Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
He studies me like he’s searching for a crack.
Then he nods once. “Fine.”
Ash wanders back over, grinning like a menace. “So… should we install that sprinkler system now, or are you two going to handle combustion on your own?”
Levi doesn’t look away from me when he answers. “We’ll handle it.”
My heartbeat refuses to settle. Because I know Levi Kane. And if he decides to play this game?
He doesn’t spark.
He scorches.
Chapter 3
Levi
Fake dating should not feel like this.
It should feel controlled. Strategic. Manageable.
It should not feel like I’m standing on the edge of a structure fire with gasoline in my veins.
Sadie Marshall is currently holding my hand in the firehouse parking lot.
“Relax,” she murmurs without looking at me. “You look like you’re being marched to execution.”
“I don’t relax on command.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. Warm. Familiar. Dangerous.
“That’s because you have control issues,” she says sweetly.
“I don’t have control issues.”
She glances up at me. “You just growl at church ladies and glare at cupcakes.”
“They were weaponizing frosting.”
She laughs, and it hits me low and hard, like it always used to.
We’re walking toward the station doors. Crew members linger near the engines, pretending not to watch.
Sadie swings our joined hands once. Casual. Comfortable.
It shouldn’t feel so natural.
“You’re stiff,” she says.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I’m committed to the bit.”
Her thumb traces absent circles against my palm.
“You’re playing with fire, Hotshot.”
She smirks. “Good thing you’re trained to handle it.”
Inside, the bay falls quiet in that way only a room full of nosy firefighters can achieve.
Ash whistles low. “Well, look at that.”
Sawyer leans against the engine with a coffee mug. His eyes track our hands like he’s evaluating structural integrity.
“You two look like you’re five seconds from either kissing or committing a felony,” he says calmly.
Sadie beams. “We’re just practicing.”
“Practicing what?” Axel asks.
“Believable couple body language,” she answers without hesitation.
Every eye turns to me.
I keep my expression neutral. Professional.
“She’s assisting with community optics,” I say flatly.
Sawyer lifts a brow. “Community optics.”
“Yes.”
Sadie squeezes my hand again.
I don’t pull away.
“You look real,” Axel says.
“We are real,” Sadie shoots back, then catches herself. “For ninety days.”
The room erupts in low chuckles.
“Blink twice if she’s blackmailing you,” Ash mutters to me.
“I’m not being blackmailed.”
Sadie leans into my side deliberately, her shoulder brushing my ribs. “He volunteered.”
I did not volunteer.
But I also didn’t stop her.
“Okay,” Sawyer says, sipping his coffee. “Just know if this explodes, we’re filming it.”
Sadie blows him a kiss.
I guide her toward the hallway before she escalates things.
“You’re enjoying the audience,” I murmur once we’re out of earshot.
“I enjoy a good performance."
“That’s not what this is.”
She tilts her head. “You sure?”
I stop walking.
She bumps lightly into my chest. Too close.
“You want believable?” I say quietly.
Her breath catches.
“Yes.”
I slide my hand from hers to her waist.
Firm. Intentional.
Her eyes darken.
“This is believable,” I murmur. “Hand-holding is high school.”
Her pulse jumps beneath my thumb.
“Levi,” she warns softly.
“You set the terms,” I remind her.
Her fingers curl into the front of my T-shirt.
“Public affection,” she says.
I lean closer. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Her chin lifts in defiance. “You don’t intimidate me.”
“No?”
My thumb drags slightly along her hip. Just enough to test.
Her breath stutters. “Not even a little.”
“Liar.”
We hold the stare one beat too long.
She steps back first.
“Practice over,” she says lightly.
But her voice is not steady.
By the end of the week, we’ve developed a rhythm.
Parking lot hand-holding.
Shared coffee cups from The Devil’s Bean.
Inside jokes resurrected from the ashes of high school.
“You still hate mushrooms,” she says one evening as she steals fries from my plate at the diner.
“They’re fungus.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You’re still bossy.”
She grins. “You loved that.”
I don’t answer. Because I did. I still do. That’s the problem.
The town gossips and firehouse crew watches everything. Every brush of her fingers against my arm. Every time I automatically move closer when someone bumps into her.
Sawyer corners me near the lockers.
“You sure this is fake?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.”
He studies me. “You look like you’re restraining yourself from something.”
“I am.”
He snorts. “Good luck with that.”
The real test comes when she shows up at my cabin unannounced one night.
I open the door to find her standing there in fitted jeans and a cropped sweater that does nothing to help my breathing.
“Evening,” she says brightly.
“It’s eight.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you here?”
She steps past me like she belongs here. “Field training.”
I shut the door slowly. “Explain.”
She drops her bag on my couch and looks around critically. “This place screams emotionally unavailable bachelor.”
“It is an emotionally unavailable bachelor’s cabin.”
“Exactly.” She walks into the living room and starts rearranging furniture.
“You can’t just—”
“I can,” she interrupts. “If we’re going to sell this relationship, I need to know how you move in your own space.”
“I move fine.”
She picks up a throw pillow and tosses it aside. “You move like a man who’s been alone too long.”
I cross my arms and watch her. Big mistake. She bends to adjust the rug. My jaw tightens.