Page 80 of The Fake Script
I chuckle. “Definitely not.”
“Too late.” He captures my lips in a kiss, and everything around us fades to insignificance, my thoughts vanishing along with it. This man’s kisses are powerful.
“No, it’s not too late,” I say, regaining my senses. “It wasn’t live. We can edit the footage.”
He swipes the phone from my hands. “Oh, no, no. We’re posting it as is.”
“Auston . . .”
“This is non-negotiable,” he says firmly. “What do we do now? Do I just hit ‘Share’?”
“No, you need hashtags. I would normally suggest playing a trending sound at low volume to increase your reach, but since you have forty million followers, I doubt that’ll be a problem.”
I grab his phone back and add a few Bookstagram hashtags in the caption. “We can also ask your audience a question—like what they enjoyed most about the book—to increase engagement.”
He nods. “You’re the pro.”
“Says the guy with forty million followers,” I joke. “Okay. Now we can post.”
“I’m excited,” he says, dragging me further onto his lap. “I feel like I’m part of a secret club or something.”
“You are. An insanely cool club full of bookish girls.” I grin. “You’re going to be very popular there.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll only have eyes for you,” he says, cupping my chin and making me giggle. Yes, giggle. I didn’t even think I knew how to giggle. Yet, here we are. “Now, what’s your Instagram handle? I’ll follow you.”
I type it into his phone, and he starts scrolling on my feed. My neck warms as his eyes dart across the phone screen. I know my profile is public, but suddenly, I feel so exposed. He frowns, narrows his eyes, and chuckles as he goes through my posts, and I'm starting to wish I hadn’t given him my handle.
“There are a lot of dark covers on here,” he says. “And tons are about mafia and—what’s this one? A cult leader romance?”
“I told you, I read mainly dark romance.”
His eyebrows scrunch together. “Can you tell me more about that? How can romance be dark? Isn’t it the opposite by definition?”
I smile. “It just means that the protagonists have darker lives or murkier pasts. I read closed-door dark romance, so there aren’t as many. But what I love about it most is the complexity of the characters and how they’re pulled to one another despite everything standing in their way. Morally gray characters seem more realistic to me, though I understand why some people are completely appalled by them.”
He captures me with his gaze, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“You think I’m weird now, don’t you?”
His eyes shine. “More like fascinating. I didn’t know you were such a hopeless romantic.”
I snort. “Um, no. That would be Alice. Didn’t you hear a word I said? The books I read showcase villains and criminals with a skewed sense of right and wrong.”
“Exactly. You like stories of redemption, where even the misunderstood, twisted, and complicated characters get their happy ending. If that’s not 'love conquers all,’ I don’t know what is.”
I pause, my forehead wrinkling. I never really thought about it like that. “I guess you’re right, in a way. Who knew?” I laugh.
“So, am I a villain too?” he asks. “Where do I fit into all that?”
“I don’t hold the same standards for my book boyfriends as I do my real-life ones.”
“One,” he repeats, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Singular. Go on.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “I like my real-life boyfriend,” I say, emphasis on the ‘d,’ “sweet, caring, and funny with no big dark demons chasing him.” I pause. “After all, you’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had,” I say, my heart now rattling in my chest. I wasn’t sure how to bring this up to him. I guess I just figured it out.
“You mean . . .?” He frowns.
I swallow to wet my throat, glancing down at my lap. “I’ve never been with anyone. I’ve never even kissed anyone but you.”