Caught on Camera: A Spicy Fake Dating Romance (Love through a Lens Book 2)

I WAKE up to Lacey mumbling about penguins.

I’m barely on the edge of consciousness, still somewhere stuck in a dream, but I can hear her loud and clear.

I blink into the half-dark room and find her, arms looped around my stomach and her head on my chest. When I see her, I smile.

We clung to each other all night long. I didn’t mean to, but subconsciously, I drifted toward her. It looks like she drifted toward me, too, because her legs are tangled with mine and her hand is on my ass.

I didn’t know I was into my ass being touched, but I guess I am.

Maybe it’s because Lacey is the one doing it.

She stirs beside me and stretches her arms above her head. The white sheet slips down her chest and pools around her waist as she burrows into the pillows, and I see the pink marks I left on her stomach last night when my hands were between her legs.

I left one on the inside of her thigh, too, just above her knee.

I’m really, really glad we’re kissing each other.

“Hey,” she croaks, and her eyes flutter open. When she smiles at me, I feel it behind my ribs. It fills the empty places in my chest and the spots that are slowly becoming hers. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” I bend down to kiss her forehead, and she smiles even wider. “How’d you sleep?”

“Really well. You’re a human furnace. Thank you for keeping me warm.” She sits up and brushes a strand of knotted hair out of her face. “What time is it?”

“Early. Too early. I’m going to get up and get started on a few things, but you should go back to sleep. I’ll come wake you up when you need to get ready.”

“That’s okay.” She yawns and rubs her eyes. There’s a line on her cheek from the pillows, and I trace over the crease with the tips of my fingers. “I’m up. How did you sleep?”

“Great. You’re like a fluffy pillow, Daniels. I’ve never slept so hard in my life.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” She lifts an eyebrow and flicks me off. “Seems like you could come up with something a little better.”

“Alright.” I climb over her, one leg on either side of her naked waist. “Your hips drive me wild. I like that you were the first thing I saw this morning, even if you were talking about sea creatures.”

“I was not,” she says, aghast. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”

“You definitely do. What else? Even when you have drool on your face—” I use my thumb to wipe away the dried mark on the corner of her mouth. “You’re the most beautiful person in the world.”

“Oh.” She dips her chin and blinks a dozen times. She reaches out and outlines the tattoos across my chest. Sharp nails dig into my skin, just over the vine of an inked plant, and I huff out a strangled breath. “That was way better than what I was expecting.”

“Good.” I kiss the end of her nose and climb off of her. “I’ll make us some breakfast. Today is usually a grab and go morning since we’re all going eight different directions. Tomorrow you’ll get to try some of Mom’s frittata. Fuck, it’s so good, Lace. You’re going to love it. I’ve tried to make it myself, but it’s shit compared to hers. And I—what?” My train of thought derails because she’s staring at me with a brightness in her heavy-lidded eyes, and now I’m distracted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just like seeing you so…” she trails off and gestures up and down. Lets out a breath and bites her bottom lip. I want to bite her bottom lip, too. “So you,” she finishes.

“Is that a good thing?” I ask, and I didn’t realize how badly I want her answer to be yes.

“It’s a very good thing. I’ve known you as Shawn, the football coach. Shawn, my friend in D.C. And I like that I’m seeing you as Shawn, the son, uncle and brother. I like that you get excited about the little things. Like frittatas and those little cannulas we had after dinner last night.”

“Once you try my mom’s breakfast, you’ll understand why I’m excited.”

“I have no doubt. If it’s anything like her lasagna, I’ll be in an extreme food coma.”

I move off the bed and rifle through my suitcase. I slip on a pair of jeans and tug my shirt over my head. Lacey is moving behind me, and I hear the zip of her bag and the rustle of her clothes.

“We’re going to be running around today, but it’s supposed to be cold. Make sure to bundle up,” I say over my shoulder. I find my favorite blue pullover and tuck it under my arm. “You can leave a jacket in the car, too. You’ll ride with me and Dad.”

I’m about to turn around and ask her if she wants to use the bathroom first, but her arms wrap around me from behind. They slide around my waist and pull me flush against her chest. Her cheek rests on my back, in the spot between my shoulder blades, and I fold my hands over hers.

“I know today is going to be busy,” she says into my shirt. Her words sneak through the threadbare cotton and are warm on my skin. “Before we get going, I wanted to take a second to tell you how proud I am of you. You’re one of my favorite people in the world, Shawn, and getting to be here with you while you—we—do something so important means more to me than any gift ever will.”

“Hey.” I tug on her arms, a gentle pull to bring her in front of me. Her back rests against the wall and her smile is soft around the edges. “Today has always been my favorite day of the year, but now that you’re here, it’s even better. Before you and I started this—this thing between us, there was a ghost that felt like it was following me. I could feel it in my back. Over my shoulder, when I watched Maggie and Aiden together. The closer we got to December, the more dim everything felt. It wasn’t like how it’s always been.”

I pause for a breath to carefully choose my next words. I’m done talking about what’s happening between us like it’s pretend. Like it’s fake. Like she and I both can’t feel the immense pull we have toward each other, a thread unraveling as we get closer and closer.

I can tell it’s happening when our gazes lock from across the room. When she looks up at me from my childhood bed late at night, her chin on my chest and a constellation of freckles on her bare shoulders, and asks me to tell her about how I fell in love with football like it’s the most important story in the world.

“And then?” she asks, coaxing me forward.

“Then I kissed you during the middle of a football game. What I thought was the stupidest thing I could have ever done, the biggest mistake that would have ruined our friendship and everything I cared about, ended up being the greatest decision of my life. That ghost is gone, and now it’s just you. And, yeah, you like to talk in your sleep about marine birds—I’m partial to puffins, if we’re keeping track—but I guess I didn’t realize how fucking lonely I was until I kissed you. Until I met you, I guess. I was, and now I’m not. You here with me, willing and eager to join in and do something I love, well.” I shake my head and drop my chin to my chest. I don’t know where this whole fucking monologue of emotions is coming from, but I can’t stop. “It’s the dream, really.”

Lacey’s breath stutters. She squeezes me impossibly tight, almost hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I run my hands up her arms then back down. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. If you gave me a million options, I’d choose here with you every single time.”

“Funny. I’d pick you a million times, too.”

“I’m so happy,” she says, but it’s soft. Like she’s not sure she’s allowed to admit it and she’s been holding onto a secret for years. “This has been the best holiday season ever, and it’s not even Christmas yet. This sounds so cheesy, but there’s all this joy in my life, and I want to keep spreading that joy. I’m healthy. I have a good job and great friends. I love my parents, and even though I’m not spending Christmas with them, I know I’ll see them soon. And then there’s you.”

“Yeah?” I tip her chin back and stare at her. She looks delicate in the early morning light, like someone I need to—want to—take care of not just for a few more days, but for years and years. “What about me?”

“You’re my best friend. The person I have the most fun with and the person I laugh the loudest with. I didn’t expect you to kiss me at your game, but I’m so glad you did. You’re my favorite present this year, Shawn. Totally unexpected and exactly what I wanted.”

“Flirting with me, Daniels?” I ask, and she rolls her eyes.

“See if I’m ever nice to you again,” she says. She tries to wiggle out of my hold, but I don’t let her.

“Hey. You’re my favorite present too, Lacey girl. I hope you know that. Nothing under my tree will be as wonderful as you.”

She blinks and lifts up on her toes. She’s closer to me now, and her eyes sparkle like stars. Her lips brush against mine in the faintest of kisses, but it’s heaven.

She’s warm and soft and perfect. A place I want to curl up and stay awhile. It’s too quick, barely long enough for me to indulge in how good she tastes, how sweet the sound of her sigh is, how nice it is to have her hands around my neck before she’s pulling away.

“I know.” She nods against my shirt and unwinds her arms from my body. “I’m going to freshen up.”

“Okay. Come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ll get the food going.”

I peek at her over my shoulder as she heads to the bathroom, and when I do, I find her looking at me, too.

THE KITCHEN IS EMPTY.

I click on the stove and pull a pan out from under the oven. Even with the remodel, everything is in the exact same place it was twenty-five years ago, down to the spatula in the drawer to my right and the spice rack in the cabinet to my left. I move around, grabbing everything I need for scrambled eggs and toast, and I get to work.

The stairs creak and groan, and then there are soft footsteps on the hardwood floor. Lacey appears around the corner, already bundled up with a puffy white jacket that makes her look like a marshmallow, and I smile at the bright pink beanie on her head.

“I love that hat,” I say.

“You do?” She touches the big pom pom on top. “It’s not over the top?”

“Nope. It fits you just right.”

She laughs and takes a seat at the table. “Can I help with anything?”

“Not a thing. Do you want coffee? I’m making eggs for you; scrambled with a little cheese on top, right?”

Her neck jerks up and she stares at me. “You know how I eat my eggs?”

“You know how I eat my eggs,” I remind her. “I couldn’t be the friend who doesn’t know your egg order. Besides, you had that whole argument with me the night we did breakfast for dinner at Maggie and Aiden’s a couple months ago. You gave me a lecture on the egg to cheese ratio, and I swear to God I’ve never seen someone talk about something so passionately. You had more enthusiasm than the people who preach about world peace.”

“Because I take it very seriously. Maybe the secret to world peace is a perfectly scrambled plate of eggs.”

“Fuck, now I’m nervous. I hope I get this right, otherwise, I think I’m going to be in deep shit.”

I slide the plate her way and hand her a fork. I lift an eyebrow as she takes a bite, closing her eyes and slowly chewing so she can give me her honest opinion.

“Well?” I say.

“Damn you, Holmes. These are better than when I make them.” She shovels another bite in her mouth, and I pump my fist in the air. “What’s your secret?”

“A chef never tells.”

“Oh, come on. This isn’t some family recipe of yours that’s been handed down for millennia.”

“A splash of milk and a hint of cream. Makes them nice and fluffy.”

“I’ll have to try that when we get home.”

We eat our breakfast and I start a pot of coffee. I know the smell of caffeine is going to wake up the masses.

“We’re going to head out in about an hour.” I pull out the sheet of paper from my back pocket and smooth it out on the counter. “This is the house here,” I say, tapping the small square.

“What’s that?” she asks, and her finger lands on the blob to the left.

“It’s supposed to be a Christmas tree.”

“It looks like a dying fish. Maybe you should stick to sports.”

“Oh, fuck you. I’m a great artist. My houses are almost three dimensional. Look. There’s a goddamn roof.”

“Okay.” Lacey pats my hand and smirks. “Whatever you say, honey bunches of oats.”

“Veto. Jesus, Daniels. I’m not a box of cereal. Have some class.”

Her laugh is light and loud, and I smile at the sound. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Please continue, Picasso.”

“The nerve of some people,” I mumble under my breath, and her fingers dig into my side. “We’ll loop around the perimeter of town, then zig-zag back in. A quick stop for lunch should have us wrapping up around four, which is just in time for dinner tonight. Having you here is going to help us go much faster.”

“This is incredibly thought out.” She traces the lines of the road and the markings on the crumpled sheet. “What do the symbols by each house mean?”

“If it’s their first time receiving gifts, or if they’ve been on the list before. It doesn’t really mean anything. They can be on the list for five years, and I don’t care. I just like to check in with folks. Make sure they’re doing okay. It’s impossible to expect someone to get back on their feet in a year. I like to keep track of the people who might need a little extra help.”

Lacey’s lips quiver. I press my finger against her mouth, and she kisses my knuckles. “I’m going to cry so much today, and I am not a crier. It’s usually only when I see those sad dog videos where the pet is reunited with their owner after three weeks apart. God, I turn into a blubbering mess. But this—” she gestures at the paper and taps the drawing— “this is going to ruin me.”

“I’m not curing cancer. Thousands of people do this every year, and I’m not any better than them. Hell, I’m giving away toys, not cars.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re immune to the reach you have, Shawn, but this is pretty freaking spectacular. The kids are going to be more appreciative of a Nerf ball than a Ferrari. Imagine waking up and thinking you’re not going to get anything for Christmas, then this tall, hot, tattooed—”

“You think I’m hot, Lacey girl?” I ask.

“You know you’re hot. My mom knows you’re hot. Everyone knows you’re hot.”

I lean my elbows on the kitchen table and crowd her space. “I don’t care about everyone. I care about you. And you think I’m hot.”

Lacey rolls her eyes, but her cheeks turn pink. “Yes, you’re hot. Now tell me your secret for being such a nice guy.”

“I don’t know.” I sit back in my chair and move the eggs around my plate. “It’s not a secret. I just think we should treat everyone the right way and do a little good if we can. I’m still figuring out my own shit, but I can at least be nice to people along the way.”

“You’re going to be husband of the year when you settle down. Dad of the year. Human of the year. Can you teach a seminar on how to not be a dick to the rest of the male population? Because you’re way, way, way above the standard.”

“Doing the bare minimum shouldn’t be the standard, Lace. You gotta stop settling for dudes who have a vendetta against stadium camera people. There are better things out there. A whole world of men who are just waiting to hold a door open for you.”

“I know that now. You hold the door open for me.”

“I do.”

“Would you—” her throat bobs as she swallows. She looks away and focuses her attention on the salt and pepper shakers instead of my face. “Do you think you could keep holding the door open for me?”

It’s ambiguous. Open-ended and with a thousand different meanings. I know what she’s asking, though, and I know what my answer is.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll hold it open for you as long as you’d like. Would that be okay with you?”

Her fingers rip up the napkin in her hands. She opens her mouth, but before she can answer, I hear my dad’s booming voice as he rounds the corner into the kitchen.

“Is that coffee I smell?” he asks. “Morning, you two. How’d you sleep? Was it warm enough up there for you?”

“Morning.” I stand up and collect our plates. “We slept great. I think we’re both tired from a long couple of weeks at work. It was nice to wake up and not have to think about anything.”

It was also nice to wake up with Lacey naked in my arms.

“Let me eat some food and grab a cup of coffee, and we can get going,” my dad says.

“Where are all the presents?” Lacey asks. “I haven’t seen any besides the ones under the tree in your living room, and that’s not nearly enough for three hundred families.”

“In a storage unit,” I explain. “Dad starts collecting them in early October, and we keep them locked up until today. We change places every year so people don’t pick up on what we’re doing and try to steal the gifts.”

“Are they wrapped?”

“Wrapped and labeled and organized. I wish I was able to get up here and help more, but this season has been extra busy.”

“We can handle it just fine,” my dad says. “It gives your mother and I something to look forward to now that we’re not working anymore. I can only do so many crossword puzzles.”

“You’re awfully sharp for a man approaching seventy,” I answer. “Lace, we use my dad’s truck for the gifts. There’s a trailer we attach and we load it up. It takes about an hour to get everything ready, so if you want to stay here, we can swing back by and—”

“No,” she interrupts me. She shakes her head and sits up in her chair. “No. I want to do every step with you. I don’t care about manual labor. I can do some heavy lifting.”

My dad’s eyes meet mine over the rim of his mug, and he gives me a thumbs up.

Yeah, Dad. I think she’s pretty fucking great, too.