“What?” I whip my head over my shoulder toward the suite behind us, thinking someone’s in there or something, and it takes a few seconds for the spinning in my head to catch up with the movement.

“Is that what people are going to think of me?” she screeches.

“No. Never.” I take another bite. “Yes. Probably.”

“Besides, no one’s probably going to believe it either. This. Us. I’m the exact opposite of your type.”

“I don’t have a type.” Yes. I do.

“You’re so full of shit.” We both chuckle as the spoons clink on our teeth and we fall silent. “But we’re not fraternizing like that.” Her every word is enunciated.

“Correct. It’s not in the contract.” It may have crossed my mind a time or ten tonight. What she’d feel like beneath me. What those eyes of hers would look like when she came. How her hips would feel gripped in my palms.

“Pretend marriage. Pretend sex.” She giggles and rests her head back to the wall and stares up at the sky. “Best relationship ever.”

She has a soft smile on her lips and her dark lashes rest against the curve of her cheek. I contemplate the words she just said. The things she just implied.

A best relationship means pretend sex?

What the hell does that mean? It’s not my place to ask. Hell, I’m probably drunk and misheard her. Then again, she was pretty fucking clear and my head is full of ways I could show her different.

“Hendrix—”

“Nope. Not talking about it.” She giggles again and I can’t figure out if she’s that buzzed or is using it as an excuse to shove away whatever she thinks I was going to ask.

“Shit. Crap. Brain freeze.” She laughs and hisses as she puts the heel of her hand to her forehead and squints her eyes—while digging into the shared container with the spoon in her other hand.

“That sucks. Are you okay?” I lean over and press a kiss to her forehead.

The action is so natural, so . . . just there without thinking, and so is her putting her hand over my entire face and pushing me back while laughing. “I’m fine. I can handle a little ol’ brain freeze.”

“You sure?” I fall back onto my ass gracelessly.

“Definitely.” She reaches over and pats my thigh as ice cream drips off the spoon onto my pants. “It’s okay, Jase. You’re not my type either.”

To collapsing onto the bed as the sky turned a light gray and staring at the room spinning all around us.

“The headlines are going to be ridiculous when people find out,” she says.

I turn my head on the pillow and look at her. “Probably run-of-the-mill.”

“Run-of-the-mill for you, not for me.” She purses her lips, clearly trying to think. “Famous Rock Star Eats Her Cookie.”