that’s barely changed since he was a teeny-bopper sensation. I googled him—Brash, actually—and found the old pictures. His face has changed a bit—older, more mature, a stronger jaw, and stubble to hide the roundness of his cheeks and disguise the babyface he hasn’t quite managed to outgrow. And while I’m sure he probably hates it, it adds to his charm. No, he’s not the rugged, hyper-sexual bad boy. He’s the guy you take home to meet your mom, though, and that has its own appeal for sure.
Eyes wide, an involuntary gasp escapes me.
Colt reaches for my hand, concern stamped on his face. “Alexis? Are you alright? Did you forget something?”
Shaking my head, I wave my free hand, trying to dismiss his concern. “No, no. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I just realized I’ll need to tell my mom. About this.” I lift our joined hands.
He nods, his expression more distant now. “Right. Yeah. Me too. I’m not sure … well, I’m not sure exactly what or how much to tell her. I dodged all her calls about that picture, and avoided the question when I did finally talk to her. But I won’t be able to do that forever.” His mouth open, he hesitates and scratches the back of his neck, adorably unsure of himself, which is endearing since he’s usually confident with his assertions and answers. Bordering on know-it-all territory, but not quite crossing the line into obnoxiousness.
Dropping his hand, he closes his mouth and swallows. “Well, I wasn’t sure what exactly to tell her. This is …” His eyes dart to the driver, and he seems to amend whatever he was going to say. “This thing between us is different than anything I’ve experienced before.”
I let out a soft huff of laughter. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Chapter Seven
Colt
Dinner with Alexis goes off without a hitch. She’s easy to talk to, witty and engaging, which makes it even easier to sell us as a couple who’ve been together for a while. Our weeks of talking before now help on that front too, but since this is only the second time we’ve been face to face, I’d halfway expected some kind of awkwardness.
Partly I’d wondered if I’d romanticized our chemistry in my memory. Built it up to be more than it really was.
But now, here, face-to-face with her again, it’s possible that in my attempt to not make it more than it was, I downplayed it.
Every time I touch her, sparks zip over my skin. And once again, I can’t tear my eyes away from those lush red lips with the lipstick that doesn’t quit.
Our table is in easy view of both the large windows and the entryway where paparazzi crowd in a cordoned off area. This restaurant is frequented by celebrities, and the fact that we even got a table is proof of Alexis’s agent’s determination to see her succeed.
That can only work in both of our favor. Her agent is already working the angles in the press, leaning heavily on my position as the former frontman for Brash, rather than my most recent position as Johnny B’s PA.
When I asked Alexis about it, she said her agent told her dating a PA wouldn’t elevate her reputation. But a boyband star who’d dabbled in living life as a “normal” would play better.
And she thought she wouldn’t be able to help me. She’s unwittingly helping me out already.
As we’re finishing up our dinner—a petite filet for me and a grilled chicken Caesar salad with dressing on the side that she barely dips the tips of her fork in before taking a bite—our waitress offers us the dessert menu. I take it, scanning the options before meeting Alexis’s eyes. “Want to split something? There’s a coconut creme brûlée. Or a flourless chocolate torte served with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce. Both sound great to me.”
She stares at the menu, longing clear on her face, but shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
I blink at her, uncomprehending. She clearly wants dessert, but she’s declining? “Are you sure?” She devoured her salad like a starving woman, but didn’t touch the bread. I thought maybe she was saving room for dessert. She did mention saving calories for her Shirley Temples last month, and even though we ordered wine, she took only a few sips for propriety’s sake.
She nods, blinking down at her salad. “I’m sure.”
Setting the slim menu off to the side, I signal the waitress for the check before reaching across the table and