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As soon as we landed, I did my best to busy myself with pointless shit, but it was no use. Somehow, in not even two hours post arrival, I found myself right in front of our hotel, making up an impromptu reason to see her again.
When I brought her to the plane, my intention wasn’t to touch her. I only wanted to have lunch with her, be near her, but I’m beginning to lose my strength.
I can’t resist her, and I don’t want to.
We spent all the time we could with each other before the others joined.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
The whole flight, I beat myself up about everything I didn’t do to care for her after I finally broke her rule.
I’ve never cared to partake in aftercare. My evenings always came with timestamps, and the women I brought home knew what they were signing up for.
With Fia, even if she claims she doesn’t need it, I fucking do.
As she settles in, I stifle a groan, hand pressing firmly on my hardening length as my girl is finally back where she belongs.
“Nice fit.” I smile at her choice of clothing, still parked and looking over at her. I remind myself to get her one of everything from my athleisure store.
Her eyes cut to me, though they aren’t as sharp as I know them to be.
“Just drive, Parker.”
Pulling out from the hotel, I ease into the crowded traffic of downtown Indianapolis.
“I was planning to take today off.” Her tone is hushed and laced with sorrow.
“You’re not dancing today.”
I feel her look at me, but I don’t do the same. Partially because I can almost guarantee she has a sour look on her face, and also because I just got my cock settled. Taking one look at her is only going to stiffen it right back up.
“Then where are we going?”
Fia’s been working herself to death. She busts her ass at tour rehearsals, and when she’s done there, she spends endless hours on Haven’s new single. Her work ethic is inspiring, but the lack of care she gives herself raises my blood pressure.
Fake boyfriend or not, I won’t let her run herself into the ground.
When I don’t answer quickly enough, I hear a fake cough nudging me in the right direction. I can’t help but smile at her eagerness.
“I’m taking you on a date.”
She groans. “I said no—”
“It’s not up for discussion.”
I don’t need her constant reminder that this is fake, or the persistent highlight of rules that she can hardly even keep. Not when nothing about this feels fake, and after earlier, I just need to finish out my moment with her.
My clipped tone forces her back into her seat with a flop.
As we coast, the ride is silent, but the tension between us is slowly reaching a new level. Gone is the forced discomfort, and in its place is something more sensual. Behind her act, I don’t miss the stolen glances, or the way she wiggles when I inch my arm over the middle console, just barely touching her.
“I’m not dressed for a date.”
It’s a last-ditch effort to get out of this, but it won’t matter. Our evening is already planned.
Pulling into the parking garage of Steak Prime, a local steakhouse, I turn to assess my co-pilot, and fuck, does she look better than anyone I’ve ever had.
Images of her accompanying me through life send a thrill of forever through my veins, leading right to my heart.
