Easton Moore is back...and I'm his fake girlfriend.
After leaving for the professional surfing tour the morning after we slept together, my childhood best friend became the person I never wanted to see again. Now he strolls back into Sandy Cove when...
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HIS BACK IS to me as he stands in the hotel suite in front of the coffee machine. Sweatpants hung low around his hips, leaving the muscles of his back on display and showcasing his lean body. His Durąg is tied around his head still, and he is humming along to the music playing.
A giggle falls from my lips as he pretends to play the air drums, my hand covering my mouth to try to make it seem like I wasn't watching him. He tenses for a moment before turning around with a sheepish smile on his face.
"Don't let me interrupt your air drum session," I say, motioning for him to carry on.
"Hilarious," he deadpans, turning the music down and leaning against the small counter that has all the coffee essentials on it. "I didn't know you were awake."
"I didn't see too much of your band practice, don't worry," I say with a smirk and he rolls his eyes.
"Coffee?" he asks, and I nod my head. We are silent as he pours another cup of coffee, this time for me, and I stand there waiting. Once it's poured, he turns around and passes me the mug as I thank him. "Sleep okay?"
I choke a little on my coffee, not wanting to admit my dreams were far from PG, before I wipe at my lips and nod my head. "You?"
He shrugs with a small smile. "Could have been better."
We are silent for a moment before he sighs, putting his drink down. "Look, I really am sorry about last night at the club."
I wave my hand. "Don't worry about it. I'm not mad anymore. I was just more worried about your career for you.
He nods. "Yeah, I worry too, but some things are more important to me."
I take in the unspoken words, of that he means defending me was more important than how it looked in the tabloids. His phone beeps and he takes it out, furrowing his eyebrows at the screen.
"Something wrong?" I ask, sipping my coffee.
He turns his phone towards me. "Why is Atlas texting me that he does not want to hear any details of our sex life?"
This time I do spit out my coffee that goes all over Easton's top. He moves around to pat my back as I cough before handing me a tissue as I wipe my mouth.
Atlas is a dead man.
"I have no idea what he is talking about. We've always known Atlas is delusional," I say, waving him off, and Easton raises his eyebrow, clearly not believing me as I dab my mouth dry.
"Really? Because he says he was traumatized last night hearing you and Thalia on the phone," he reads out and I push his phone away.
"Must have been having a nightmare," I mutter, placing my mug down to wipe around me.
Easton stays silent for a moment before his hand takes mine, stopping me from moving around cleaning. "Are we really not going to talk about last night or this?"
