“At least we made it to a bed the last time.” He laughs, slowly pulling out and bending behind me to scatter kisses between my shoulder blades.

I laugh too, my hands roaming through the water, searching for my bikini.

“Leave it.” He picks me up by my waist, turns me and sets me on the pool’s edge. My legs fall open, and he steps in until our bodies are flush. “No clothes.”

“Rhyson, we can’t—”

“No cameras.” He grins, running one finger from my ear, between my breasts and over the top of my thigh. “I want you naked.”

“It’s January.”

“January in L.A. . It’s not even that cool tonight.”

“You’re crazy. Okay, I guess I can be naked a little longer. I can’t be hungry though. You gotta feed me.”

Twenty minutes later, we devour the bounty of chicken breast, cheese, nuts, hummus, and vegetables Sarita left in the refrigerator.

Rhyson reclines on the patio lounge, one long leg folded under him, and the other planted to the side. I face him, naked and cross-legged, chomping on the food on platters between us.

“So how’d the shoot go?” He glances at me from beneath his lashes, dark hair flopping into his eyes.

“S’good.” I roll my eyes. “Long, but good.”

“You felt good? You did well?”

“I guess I did okay.” I shrug, dipping a cucumber into the hummus.

“Pep, it’s me.” He leans forward and grins. “You can tell me. You were amazing, right?”

I love that he doesn’t condemn my ambition or my confidence. How could he? The guy who’s been working toward his dream in one form or another since he was three years old? A deep laugh rises from my belly through my chest and erupts in the quiet of the night.

“I was freaking amazing!”

We laugh together until he grabs me by my nape, tugging my face to his.

“You are so damn talented, Pep,” he whispers against my lips. “It’s dangerous to be as gifted and beautiful as you are in this town.”

I draw back just enough to look into the dark eyes that aren’t laughing anymore.

“Why?”

“You’re a goldmine, and everyone will want in.” His eyes harden, the muscle in his jaw flexing beneath the skin. “But I’ll crush anyone who tries to take advantage of you.”

“Rhyson, no one’s trying to take advantage of me.” I pop a handful of almonds in my mouth. “I can take care of myself. I don’t want you fighting battles for me, okay? That will only play into people thinking of me as Rhyson Gray’s girlfriend.”

“You are Rhyson Gray’s girlfriend.” His eyes dare me to deny it.

“Of course I am, but I don’t want to be just that. I don’t want that to be the first thing people think about when they see me. When they work with me. I—”

My phone ringing beneath the lounge chair chops into my sentence.

“Don’t answer it.” Rhyson frowns, placing a hand over mine reaching for the phone. “We’ve had no time together.”

“I know, and I want an update on your dad. We haven’t gotten to really talk about how he’s doing.”

I glance at the screen.

“It’s San.” I lean forward to peck a kiss on his lips. “It’ll be quick. Promise.”

I grab the phone, turning away from Rhyson to plant both feet on the flagstones.

“San, hey. What’s up?”

“I promise it wasn’t me.”

“What wasn’t you? What are you talking about?”

“Spotted just broke the story about you and Rhyson. The pictures are out.“

“The story broke?” I ask. “Pictures from New York you mean?

Rhyson’s fingers, tracing lines up and down my naked spine, go still. He jumps up and strides over to his pile of clothes near the pool, naked, digging around in a pair of cargo pants for his phone.

“Yeah.” San heaves a sigh. “We aren’t the only ones who ran it. Apparently that pap sold those pics to several outlets.”

“Is the . . . I mean, it’s not bad or anything, right?” The knot in my stomach tightens.

“You look great, actually.” San laughs. “It’ll probably make folks want to see Luke’s video even more.”

“Video?” I push my fingers through my still-damp and tangled hair. “What about his video?”

“There’s pictures of you and Rhyson on the set of Luke’s video from today.”

I press the phone to my chest and close my eyes. Before I’ve even had a chance to prove anything, my abilities will be called into question.

“You there, Kai?” San’s voice echoes from the phone pressed to my breastbone.

I pull the phone back to my ear to respond, needing to end the call and see it for myself.

“San, yeah. I’m gonna go.”

“You aren’t planning to come home tonight, right?”

“No, I’m staying at Rhyson’s.” Something in San’s voice prompts my next question. “Why?”

“Our place is crawling with paps. Get used to it.”

As soon as we hang up, I go to the Spotted website. No need to search because we’re the front page story. There are pictures. The picture of Rhyson and me in the tree house. Me straddling him and looking over my shoulder, my face clear as day. We knew those were coming, but the pictures from today on set floor me. We’re standing close, intimacy and affection apparent between us. Rhyson’s face is buried in my hair for one shot, our hands clasped. In another I’m looking at him like some lovestruck puppy, my adoration clear.

“I don’t care, Bristol.” Rhyson’s voice breaks my concentration. “I told you those pictures from New York would surface sooner or later, and I have no idea who took the pictures today on set. I guess it could have been anybody.”

He nods, listening to her response, dressed now in cargo pants, feet and broad chest still bare.

“Don’t tell me to be careful, Bris. Fuck careful. I don’t care who knows. You can tell them that . . . hold on.”

He walks over to me, squatting at my feet by the lounge chair, setting the phone down on the ground.

“Bristol’s getting calls and texts about the story. About the pictures. About us.” He tips up my chin, studying my face. “Can she confirm?”

I didn’t think we’d have to do this so soon. We just got back from New York. He popped up on set, we fought, we made up, he came home, we made love in the pool. Cheese, hummus, chicken, nuts. Now I’m splattered all over the interweb. Things are moving fast. Things have broken the speed limit. Things are traveling at the freaking speed of light.

“Pep?” Rhyson flips the length of hair over my naked shoulder, his warm hand cupping my jaw. “I want to confirm. Can I?”

Our eyes lock. A lot hinges on this moment, on my next words.

“Remember I’m yours and you’re mine.” He leans up and kisses me, one hand slipping under my hair. “I kinda want the world to know.”

A part of me wants that too. Other parts of me want time to get used to this. Time to adjust to adjacent fame. Time to create my own. But it looks like I won’t get that now. Every time he kisses me, I fall deeper. Fall further. My reasons for resisting him disintegrate.

“Baby, can I confirm?”

I press my forehead into his, nodding and running my fingers through the wet, silky hair clinging around his ears. He grins, giving me one more kiss before returning to Bristol on the phone.

“Confirm, yeah,” he says.

I slip on his long-sleeved T-shirt, looking back to my phone to read the story beneath the pictures.

“Notoriously media-shy rocker, Rhyson Gray, isn’t hiding his new relationship with aspiring singer-dancer-model, Kai Pearson.”

Model? I’m five foot two. I couldn’t model my way down a grocery store aisle.

“Sources close to Gray confirm that he has been seeing Pearson secretly for months”.

No sources close to Rhyson have confirmed anything. The only “close source” is the one he’s on the phone with now. Load of crap reporting.

“Pearson, a Georgia native, recently moved to Los Angeles, teaches dance classes at a Los Angeles rec center, and works at L.A. eatery, The Note. Some speculate the two met through Gray’s uncle, Bentley Gray, who is also Pearson’s vocal coach. Pictures were obtained today on the set of Luke Foster’s new video, in which Pearson stars as a dancer. Pearson has appeared in one other music video, Drex Martin’s single, ‘Candy.’”