“Thank you.”
“What?”
“For pretending….”
Pretending? What the hell is he talking about?
“Can you please do it for a second longer?” he asks. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but…”
“Sure,” I say, my voice a breathless whisper. I part my lips without hesitation, ready to kiss him a second longer, or maybe even an hour, when his deep voice curls around me.
“I really appreciate it.”
With my ‘good-decision-making-skills’ on hiatus, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying to me. Cripes, I don’t really believe in fairy tales or happily ever after, but I feel like Cinderella with birds chirping and singing as they fly and dance around my head. “Appreciate it?”
“Yeah, the pretending…you…me…” His dark lashes fall slowly over those rich, caramel eyes. “This is for show.” He gestures with a nod toward Breton, and that’s when that one working brain cell I have left smacks some sense into me.
I straighten and square my shoulders. “Yeah, sure. I know.”
Nope, didn’t know. Still kind of don’t know what’s going on.
“I’ll pay you back for this. I promise.” He tugs on my hand to set me into motion. The room is wobbly in my view, and I can’t seem to focus on anything. Like a fish following a shiny lure, I blindly let him lead me to his table and he holds his hand out for me to slide in. I drop down and shimmy to the other side, thankful to be off my feet for a second.
I smile at the two people seated across from me, and instantly recognize Rider Lewis, aka The Wingman. The gorgeous woman with him must be his wife. Breton is saying something—correction, sputtering and spitting something—and my gaze slowly turns her way. Why do I feel like I’m caught in a bad nightmare, and everything is moving in slow motion?
“…You have got to be kidding me,” Breton says, and the strangers seated across from me squirm uncomfortably, but Wes here, he throws his arm around me, and tugs me closer. I shouldn’t like the way my body presses against his, nor should I like the strength in his embrace, and the need it arouses in me. His fingers skate over my skin, and in no way at all should that reduce me to a ridiculous schoolgirl crushing on the popular jock. I never did that back in high school, and have no intentions of losing myself, or who I really am, in this guy. Which means I need to get the hell out of here, pronto.
His hand slides up and he lightly brushes my cheek. I lean into him, absorbing his warmth. Okay, what was that I just told myself?
“She…she plays for the other team, Wes,” Breton blurts out, and heat crawls into my face as her words register. I’ve never once corrected the rumor, never cared too. If people want to think I prefer girls over guys, let them.
Wes’ hand tightens for a second and then he laughs it off. “Small towns and their rumor mills.” He winks at me. “Maybe I’m glad there were rumors. Otherwise, some other guy might have snatched this beautiful woman up before I found my way back home.”
I smile at him, and my lust-rattled brain slowly starts to put the pieces together—he wants me to pretend to be his girlfriend. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s some weird revenge scheme against his ex, or some ploy to make her jealous and win her back, and I just happened to be at the right place at the right time for him. Or the wrong place at the wrong time. Yeah, that’s more like it.
“You know I can’t stay long, babe,” I say, falling into the ridiculous role, for reasons I can’t explain. “I still have some work to do.”
“We were just about to order dessert. You can stay for dessert, can’t you? You know they make the best apple pie here.”
“I…I…”
“Please,” he murmurs quietly as Breton stomps off. “It’s the least I can do, you know, for letting me kiss you like that.” He stares at me with those syrupy eyes, and as my heart beats faster, I’m suddenly back in fairy tale land, breathing in a bed of daisies as I run barefoot through the wide-open meadow, the sun in my hair, the birds singing a love….
Ohmigod, kill me now.
“I suppose,” I say. What the hell am I doing? What happened to that no-nonsense woman who promised herself she’d never get drawn in by a charming guy? Then again, I’m a bit of a softie when it comes right down to it, always the first to jump in when someone needs help, which clearly Wes needs. Is it really going to hurt me to have a piece of pie with him and his friends—payment for letting him kiss me? Afterward, I can simply go out of my way to avoid him, but pie for payment, yeah, why not? And no, I am not going to be thinking that I should be the one rewarding him somehow because that kiss was…traumatizing in the most delicious ways that are going to keep me up at night.
“You’re welcome,” I say, the fight going out of me.
“I appreciate that you didn’t stab me in the nuts with a fork when I kissed you.”
“Only because I didn’t have one in my hand,” I lie. I liked it. A lot.
He grins and his friends burst out laughing. “So if I ever do that again, I’ll be sure not—”
“We won’t be doing that again.”
His brow crinkles. “That bad, huh?”