Two Hearts and a Lie (Offstage Book 2)

by Rica Grayson

  I struggle to keep my expression calm. “Thanks.”

  His gaze traces my lips, and I hold my breath.

  After my sister’s wedding, he kissed me, and I let him. I’d be all kinds of stupid if I let it happen again.

  My pulse skittering, in a moment of temporary insanity, I find myself blurting out, “Do you even remember that you kissed me?” Ahh! Why did I ask that? But it’s too late to take it back now. “That one night years ago,” I add in a small voice.

  I wish I had asked him why he acted that way that night. Like he actually enjoyed my company. Like I was more than his best friend’s sister that he wanted to humor for one night because he felt sorry for her.

  I watch as his face shutters. One look tells me all I need to know. Of course he didn’t. And why would he? I’m just his best friend’s sister. The girl who just sang his songs really loudly in her room when no one was at home, who baked him cookies once and he didn’t even spare them a glance. Just that girl.

  Assumptions finally put to rest, I draw in a deep breath. “Forget that I asked. Bye, Ryan,” I say softly. Because I’m not that girl that he first met anymore, one who was too shy to talk to him, she could trip over her own feet. We’ve both grown up.

  I’m pushing the car door open when he tugs my hand lightly. “Blaire?”

  I turn my head back, my heart beating so fast, it feels like it would jump out of my chest. The silence is killing me, the tension drawing tight.

  His eyes glitter and his voice turns rough. “I’ve always wondered if you ever thought about it still.” I catch a glimpse of the edge of teeth, glinting in the dark of the car. A promise. A dare. “Now I do.”

  I can only stare. At my reaction, he loosens his grip, but not before his thumb brushes the inside of my wrist in a soft caress. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Dazed and breathless, I quickly make my escape, nearly running back to my apartment.

  He thought about it. In a way, he’d answered my question indirectly. The realization rocks me to the core. It must be because he regretted it badly. That’s the only explanation that makes any kind of sense.

  Sometimes, I think, as I make my way upstairs, I dream of him. I still feel it when I wake up—the ghost of his lips against mine. As much as I tried to bury everything I feel, it slips up during my subconscious, taunting me.

  I’m different now. Toughened up by time, by the judgment of people who have constantly tried to tear me down. But when his lips touched mine days ago, I felt fragile. Breakable like glass.

  It’s only our first fake date, but deep in my heart, into the space he’d carved for himself, I can already tell—I don’t know how I could make it out of this whole thing with my heart intact.

  Ryan

  I don’t know why I brought her there.

  I had already made plans to go to the hospital today, but I wasn’t ready to let her go yet, not with how she’d been avoiding me after the wedding. As much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it, I wasn’t going to pretend nothing happened.

  When she smiled at Grace, when she opened her mouth to sing, I knew I made the right choice. Grace adored her.

  It’s hard not to.

  Do you even remember that you kissed me? She constantly surprises me—this time was no different.

  Oh, I remember. I remember so well I’ve never forgotten it. It’s not something you ever forget.

  She ran away after the damn kiss.

  She already stayed away from me once. This time, I have to be more careful. I know what she felt before. The problem is coaxing out those feelings again and earning that trust. Because I’m willing to be bet she won’t make it easy.

  Chapter 10

  Ryan

  “Ryan James Carson. What’s this I’m hearing about you and Blaire Mendes going out? Is it true?”

  Damn. She dropped the middle name. Trust my mom to call me first thing in the morning. I have to tread lightly. I don’t want her thinking of wedding bells and scaring away the first woman that has caught my attention in a hell of a long time. Maybe the only woman who never seemed to have left my mind. Considering our families have been close for years, I could picture her calling up Blaire with questions about us with the persistence of a hellhound and the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

  “Me and Blaire have just come to understanding,” I reply.

  “Aha! You’ve always had a soft spot for that girl, haven’t you? Even though there always seemed to be tension between you two. Oh, this is wonderful. Natalie will be thrilled. Is that why you won’t go out with Maria? The poor girl was disappointed when you said no.”

  She never gives up, does she? I sigh. “There are a few reasons, but no. You know it’s hard for me to see people with my work.” It’s hard to determine who you could trust in the business.

  “I know,” she agrees quietly, and a long-suffering sigh follows. “Is she with you?”

  “No,” I reply. “Don’t scare her off.”

  Blaire called me yesterday, saying she couldn’t make our date. She didn’t explain why, but she was firm in saying she isn’t backing out of our deal.

  “No matter,” my mom says decisively. “I’ll see her soon enough.” Wait, what? “You’ll bring her here, right?” she asks. It doesn’t sound like a request. She’s expecting me to. I imagine Blaire flustered at meeting my mom again, but this time, as the person I’m seeing. Oh yeah, I’d like that. I like keeping her on her toes. I’ll just bet she won’t even see it coming.

  “We’ll be seeing you soon.”

  Blaire

  “So I’ve heard you’re somewhat of a celebrity now.” My sister’s voice is light and teasing. She sounds happy and well-rested, and I’m glad to hear from her.

  The news traveled fast. I’m no celebrity. “How did you…”

  “Some friends messaged me about it. I thought something had happened, but it turned out it was just you with Ryan. They’re not making it any bigger than it seems, are they?”

  She’s asking if we’re still just friends. Ha. As if it could be more. “I’m just helping him out with something.”

  “Oh.” She sounds almost disappointed. “Well, I trust Ryan. And you know, it wouldn’t be so bad, you two together.” I don’t know about that. We’re too different.

  “By the way, you might be getting something today. Consider it a small thank you for that performance of yours.”

  “Shell, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Too late, it’s coming. Anyway, Jordan’s back, got to go. Love you.”

  “Love you.”

  Two days ago, I woke up with the worst headache and a fever. I spent most of the day at home. At least today I’m feeling a lot better.

  Two bottles of white wine arrive two hours later. The gift from Shelly. I can’t help but think they look fancy. I set it aside. Ryan called two days ago too, but I wasn’t in a state to go out, so I told him I couldn’t come.

  My phone makes a sound, and my heart skips a beat when I see the caller—it’s Ryan.

  Ryan

  My index finger taps on the steering wheel as I pause at a stoplight. I’m just passing by. Seeing how she’s doing. Just passing by. Maybe getting pizza too.

  She probably won’t want me there. But more, I wonder how she is. Why she couldn’t make it when I called. Was she meeting someone else? My grip tightens on the steering wheel. Is that why she was so hesitant?

  Fuck it. I spot a free parking space and take that as a sign.

  I give her another call. “Blaire.”

  “Ryan?” She sounds confused.

  “You have dinner yet?”

  “Umm. No,” she replies warily. “Why?”

  So suspicious. “I’ve got pizza and no one to share it with.”

  Sweet laughter rings on the other end of the line. “Yeah, right,” she utters disbelievingly. “Chris—”

  “—is a monster,” I add. She should know this. “He’ll finish the whole box and we’ll fight for the last damn piece.�
�

  “What flavor?” she asks, considering.

  A grin pulls at my lips. Got you. “Pepperoni.”

  A short pause. “Deal.”

  Blaire

  I hold the bottle of wine between my thighs. Why not?

  Always the responsible one. I’m so tired of being in my own shell. Playing it safe. Now people are slowly discovering the face behind my channel, and I’m scared the whole little bubble I’ve created for myself has burst.

  I open the bottle and pour myself a glass. Swishing the wine in the glass, I take a small sip.

  Ten minutes later, I find myself browsing comments on the video that went viral. My inbox is flooded with comments and questions from subscribers about my connection with Ryan. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I go through all of them now. I think I’m going to be sick.

  You should go die

  Ugly bitch

  I want to cry. I squint at my glass when I see it empty. Oops. How did I finish it so fast?

  It’s not like I’m not used to hateful comments. I do get them occasionally, but never at this scale.

  My doorbell buzzes. It must be Ryan. He promised me pizza. I’m not going to say no to free dinner.

  I unlock my door, pushing it open. My eyes fly to the box and I beam at him. “Pizza!”

  “You gonna let me in, Red?” Ryan asks, amusement touching his lips.

  Oh. I open the door wider. Then I remember the comments I’ve just been reading. “This is my fault.” I groan out loud.

  He frowns at my words. He spots the glass in my hand. His eyes narrow, he steps close and shuts the door behind him. “Are you drinking?”

  I nod and lift up my wineglass. “My sister sent me two bottles. Want some?” My head’s spinning. Whoa. He steadies me, a hand catching my elbow in time. I haven’t had that much, have I?

  His eyes sweep over me. “I thought you haven’t had dinner.”

  “I haven’t.” It probably wasn’t a good idea to open the bottle before having something to eat.

  “How many glasses have you had?”

  It takes me a while to process what he’s asking. “This is my second,” I tell him. At least, I think it is.

  He gives me a pointed look. “Your fingers say three. Which is it?”

  I turn to look at the fingers I’m holding up. Oh. I hold down another finger. That’s better. I smile, proud of myself.

  He extracts the glass from my hand. “We can have dinner first.”

  I huff out a breath, but he’s keeping it out of reach.

  “So,” he says, his eyes roaming over me, “what’s your fault?”

  “What?” My hands reach for the pizza and he hands it over willingly. I look at him curiously. I wonder why he’s here tonight. He can’t be missing me or anything. Well, I think as I watch him observe my apartment, that’s not entirely true. He probably misses needling me.

  “You said it’s all your fault,” he reminds me as I set the pizza down on the table.

  “I never should’ve agreed to your stupid offer,” I blurt out despairingly.

  “You shouldn’t have,” he agrees. He thinks this is funny. He makes himself comfortable, sitting on the plush purple rug I bought on sale a month ago. The sight is so odd, but not, I find, unwelcome. The thought bothers me. At least he took off his shoes. Attractive jerk. Just because he’s famous and sexy doesn’t mean he can just… just turn up and bring me pizza.

  I catch him disguising a laugh with a cough. “Yes. I can.”

  Horrified, I open my mouth, only to close it. Oh God. Did I just say that out loud?

  “So you’re not drunk, huh?” he asks, fighting a smile.

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not drunk. Just had a little bit too much.” I hold up my thumb and index finger.

  He chuckles. “I see.” He doesn’t believe me.

  When I bite on a slice, I notice he hasn’t even made a move to get his own.

  He watches me, fascinated, and I notice he’s staring at my pizza slice.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I blurt out defensively. I partially edge away from him so he doesn’t take it, just in case he feels like messing with me. “There’s plenty of slices there,” I point out.

  “It just occurred to me I’ve never seen you eat pizza before.” His lips quirk up.

  I blink. “So?”

  “You eat it upside down.”

  I look down at my slice. “Pizza tastes better upside down.”

  “Mmm,” he mutters noncommittally. He smothers a laugh with a cough, and I ignore him.

  “Don’t knock on what you haven’t tried,” I assert.

  I can’t believe he’s sitting across me, making himself at home, like he’s been here many times before.

  If someone asked me a week ago if I’d be having wine and pizza with Ryan Carson in my living room, I’d have said they were crazy. Maybe it’s the alcohol making my tongue loose, but I find myself confessing, “I don’t get it. I don’t get you. This isn’t public. Second time you want a fake date without the press.”

  “So it is.”

  “So,” I start, my temper flaring, “what do you want from me?”

  “Answers,” he replies carefully, and his ever-watchful eyes meet my own gaze steadily.

  “Answers?” My forehead creases. “What does that mean?”

  He helps himself to his own glass of wine, too. “I want to get to know Blaire Mendes.”

  His declaration stuns me into silence.

  But he’s not done. “I want to know why she ran after that kiss years ago.” Oh my God. I always assumed he regretted it badly. “You asked me if I still think about it. After everything, Blaire, how could I not?

  “I want to know why every time we discuss music, she locks up—” He gives me a look “—and you do,” he silences the protest from my lips. “Don’t deny it.”

  He’s right. And I can’t help it, it’s been ingrained in me for so long that it’s become such a habit.

  “But it’s okay, I can wait,” he adds, his gray eyes piercing. “Wait until you’re ready to tell me your secrets.”

  Where is this coming from? The Ryan I knew never paid me any attention and he would never bring me pizza. Well, he probably would, but he would load it with something offensive, like sweet egg custard and bacon.

  “Why do you care?” I retort defensively. He doesn’t get to throw the questions to my face now, not after everything. “You’ve never shown any interest towards me. And anyway, this whole thing isn’t even real, it’s for your promo.”

  But the look on his face says, We’ll see, and I narrow my eyes. He leans close and my brain decides to freeze. Why is he so close? Without warning, his arm reaches out and he grabs the last pizza slice. I gasp, affronted. Of course, he’s up to his old tricks. To think he almost had me there for a second.

  I check my phone, and when I see the new hateful comments, I toss my phone away, bouncing safely on my soft chair.

  “How do you do it?” I find myself asking out loud, the newest message striking a nerve. This one said my voice was as pleasant as nails on chalkboard and that I should give up on singing. “How do you deal with all the haters?”

  His face darkens as he realizes what I’m asking. “How bad?” he asks.

  When I don’t answer immediately, he picks my phone up. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Fuck that person. I’m sorry, Blaire.” He means it. Even now, a little tipsy, and more than a little upset, I can feel the sincerity of his apology. Since when did he care? How did I miss it?

  “How about this,” he says, a promise in his words. “I threw you into this. Looks like I owe you something.”

  I don’t say anything yet, waiting for him to tell me that he was joking. But he doesn’t.

  “Anything? You’re not scared to tell me that?” I ask, somewhat suspicious.

  His lips only curl up in response, daring me to do my worst. He probably thinks I won’t be able to think straight to give him a proper answer. I think
about what he can owe me. On the verge of a headache, my fingers massage small circles on my temples.

  To my surprise, he draws closer. “Ryan, wai—”

  He places the back of his hand over my forehead. Oh. It’s cool against my skin, and it feels good. My eyes fall shut and I sigh.

  When I open my eyes again, his brows knit. Disapproval lines his expression. Before he can say anything, I share, “I was sick the other day. I guess I still kinda am.”

  His frown deepens, turning into a scowl. “You didn’t tell me that.” Why does he look like the thought bothers him?

  I shrug, grimacing. “Now you know?”

  “That’s why you couldn’t come when I called,” he mutters.

  I nod in answer. I didn’t think the reason mattered to him, but looking at him now, I’m not so sure.

  “You should be resting,” he says, coming to a decision, his tone mildly admonishing.

  I roll my eyes and throw out my hands. “I am.”

  “In bed,” he adds, his voice turning rough. Why do those words send a bolt of heat through me?

  I look away, my cheeks turning hot. “I’m fine,” I reply, trying and failing to sound unaffected. His concern, I find, isn’t an unwelcome surprise. This is a new feeling. He was concerned about me at the wedding reception, too. A warm feeling settles in my chest. “I’m just a little sleepy.”

  “I should go and let you get some sleep then.”

  “Wait—” I stop short. What, exactly, am I going to tell him? Don’t leave? Why? He probably has places to be.

  Something niggles at the back of my mind. “Okay,” I say slowly, remembering what he said. “But I want my favor.”