Lincoln carefully avoids my gaze, playing with the pull tie on the side of my shirt, rubbing the cotton between his fingers. “Not that he told me, but we’re not exactly swapping recipes with each other right now, so that could either mean nothing, or they don’t have enough to point at anyone.”
I trust Lincoln’s instincts, but my gut is telling me it’s Kyle, and it knows how to clock douchebags.
“So, it could have been Kyle.” His silence is enough to tell me he doesn’t believe it yet. That’s fine. I can work on that. “I’m not saying he did it himself. You said he pays other people to do the dirty work. What I want to know is why.”
“That’s easy,” Lincoln says. “Money.”
I groan. The guy needs a new move. “God, that’s so boring.”
My Lincoln reappears when he laughs and pulls me back into his lap, strong hands bracketing my hips. “I’ll tell him you’re disappointed.”
There’s a conversation I’d pay to see. Fuck, I knew Kyle was a dick, but this is low even for him. “I want to dig into this douchebag. No one treats you like this and gets away with it.”
I don’t know if there’s a word for the man who is my fake boyfriend/friend/landlord who once bent me over and railed me to the best orgasm of my life, but the one thing I know is that I’m fucked.
The worst part? It’s not even the sex. Don’t get me wrong, the sex was phenomenal. A multitalented, multidimensional kind of amazing. I can’t tell whether it’s better or worse to look at his hands and remember them gripping my throat and filling me up until I was begging for his cock.
The issue is the way he uses those same hands to reassure me. Brushing the sensitive part of my neck with his thumb, laying his palm on my thigh under the table, holding my hand as we talk.
There’s fondness in his eyes now, sparkling like glitter in sunlight. Like he thinks it’s sweet that I care. Like he isn’t used to anyone who isn’t family giving a shit. It breaks my heart. “You don’t need to involve yourself for me. This is a family problem. I’ll handle it.”
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but what else did I expect? He’s right. It’s not my family, not even close. I’m only the make-believe girlfriend, the rehearsal for the real thing. Nothing more.
I scramble off his lap. It’s ungraceful and obvious, and I couldn’t care less right now because he’s looking at me with those sweet silver eyes, and if I don’t get out of here, I might actually start believing my own lies.
“Right, of course. Family. I’ll, uh, get out of your hair, then.”
“Ivy?”
I don’t look back as I call for the elevator and leave. Now I remember why I didn’t want to let myself fall for the fantasy. Because when reality hits, it hits hard.
CHAPTER40
AH
LINCOLN
As soon as Ivy stands, I know I’ve fucked up. Shit. I’m cursing myself as the lift closes behind her, a game plan forming in my mind as I wait for it to return. I won’t lose her, not to my fumbling and not to Kyle’s bloody machinations.
“Ivy,” I say, knocking gently at her door. My instincts are going haywire, halfway to dialing a jeweler as part of a grand apology, even as I know it’s not the right choice this time. This needs tact. Honesty. Everything I’m unpracticed in.
The relief when she opens the door almost sends me to my knees, right here in the hallway. I grip the doorframe, steeling myself. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
That she doesn’t immediately launch into what’s bothering her is the biggest sign that this goes deeper than my tosspot of a cousin. I’ve learned enough now to know that Ivy only hides behind silence when the truth is too big to bear.
When there’s a real possibility of being hurt.
“Come here,” I say, pulling her into a hug. I have to fix this. There’s pain in her eyes, and there shouldn’t be. Not now, not ever. Knowing I’m the cause of it, even a little, pains me.
She presses herself into me, slipping her hands under my shirt as she hugs back, the touch of her skin on mine a vice I might never shake. All I can do is press my lips to her temple, breathe in the glory of her soft, clean scent, and try to memorize how good she feels in my arms.
Muffled shouting and a car horn seep out from Fil’s apartment, whatever film he’s watching playing at full volume. Wafting down the hall is the smell of someone’s dinner, rich and spicy. Somewhere out there, Kyle holds the fragile tether of my reputation in his slimy hands.
But the only person worth thinking about right now is quietly clinging to me, and I don’t know why.
“Sorry that I keep messing with your life like this,” she mumbles against my chest. Christ, how did I ever think my heart was prepared for her?
She’s killing me.
