Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet #2) - Lauren Rowe Page 0,6

she says.

Aloha and Kendrick head to their respective rooms to get dressed, but I touch Laila’s arm and ask her if we can talk alone for a second.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Laila says.

“This will only take a minute.” I clear my throat. “I just want to make sure we’re good.”

Laila crosses her arms. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because of what we talked about in the guest house. The song?”

“Oh, that,” Laila says. But it’s horseshit—yet another over-the-top performance by Miss Fitzgerald. She shrugs nonchalantly. “Honestly, I’d already forgotten all about that.”

My stomach flip-flops. This should be great news. I should be feeling relieved Laila is ready to move on. But that’s not how I’m feeling. “I just want to be sure you’re not mad or maybe confused about some of the lyrics . . .?” I clear my throat again. “I mean, coming on the heels of that Instagrammer’s video, I have to think you’re pretty confused about what the hell I’m—”

“I’m not confused at all,” she says flatly. “I don’t believe a word that Instagrammer said, Adrian. I only said I believed her to torture you.” She pats my arm. “Don’t worry. I’m well aware ‘Hate Sex High’ was about you taunting Malik—letting him know you’d fucked me, and done it well—rather than you confessing you’d caught feelings for me.” She scoffs. “I know you were pissed Malik physically attacked you in New York, and you wanted to mess with him. That’s all that song is about. Only a fool would think otherwise.”

Shit. That’s what I’m thinking, even though I should be thinking, “Thank God.”

“Hey, you know what?” Laila says, her blue eyes blazing. “I know I said earlier it wouldn’t be necessary to rerecord those ‘la la’ parts, but I’ve changed my mind. On second thought, I don’t want the whole world to know, for a fact, I’m the woman who came three times.”

“Okay. No problem. Should be an easy fix.”

“Sorry to ask you to change your art, but—"

“I’m the one who offered, remember? I think maybe I’ll replace those last ‘la las’ with ‘whoa-ohs,’ so there won’t be any chance of confusion.”

“Perfect,” she says. She stares at me for a long moment, like she’s expecting me to say more. And when I don’t, she says, “Well, if that’s all you wanted to talk to me about, then I think we’d better get dressed and head to Reed’s game room.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be late, Adrian,” she warns, her index finger wagging. “I’m your babysitter now. If you’re late, that’s on me.”

“I won’t be late.”

“I know you had a great ol’ time messing with me during the tour,” she continues. “But I’m begging you not to pull that shit on me again. Being on this show is a dream come true for me and I want to do a good job.”

I feel a pang of guilt for all the times I messed with Laila during the tour. Why’d I do that, again? “I promise I’ll be a good boy for you, Laila,” I say. And when her face plainly says, I’ll believe it when I see it, I add, “Laila, when I give my word about something, you can take it to the bank.” I shift my weight under her scornful stare. “Okay, maybe you can’t take it to the bank, every time. But you can count on my promise this time.”

Again, she looks unconvinced.

“Also, as a rule of thumb going forward,” I continue, “I’d say you can count on my word being my bond . . .” I smile. “A solid eight times out of ten.”

Three

Laila

Exactly nine minutes after my conversation with Savage on Reed’s patio, I walk into Reed’s game room to await Savage’s imminent arrival. Or, rather, Savage’s imminent non-arrival, so I can ask a PA to march up to his room and drag his infuriating ass down here. But to my surprise, when I enter the spacious room, Savage is already here, chatting with Kendrick. In fact, I’m the last cast member to arrive.

I head over to Savage and Kendrick, noting that Savage looks especially gorgeous. Savage often rocks edgy designer duds onstage, also when he’s on-camera for an interview or awards show, so I’m used to seeing him looking like a runway model. But Savage looks especially yummy right now, like he leaped off the pages of Gentlemen’s World.

“Hey, Fitzy,” Savage says when I reach him.

“Hey, Fitzy,” Kendrick echoes.

“No. Just me,” Savage says sharply to Kendrick, wagging his finger to emphasize his point. Savage