Page 5 of Fake Out Hearts

“Bought it from the bartender on my way out. So, what do you say?”

Each of the chorus of voices in my head screams at me to say no. I don’t give a damn what Shawn would think, but I know that if even one of the Prowlers or, god forbid, Shawn’s camera crew, spots me leaving with Theo and a bottle of booze, they’ll spin it into a salacious story that will dog me—and Theo—for the rest of our lives. It would be exactly the kind of red meat they wouldn’t be able to resist.

But then again, why should I care? Shawn just dumped me on camera, which means our breakup will be broadcast on national television. And I’m sick to death of playing a part in his soap opera anyway, so it’s not like I owe him a shred of respect. Or anything, really.

Besides, what better way is there to prove I’m not the bland girl he thinks I am than by doing something bold like this? And maybe even a little bit reckless?

My heart hammers in my chest, and my lower lip locks between my teeth. Part of me wants to torch this bridge and never look back, but there’s another, meeker part of me that’s still worried what Shawn will say or do.

It’s that realization that pushes me over the edge. I’m done caring about Shawn. Forever.

“You know what? I’d love to,” I finally answer.

Theo beams, smiling broadly as a dimple appears in his cheek. He offers me his free hand, and before I have the chance to second guess myself, I follow him out of the alley into the cool LA night.

Chapter 3

Theo

It’s kind of surreal to be walking side-by-side with Becca on LA’s salty-breeze streets. I could’ve imagined any number of ways this night would play out, but this wasn’t one of them. Not that I’m complaining. I don’t know where we’re going, and Becca doesn’t seem to either, but it doesn’t matter as long as we get away from the bar and the media circus.

I glance over at Becca, who’s staring down at her shoes while she walks. She takes deceptively big strides from those short but toned legs, and I can’t help but think how beautiful she is from head to toe. Or noticing the way her smooth, ivory skin sparkles in the moonlight. Like she can feel me looking, her gold-flecked brown eyes drift up to mine, and my heart clenches when I spot tears drying on her cheeks.

Has she been crying this whole time? Was it something I said? Fuck.

“You know, I really wasn’t lying earlier when I told you I wanted to beat the hell out of Kaplan,” I say, testing the waters and trying to keep things light. I don’t want to rush her or scare her off. Hell, I don’t even know what I was thinking when I chased after her, I just knew I had to do something because seeing her dash out of the bar was like a knife in my side.

Becca laughs and pushes a strand of her dark, wavy hair behind one ear. “Oh, I believe you. What stopped you?”

I thumb the stopper out of the bottle of Macallan with a pop. “I saw you crying, and I couldn’t stand it. I bought this because I was gonna break it over Kaplan’s head, but I figured you needed it more, so I came after you instead,” I say, and her smile widens.

“I don’t know much about whiskey, but I definitely think that would’ve been a waste.”

I hold the bottle out to her. “Anything spent on Kaplan is a waste. Here, you first.”

Becca smiles and reaches for it. Our fingers brush as she takes the bottle, and I swear I feel something spark between us, a powerful—and dangerous—undercurrent. Her skin is even softer than it looks, but there’s a quiet strength to her grip. It must be her dancing background. Thinking about it makes me wonder what other surprises are hidden under her soft exterior, but I push the thought out of my mind.

With a sheepish, adorable look, Becca tips the bottle gingerly up to her lips and takes a little sip. I love how she’s delicate about it but unafraid to get down and dirty by drinking right from the bottle. She really is full of surprises.

“Kaplan never deserved you,” I mutter, unable to stop myself. But fuck it, it’s true, and she needs to hear it. There’s probably no one else in her orbit who could or would be honest with her about him like this. “And I wasn’t lying back when I told you that you deserve a guy who thinks you look beautiful no matter what you wear. A guy who treats you like a princess.”

Her cheeks are flushed, but I can’t tell if it’s from what I said, what she just went through, or if the whiskey is already kicking in. She’s tiny, barely five foot seven, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s a lightweight.

“Thanks,” she says and passes the bottle back. I suck down a healthy swig because after what just came out of my mouth, Ihave a feeling I’m gonna need the liquid courage myself if this keeps going. The whiskey tingles all the way down and warms my stomach, putting me at ease. At least for now.

“Can I ask you something?”

Becca shrugs, her eyes flitting from mine to the pavement and back. “What?”

“Why’d you stay with an asshole like that for so long?”

She sighs, shrinking in on herself, and I worry I might have hurt her feelings. “Good question.”

“Sorry if that’s too forward. You can tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to talk about it, by the way.”

Becca laughs and throws her hands in the air. “No, it’s okay. I don’t know why, honestly,” she says and falls silent for a few moments. I don’t know where she’s gone, but I see the thoughts playing out on her face like a movie.

“Okay, that’s not true,” she finally says. “I do know why. My mom moved around a ton when I was younger, always falling for some guy or another and bailing when things got hard. You live what you learn, right?” she finishes with a half-hearted shrug.

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