Her eyes flare. “I told you. Don’t you remember?”
He sighs heavily. “Shoot. You’re right. Excuse me,” he says. Chastened, he cups her elbow and guides her to the back of the store.
Skylar turns to me, her eyes twinkling. “Trouble in paradise?”
“But not in fake paradise,” I whisper, and we didn’t plan this. Hell, we barely plotted anything besides the care and feeding of the pee plant, but I slide an arm around her waist.
Her breath hitches.
She moves against my hand like a cat, seeking touch, her back arching against my palm.
Here in the corner of her ex’s quirky shop, next to a stack of vintage Monopoly games, I angle my body close to my revenge fake date.
Tuck a strand of her red hair behind her ear.
Watch her lips part.
Drag my finger along her jawline.
Observe her fighting off a shudder.
Then, fuck it.
“We said it shouldn’t happen again, but that doesn’t include a kiss, does it?”
“It doesn’t,” she says, turning her face so her lips graze mine. It’s a teaser kiss but it’s hardly enough for me.
I press my fingers firmly on her back, kissing a little deeper till she opens for me.Yes.She tastes so good. I forget we’re in public, at a party, surrounded by guests.
Until someone bumps an elbow into my back, and we wrench apart.
“Sorry, man,” says a guy in skinny jeans and a plaid shirt.
“It’s all good,” I say, and the dude weaves past us to join a group in the corner of the store.
I try to clear the fog of that kiss from my head, but it’s hard with the way Skylar’s looking at me with glossy eyes that say she wants more. With a hungry tilt in her pretty lips. I’m about to toss her over my shoulder and sayfuck that one-time thingwhen a throat clears from behind me.
I turn around.
My fists clench, reflexively. It’s Landon again, with the woman in glasses by his side. “This is Gretchen,” he says. “Just wanted to introduce everyone.”
“Oh, great! I was so hoping you would,” Skylar says, laying it on thick.
But Gretchen just offers a simpering smile, missing the sarcasm.
After the intros, Landon rocks back and forth, saying, “How did you meet?”
Shit. We didn’t practice our story. It never occurred to me anyone would ask. Which is a huge fuck-up on my part. Itshouldhave occurred to me. Of course people ask.
But my job is to react and to react really well. “She’s my designer,” I say.
Too bad Skylar answers at the same time with: “My dog humped his dog.”
I snap my gaze to her, and we stare wide-eyed, nonplussed.
Landon arches a brow. “So, you’re not quite clear on how you met?”
“That’s funny,” Gretchen says with a simpering laugh. I’m not sure if she’s saying the way we met is funny or Landon’s question is hilarious, but I am sure of one thing—they’re not winning.
