Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I need to get a grip right now.
“Thanks for keeping it light. I hardly kept a straight face when she gave you that plate of desserts,” she says, giggling infectiously. “You looked like you had to eat a plate of spiders.”
“You’re lucky I let you laugh at my predicament,” I throw back.
“Hey, I took some of the fudge cake off your hands!” Her head rolls slightly against the seat as she looks at me. “I’m pretty sure that earns me a pay raise.”
“I’ll leave a big tip on the next order,” I say dryly.
“Miser,” she whispers.
“Choking down fudge wasn’t storming the beaches of Normandy, and you helping wasn’t worth a Purple Heart,” I growl.
She laughs again like the insufferable brat she is.
This time, I chuckle too.
The car echoes with our mingled laughter for a second before I catch myself.
When was the last time I ever laughed like that?
What the hell am I actually doing?
After a few minutes of stony silence, I pull up outside her building and cut the engine. The sky rumbles and splits open, pelting the car with another evening shower.
She frowns over at me, her eyes twinkling with questions.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking you inside. Might as well finish the night like a gentleman since I couldn’t keep it together for that kiss.”
“Dex, it’s like twenty feet away and—”
“Don’t give me that.”
This area is shady as hell with half the streetlights burned out and a couple abandoned cars just a block away. The last thing I need is my fake fiancée getting murdered on the way back to her own apartment.
“Besides, it’s still raining and I don’t like loaning my umbrella,” I lie.
She rolls her eyes, but at least she doesn’t try to fight me as I grab the umbrella and help her out of the car.
Her hand lingers in mine for a second before she pulls away.
When she reaches the front door and uses the keypad to unlock the door, she turns back to me with a challenge on her face.
“You don’t need to come inside,” she says. “I’ll be fine from here. We only had like two break-ins last year, and not on my floor.”
“Only two?” My eyebrows go up.
She shrugs sheepishly, staring at the ground.
“Junie, what the hell?” I reach for her chin, gently tilting her face up to look at me again. “What’s the big deal with making sure you’re safe?”
“…maybe because aside from Nana, no one’s ever cared this much.”
Damn.
Just like that, I know I’ve lost my mind to this fake fiancée scheme, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop.
There’s a certain stubborn vulnerability to her that tells me she’s not going to give me more, not tonight, and that’s honestly best for both of us.
“Good night, Junie,” I whisper, holding her gaze.
The atmosphere thickens as she looks at me, eyes wide, the light from the lot reflected in twin green pools I can’t look away from.
For a second, I’m consumed by having her in my arms, feeling her warmth, reaching into her so much deeper with my tongue.
Only, if I start that here with no Nana, it only ends one way.
And that’s one curse I won’t bring down on her yet.
That’s one colossal error I can still prevent before it happens, however much every molecule of me wants it.
Thankfully, she moves before I do.
“Night,” she whispers, shoving the door open and practically running inside.
Smart, smart girl.
I head back to the car and throw the umbrella in the back, still shaking my head.
What the hell is my malfunction?
I can’t keep doing this, kissing this chick and melting my brain—and I damned sure can’t let it go further.
Tonight has to be it.
The only time we ever let temptation drag us dangerously close to the edge.
This is fake, dammit.
Fake, fake, and if I don’t engrave that into my brain, then we’ll both walk away from this bruised and defeated.
Two more days don’t ease the tension.
I’m a night owl by nature, but I’m up later than usual, tossing and turning and throwing myself into encore workouts and cold showers when nothing else helps.
I texted her a few times—yes, I fucking text now—just to confirm everything’s still fine and she hasn’t branded me an evil heartbreaker for life.
The few texts that come back are cold, two-word answers.
What little she says is some version of it’s fine, leave me the hell alone.
Shit.
That’s it, then. Either I’ve gone and hurt her, or she’s just as twisted up with confusion as I am.
Or she’s decided she hates me and she’s just trying to figure out how to get out of this insanity.
Fuck.
I can’t even blame her if she does, because I’m the one who turned a fake one-off kiss into a marathon make-out session that’s left me with blue balls larger than the moon.
Now, I’m risking the entire deal with my antics.