Page 8 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“There will need to be some PDAs to make this convincing?”
“Oh,” I repeat, trying really hard not to imagine kissing Hunter Larsson.
“What the fuck is a PDA?” Hunter scrapes his hand across the thick brush of his beard.
“A public display of affection. You will need to hold her hand, place your hand on the small of her back, kiss her cheek, that kind of thing.”
“So no actual kissing?” I say, realizing I’ve stupidly said that out loud.
“Oh yeah, there should be some proper kissing.”
I cough. “Erm there ought to be some rules around that then.”
Kim halts mid typing. “Why?”
“It’s what they do in the movies,” I mutter. “I’m fine with kissing, but no tongues and it can only be for one minute and his hands have to remain on my waist.”
“And where will your hands be?” he growls.
Oh shit. “I erm.”
“Where do you think, Dumbass?” Kim says, fingers hitting the keyboard, “resting on your chest.”
“Fine.”
“So one kiss per public date?” I clarify.
“Yes,” he mumbles, unfolding himself from the straining chair and pacing to the window.
“Hmmm,” Kim says, “what else? You can’t tell anyone about this arrangement.”
“How about the band?” Hunter turns from the window.
“Fuck, definitely not the band. Ash has a tongue looser than someone high on truth serum.” Kim peers over to me. “Are you okay with that, Isabella? With not telling anyone?”
“Yeah.” It will be hard not to tell my mom and grandma the truth but both are incapable of keeping a secret for long. If I tell them the truth, it will spread like wildfire. There’s only one other person I’d have been desperate to tell, and, well, she’s not here anymore.
I can imagine exactly what her reaction would be, though. Squealing and kicking her legs in excitement, wanting to pore over the details of the fake-dating contract, advising me on things I should have insisted on adding.
I glance over at the window, beyond Hunter, to the wide sky, one lone fluffy cloud hanging in the air.
“I’d like flowers,” I blurt out. “One bouquet of flowers once a week.” She loved flowers.
“Nice touch. I can leak that detail to the press, build you up to be a gooey romantic.”
“I am a romantic,” Hunter insists, in a tone that suggests he isn’t. “Any other demands for your fake-boyfriend?”
“No!” I yelp. I don’t want Hunter to think I’m a gold digger, even if my motivation to help him is driven by money.
“Well, I think your first date should be clothes shopping. Isabella needs new shoes. You can buy her some, Hunter.” Kim taps away on the keyboard.
“Oh no, Hunter doesn’t have to–”
“It’s fine.”
“And a dress because you’re going to take her to the Stellar Music Awards.”
“He is?”
