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)
“One hundred percent. Here’s what you need to know about me: I’m a possessive boyfriend.”
“Don’t you mean possessive fake boyfriend?”
“Yup.”
She just stares, which I can’t blame her for. If our positions were reversed, I’d probably think I was out of my damn mind as well.
Who knows? Maybe I am. That’s exactly what Cheyenne fucking Benson does to me.
“All right, fine. I’ll agree to your so-called rules. Does that mean you’ll actually go through with this?”
Even though it’s a shit idea, what other choice do I have? The thought of her walking out that door and texting Brooks, or any other male with a beating pulse, has my jaw locking so hard it aches.
“Yeah,” I grumble. “I’ll do it.”
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t have to sound so thrilled.”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
She nibbles her lower lip and her shoulders droop. “Look, I’m not interested in dragging you into something you clearly hate. Let’s just forget it.”
Like hell we will.
I take a step closer before forcing myself to stop. It’s so damn tempting to lay my hands on her. “It’s a done deal, sweetheart. For all intents and purposes, I’m your boyfriend.”
“Fake boyfriend.”
“Sure.”
She looks up at me, and without the constant sniping, the energy between us turns charged.
Which isn’t any better.
In fact, it’s a hell of a lot worse in a different kind of way.
I cringe, forcing the next question out. “Do you need a place to crash?”
The thought of her sleeping under the same roof as me is enough to set every nerve ending on edge.
“Nope. I booked a suite at the Regency.”
Thank fuck.
It’s bad enough we’ll have to spend time together. Her living here would push me straight past my limits, ending in disaster. I’m not sure I have enough self-restraint to keep my hands off her if she’s sleeping across the hall from me.
“So, unless you’d like to tack on a few more rules, I’m going to head out.”
“Nope. I think we’re good for now. Although, if I come up with anything else, I’ll text you.”
She glares. “Perfect. This is going to be so much fun. I can hardly wait.”
I nod as she turns to the couch, picks up her purse, then beelines for the elevator. I can’t help but trail after her like a lost puppy. The most confusing part is that, as much as I need her to go, I want her to stay.
She presses the button, and we stand awkwardly in the entryway while waiting. The silence is different now. Thicker. Tense in a way it wasn’t when I first found her in the living room. Twenty minutes ago, I’d been fighting back surprise.
Now I’m fighting awareness.
Of her.
Of me.
Of the fact that this fake arrangement already feels like a disaster waiting to explode in my face.
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my pants and shift on my feet. “I guess we’ll talk tomorrow?”
“Yup.”
Just as the elevator chimes, I slip a hand from my pocket and hold it out. “Give me your phone.”
“Excuse me?”
“Pretty sure you heard me the first time.”
With a huff, she digs her cell out of her purse before slapping it against my palm. The warmth of her touch lingers long after she pulls her hand away.
“That isn’t necessary.”
“You’re wrong about that. Plus, you already agreed to it. Let’s not forget rule number four.”
“It’s three. There aren’t four rules.”
I lift a brow. “I could certainly come up with another one if you’d like.”
When she presses her shiny, entirely too kissable lips together, I chuckle and hit the side button. “What’s the passcode?”
Surprisingly, she doesn’t fight me.
“Zero-six-one-two.”
My fingers still over the screen. “June twelfth?”
She shifts. “Avery’s birthday.”
I glance at her. “I know my goddaughter’s birthday.”
“What kind of godmother would I be if it weren’t my passcode?” she fires back. “A terrible one.”
“Yeah. Same.”
Her brows pull together. “Wait. Are you saying that’s your passcode too?”
“Obviously.”
“Obviously?” she echoes.
I stiffen before grunting. “She’s my goddaughter too.”
“Huh.”
“Huh what?”
She lifts one shoulder. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the sentimental type.”
“Ever consider you don’t know me half as well as you think you do?”
Her brow furrows as she looks up at me.
When she remains silent, I add in a softer tone, “Family is everything to me.”
Her expression softens. “Guess I never really thought about it like that, but I suppose it makes sense.”
A quiet beat stretches between us.
Avery is Colby and Britt’s first kid. The first grandchild in both our families. I still remember how it felt when her tiny fist wrapped around my finger in the hospital, and the way Chey cried harder than Britt when Avery was born. She refused to hand her over for nearly an hour, like she’d already fallen in love with the little girl.
It shouldn’t hit me so hard that we picked the same numbers for our passcode.
But it does.
I take her phone and unlock it. After a few quick taps, I hold it out to her.