Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I keep my expression neutral even though disgust crawls down my spine. “Sure, we’ve always been friends. Chey will let you know when she’s ready to return. Sound good?”
“I—”
I don’t give her a chance to respond before ending the call.
Rude?
Probably.
But I’m irritated at how this woman is treating her daughter.
The room is plunged into silence, thick with everything I just set into motion.
Chey stares at me in shock before whispering, “I can’t believe you just did that.”
Honestly? Neither can I.
I glance at the phone in my hand before passing it back to her. Her fingers brush mine as she takes the cell, and I catch the smallest tremor there.
She’s still shaken. But there’s something else in her expression.
Relief. Probably a fair amount of disbelief. And maybe even a little bit of gratitude, although it’s doubtful she’d admit to it.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Looks like there’s no turning back now, Hollywood.”
Still clutching the towel like it’s the only thing holding her together, she lets out a huff that might have passed for a laugh on any other day.
The truth is, Dakota or not, there’s no version of this scenario where I walk out of this hotel suite and leave her here alone. That should be my first red flag. Instead, all I can think about is how having her sleep just across the hall from me is going to test my restraint in ways I’m not ready for.
Still… I don’t hate the idea.
Not even a little.
If anything, I want this woman closer.
Which is probably the biggest red flag of all.
7
Cheyenne
Knox carries my suitcase while I take the overnight bag and try not to think about the fact that I’m moving into this man’s home. Even if it’s temporary and our relationship is fake.
It’s still happening.
He stands close enough for the heat of his body to radiate through my sweater without us actually touching. Somehow, that feels even more dangerous. Like all it would take is one shift and suddenly there’d be no space left between us at all.
The doors of the elevator slide open, revealing his sprawling penthouse with its floor-to-ceiling windows. It hits me all over again that I’m not sneaking in with his parents’ keycard at ten o’clock at night. I’m actually moving in.
The place is all dark wood, polished stone, and sharp edges. It’s gorgeous in a way that doesn’t need to try too hard.
Just like him.
And now I’m stepping into the middle of it with my duffel bag and drama.
“You can take the guest room.”
I trail after him as we pass by the kitchen and living room before turning down another hall. Even the way he moves through this place is different than it was in the hotel. He’s more at ease here, like the space fits him in a way that makes me painfully aware it doesn’t fit me at all.
He pushes open a door and steps aside so I can enter first. The room is beautiful, with pale-gray walls and a king-sized bed. There’s a private bathroom with a window that overlooks the city.
He nods toward the room across the hall. “Mine’s right there.”
I glance into his bedroom, barely able to suppress a shiver. The space separating our rooms feels much too narrow.
I set my bag on the bed before turning toward him. The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Are you sure about this? I can always find a different hotel. Maybe something outside of the city.”
There’s the briefest hesitation as emotion flashes across his face. It’s there and gone before I can name it. Not annoyance exactly. Or even reluctance, which I was prepared for. It’s something heavier. As if he’s already regretting the decision.
“No, it’ll be fine.”
“Knox—”
His expression hardens. “You’re safer here.”
I glance around again, suddenly feeling small in the massive space. It makes me acutely aware of how much room he’s making for me. How much of his life I’m stepping into for reasons that have nothing to do with him and everything to do with the mess that followed me to Chicago.
“There’s a Railers event this weekend,” he says, neatly changing the subject. “Some charity thing. We can debut this new relationship there.”
My stomach flips. “Already?”
It’s not just the idea of cameras, press, or gossip sites photographing us together that makes my nerves jump. It’s the idea of pretending Knox and I are intimately involved. Of standing beside him, smiling for pictures, and letting people believe he’s mine while trying not to think too hard about how nice it might be if it were actually true.
“It’s the best way to sell this relationship. Plus, even if your mother hates the idea, I’m sure she’ll blast it all over the internet.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, as if we’re discussing practice schedules instead of a fake relationship that feels all kinds of dangerous.