kind of currency, it’s easy to view each other as competition instead of the people who are supposed to have your back.”
“I can understand how that could happen,” he says quietly. “I’m glad you’re close now.”
I nod. “We are. She’s my best friend. There aren’t many people who understand what it’s like to grow up in the spotlight, performing from a young age, and she does.”
He studies me for another second, as if he realizes there’s so much more I’m leaving out.
“Do you remember what life was like before the show?”
I open my mouth and then close it again as my brain tumbles back in time.
“Not really,” I admit. “I mean, I know there was a before. But everything prior to the cameras showing up is sort of a blur.” A breeze lifts a strand of hair across my cheek, and I tuck it behind my ear. “When I have kids,” I say without thinking, “they’re not going to grow up the way I did.”
I still because that just came out of nowhere. Or maybe not nowhere, but from a place I don’t talk about much. I stare past him toward the enclosure across from us.
“Yeah?”
I nod. “I don’t want them under a microscope 24/7 or feeling like they have to be on all the time, as if their life belongs to everyone but themselves.” My throat constricts. “And I want them to be kids for as long as they can.”
Silence settles over us, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like we’ve peeled back even more layers.
“You’d be a good mom.”
The comment robs the air from my lungs. “You don’t even know me. Not really.”
His gaze stays pinned to mine. “Kind of feels like I’m starting to.”
Butterflies wing their way to life at the bottom of my belly. I can’t remember the last time that happened with a man who wasn’t Knox McNichols. The scary part is that he’s right. In the past week, I’ve learned more about him than I have in years of seeing him at family parties and gatherings.
And he’s gotten to know more about me too.
The real Cheyenne Benson. Not the one splashed across Page Six. Or the one my mother has spent years trying to shape into someone else.
The most surprising part is that I like who I am when I’m with Knox. I like how easy it feels. How normal and real we can be with each other. Not wanting to examine that thought too closely, I push back from the table and pop to my feet with the urge to move.
“You haven’t even shown me the goats after totally talking them up.”
A lopsided smile tugs at his mouth, and it lands square in the center of my chest.
Once we start walking again, slower this time, he slips my hand into his. He pulls me a little closer as we pass a group of people, his arm brushing mine, his body warm against my side.
My pulse picks up for no reason.
Or maybe it’s for all the reasons.
We stop near the railing of another enclosure, and when I turn, I find him closer than before. Close enough for his masculine scent to wrap around me, making it difficult to think.
When he stares, I shift, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.
“What?”
Instead of answering, his gaze drops to my mouth. The world seems to pause for one suspended second as his hand settles on my hip before tugging me closer. His grip is firm but careful as his lips hover over mine, and the warmth of his breath makes my stomach twist.
From the corner of my eye, I spot a man standing a dozen feet away with a phone angled toward us. My brain barely has time to register it before Knox kisses me.
The first press of his lips is hard and fast. A mixture of heat and pressure that feels like it’s been building for days. His hand on my hip tightens while the other slides up to cradle the back of my neck, holding me still.
For just a second, I remember the camera.
That’s what this is all about, right?
Our fake relationship.
Making sure Dakota understands that we’re over.
His lips move against mine, slower this time, before the kiss deepens. Whatever part of this started out for someone else’s benefit disappears completely, until the only thing I’m aware of is Knox.
The taste of him.
The way my fingers curl into his sweatshirt, only wanting to pull him closer.
And the worst part?
Somewhere between noticing the phone and getting lost in his kiss, I stopped caring about our audience altogether.
Fake or not…
This no longer feels like acting.
26
Knox
By the time we return to the building, Chey looks different. Not in any obvious way. She’s still in the same leggings and sweatshirt, her hair twisted into that messy bun that kept coming loose every time the wind kicked up at the zoo. But her shoulders aren’t drawn tight anymore. Her mouth is softer, and her laugh comes a little easier.