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She doesn't take off her coat, just loosens the belt.
"Mia said you were in a jam," she says, leaning back. She doesn't order coffee. She doesn't look at the menu. She just looks at me, those blue eyes scanning my face.
"The team wants me settled," I say, leaning forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. I try to find that crisp professional voice, the one I use for agents and reporters, but it comes out too thin, almost lost in the atmosphere between us.
Rory gives a steady, deliberate bob of her chin. "And in exchange, I get my mother to stop trying to marry me off to every unattached man she comes across."
Just hearing her say it, the notion of her being linked to someone else, someone who isn't me, lights something wild and unhinged in my chest. But I swallow it, all of it, and keep my focus. “It’s a win-win for both of us.”
“We need to discuss the terms,” she continues, and I should be relieved she’s discussing this like a business transaction, but the last thing I feel for Rory Fox is business.
"It’s simple," I agree. My throat feels tight. I’m looking at the way her collarbone shifts when she speaks. I am realizing, with the suddenness of a blindside hit, that pretending to date Rory Fox is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Because I don't want to pretend. I want her more than I want my next breath. Fucking hell. That hit I took in practice this morning must’ve scrambled my brain way the fuck more than I thought it had. “We go on dates and pretend to be madly in love for a few months. Then we stage a break-up and go our separate ways.” Not fucking happening.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a pen. It’s a cheap plastic thing, but she holds it like a scepter. She signs the bottom of the agreement with a flourish. "Great. Now, about the story. How did we meet?"
I shift in my seat. “Let’s keep it simple. Mia introduced us.”
Rory tilts her head, a stray lock of hair falling over her eye. I have the sudden, violent urge to reach out and tuck it back. I keep my hands gripped around my coffee cup instead. “That’ll work. When do you want to start our little charade?”
I watch her draw in a deep breath and nearly groan out loud as my cock grows hard in my jeans. I must look like a fucking idiot just staring at her. I force my brain back to business, but really, my only business right now is her.
“Tomorrow night,” I say, locking eyes with her. Her lips twitch, and damn if I don’t want to see what they feel like smashed against mine. “The Right Spot Bistro is the perfect place for us to be seen together.”
She nibbles her bottom lip, and my pulse skyrockets. “Sounds like a plan.” She grabs my cup and brings it to her lips for a sip. “Yuck.” She grimaces and sets it back down. “I can’t believe you take it that sweet.”
“You don’t take sugar in your coffee?” I smirk and reach for my cup.
“Not that much.” She laughs as I tap my phone, open to her contact, and hand it over. “Put your address in so I can pick you up tomorrow night.”
Rory takes the phone, but she brushes her fingers over my knuckles when she does. My breath leaves in a rush. Those nails, sharp plum, send a bolt straight to my groin. She must feel the charge because her eyes flick up to mine, hungry for a second before she covers it with a crooked smile.
I watch her fingers as she taps her info into my phone. She hands it back, and her fingertips brush mine just enough to make my pulse stutter. My cock is hard, straining against my jeans; I shift to keep things from getting too uncomfortable. Hell. I’m not sure what the fuck is happening to me.
“Does six-thirty work for you?” I ask, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
She leans back, hair slipping over her shoulder. “It does.”
“Are you always this talkative?” I tease, my gaze glued to her lips, every cell of me wanting more.
She tilts her head and grins at me, all slow mischief. “I’m saving myself for tomorrow night.”
Fuck. I’m about to embarrass myself in this goddamn coffee shop.
My cock is rock hard now. I dig my fingers into my thigh under the table, trying not to shift around like a goddamn teenage boy. I reach for my coffee to have something to do with my hands, but she’s still watching me like she can see every dirty thought bouncing around in my head.
“I could handle anything you dish out, sweetheart.” My voice sounds like I’m choking on sand, but she just laughs, rich and warm.
“Tomorrow then.” She reaches for her purse, and I stand as she rises. She barely comes up to my chest, but she squares her shoulders like she’s about to take me out at the knees.
She leans in, lips close to my ear. “See you tomorrow.” Fuck me. I’m in so much trouble here.
CHAPTER FOUR
RORY
The dress is a mistake. It’s a deep plum silk that clings to every curve I’ve spent years trying to camouflage with oversized sweaters and high-waisted trousers. It doesn't just suggest my hips; it announces them to the room. I stare at my reflection in the hallway mirror of the apartment I share with Mia, wondering if I should run back and change into something more ‘fake girlfriend’ and less ‘first date.’
“You look great,” Mia says, leaning against the door frame with a bowl of cereal in her hand. “I told you that dress would be perfect.”
