Page 20 of Crashing Into You

My phone pings again, but this time it’s Bryce. I click on the text.

Meet me in Melbourne tomorrow night. Fancy club, nice hotel (bring your togs because there’s a pool). What do you say?

Huh. I suppose this is what I signed up for, though. I need to remember that it’s all for show. And I need to trust him. It’s easier said than done, although with Bryce it feels easier than I’d expected. I don’t know why, but some instinct tells me he won’t screw me around. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. I must be mad, really, to even consider doing this.

Another message from Bryce pops up. This one makes my heart race, even more than the thought of being alone in a hotel room with him.

Miss you.

I quickly write back.

Good thing you get to see me tomorrow, then.

ChapterTen

Claire

The drive to Melbourne seems to take even longer than usual. Yes, there’s traffic, but it doesn’t help that I’m a bundle of nerves. Bryce offered to come and pick me up, but I told him I’d rather make my own way there.

I need time to think.

I’ve done a lot of thinking already, but I still can’t get my head around what I’m about to do. It feels like the wildest sort of madness, as though I’ve suddenly decided to step out of my life and become someone else entirely. Someone who takes chances, who trusts people they barely know. Who isn’t scared to open their heart.

I blow out a breath, turning up the music in the car as though it can drown out my troubled thoughts. I just got out of one terrible relationship, and now I’m going to pretend to be in another? With a famoussurferof all people? I should just turn around, head back home and forget I ever met Bryce.

As I say, I do think surfing as a sport is awesome. But I’ve always resisted the other side of it, the partying and drunken behaviour I’ve seen, over and over again, played out at local pubs. A drunk surfer killed my parents. Bryce, with his endless photos falling out of clubs and into bed with one girl after another seems like the epitome of the partying surfer boy. But there’s another side to him, a side that seems lost, somehow, yet is decent and kind. That’s the side of him I want to get to know, even if this is a fake relationship. It’s also a chance for me to get past this bias, because it’s unfair of me to tar everyone with the same brush.

After all, look at Simon. Part of the initial attraction for me had been the fact he didn’t surf. He liked playing soulful songs on his guitar and hanging out at his parents’ beach house, where he lived most of the year, writing poetry and drinking coffee. God. Looking back on it now, I wonder what the hell I was thinking. He’s not a surfer, doesn’t drink, yet he’s been terrorising me for the past year, even though we broke up six months ago.

That’s also a big part of why I’m doing this, I remind myself. Bryce has already proven he’s more than capable of handling any of the shit Simon might throw at me. Warmth blooms in my chest at the memory of his arm around me at the pub. The way his lips felt on mine. How natural it seemed, having him at my house.

And there lies danger.

We’re meeting up tonight for our first “date”. A friend of his is opening a nightclub, apparently. Something low-key, before our “official” couple debut at a surf event in Torquay. It didn’t stop me packing and unpacking my bag about half a dozen times before leaving, my wardrobe suddenly seeming completely inadequate.

Joss and Sal are basically foaming at the mouth waiting to know the details of what’s been going on. I knew I’d have to have this conversation with them. It was inevitable as soon as Bryce and I shared the photo of us kissing, on our socials. My follower count increased almost immediately, as did the rude comments. I’ve already set my accounts to private. I imagine things will get even more frenzied after tonight, and I don’t need that stress in my life. So I told them that, when I get back from Melbourne, they can come over and I’ll tell them everything. Apart from the fact that this is a fake relationship. I tell myself it’s because of the NDA I signed, even though I know I can trust them not to tell anyone anything. Not that I have much to tell beyond that, I guess.

We’re staying at a hotel in the centre of Melbourne. And I imagine we’ll be sharing a room, to keep up appearances. I have no idea how I’m going to navigate that. Hopefully there will be a couch or something I can sleep on. I feel like I did when I went swimming with Bryce, when the ground disappeared from under my feet, leaving me floating in dark blue. He was there, though, holding me. Keeping me safe. I have no reason to think he won’t do the same here. This is to benefit him as much as it is me.

But as I pull into the hotel a short while later, leaving my car to be parked by the valet, and I hurry into the lobby where Bryce is waiting, for a moment it feels like something more. He’s leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone, his brows drawn together. But when I say his name, his head snaps up and his expression brightens. He hurries over to me, taking my bag, kissing me on the cheek, and it’s just… easy. I remind myself, again, that it’s all for show.

It feels like it’s going to be a long month, though, while at the same time not enough time at all.

Bryce

I’m absolutely bricking it as I wait for Claire in the foyer of the flash hotel. I pass the time scrolling through photos on my phone, replying to a few messages and ignoring the rest. I pause on the shot I took of Millie at Luna Park, my heart swelling at her smile, at the bright sun on her face. It feels like a sign, that she’s come back into the light again. I have to make sure that’s the case, though, before I head off again and leave Mum to manage things.

Then I get to the photo of Claire and me, kissing on her deck. Damn. She was so good about it when I apologised afterwards. I couldn’t help myself, even though that’s not usually my style. But it makes the butterflies start in my stomach again.

What if she changes her mind? She’d be well within her rights to do so. It had just felt like the right thing to say, sitting in her warm kitchen, seeing the light in her eyes as she talked about her parents and their dream. I don’t know how she does it, to be honest. Losing her family like that, plus dealing with that shithead Simon. I want to be there for her, support her. It’s a weird feeling.

But when I hear her say my name, when I look up and see her standing there, in a denim mini skirt and the turquoise tube top she wore to the pub, it all seems to click into place. It seems completely natural to take her bag, to kiss her smooth cheek, to watch her ass as she walks to the elevators. Like a real girlfriend.

Christ. This is going to be a long month.

A short while later we’re in the room. I booked a suite, a bedroom with a separate living room. I realise this is putting Claire in a tight spot, but hotel staff talk to the tabloids, if they’re paid enough. And no girlfriend of mine would be staying in a separate room.

There’s a moment of awkwardness, then Claire heads over to the long sofa and puts her bag on it. “I’ll sleep here,” she says. “If that’s all right with you?”