Page 81 of Ripped & Shipped
@DrakesDaMan
Hey, Ella Mae. I really loved our time together, beautiful girl. Genesis is sending all the details about the bash to your inbox. Plan to come. I’d love to see you again.
Lots of big names will be there. I’ll make sure they know who you are. You could stay here at the house with me. I’ve got plenty of room.
I feel Chris’ warm breath tickling across my neck and shoulder. When I turn my head, his face is right there, and he’s reading Drake’s message from over my shoulder.
“You’re not going out to see him.”
It’s not even posed as a question. He states it like some sort of directive. Um. No. I thought I made it clear, I’m not a lowly cadet he gets to order around.
I arch my brows, give Chris a haughty look, and turn my attention back to my phone. I know Chris is still reading over my shoulder. Fine. Let him get an eyeful.
@Fab-U-lous_EllaMae
Thanks for reaching out again, Drake.
I loved our time together too. Got plenty of traction out of those lives and my follow up posts. I’m seriously considering coming to the bash. Thanks for reaching out again. I’ll have details to coordinate, but it’s a great opportunity, as you said. I’ll keep you posted on my plans for accommodations. Thanks for the offer to stay at your place. SO sweet! Send my love to Andy! ~ EM
I have no intention whatsoever of staying at Drake’s. I’m not a complete idiot. I know plenty of women would jump at that invitation. Yes. Drake’s gorgeous, and he should check all the boxes, but I don’t know him well enough to stay at his place. He probably offered rooms to a bunch of influencers. His home will be a madhouse that weekend.
But do I want the overbearing soldier who is literally breathing down my neck right now to know I’m not staying at Drake’s? No. That would be a heck-to-the-no. Chris doesn’t get to boss me around. I choose where I go, why, and when.
Chris is myfakeboyfriend, not my real one. And even if he were real …
If he were real.
Well. If our relationship were real, I wouldn’t be sitting here answering Instagram messages after a session of couples yoga and that kiss to my cheek, so there’s the answer to that.
“I’d better go paint the porch,” Chris says in his usually gruff, detached voice.
I haven’t heard that tone from him in a while.
“Yeah. Good idea. I’ll just go through these photos and choose the ones to upload without you.”
“Did you need me to …”
“Nope. No. That’s fine,” I say in a not-so-huffy, but yes, a little huffy tone. “I’ll send you a few too—you know, in case you want to post them.”
“Yeah. Meg said I should.”
“Welp. Thanks.”
I stand from the couch, putting much needed space between me and Chris. The distance doesn’t do a thing to erase the feeling of his beard on my cheek, or how it tickled the palm of my hand in the most delicious way, or the sensation of his lips on my skin when he kissed me oh, so softly.
“And, you know, use the restroom or help yourself to whatever while you’re working here. Mi casa es su casa!”
I’m a little overly animated with that last sentiment.
“Just like Drake’s casa is your casa?” Chris mumbles as he stands from the couch.
Is he jealous, or just being an overbearing jerk? I’d really like to know. But I won’t ever know, because I’m not opening a can of worms with my fake boyfriend. He did me a favor today—I’ve come to see it as that, especially after talking with Meg again today before she and Joe took off for the afternoon. And, as always, Chris doesn’t owe me anything.
Chris walks out without saying another word. Nice. He’s so hot and cold I feel like I’m doing the polar plunge with him. One minute I’m cozy. The next I’m frozen, numb, unable to catch my breath.
I take my phone with me to the kitchen. I’m going to make a recovery shake. Not because we worked out—just because I need to recover.
I pour orange juice, a banana, ginger, blueberries, greek yogurt, and chia seeds into the blender and turn it on high. While my smoothie is whirling away, I look through our photos. I am not prepared for what I see. We look like a couple madly in love with one another.
