It’s fake.
No matter how much I’m starting to wish it wasn’t.
Chapter 16
Blake
Iflick my eyes between Calla and the prick sitting behind her.
She stares down at the rings of wood engrained into the table of the pub garden we’re sitting in for a heartbeat too long, before she meets my gaze.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She nods, trying for a smile, but it’s not as bright as her usual grin. Something deep inside me opens up its eye, taking stock of the fact, I’ve become able to tell Calla’s real smile from her fake one.
“I’m fine,” Calla confirms, although I don’t believe her for one second. She’s not telling me all of it, that’s for sure. I don’t know what else Thomas the prick has been doing, how else he’s being treating Calla at work, but I know there’s something more beneath the surface. Otherwise, Calla wouldn’t be having to go to such extreme lengths, such as faking a date with her fake boyfriend, to get him to back off.
The reminder that tonight is fake is like a punch to the gut.
I hate to admit it, but I think Hudson and Grey were right; this is a terrible idea on my part.
Not because I don’t like Calla, but because I like hertoo much, and I don’t think I could say no to the girl even if I really wanted too.
Which I don’t.
I’ll take Calla Becker any way I can have her, for as long as she’ll have me, until she finds her prince charming.
And what a lucky son a bitch that man is going to be.
When the waiter returns with my beer and a vase of still water, Calla practically rips it out of his hand, knocking half of it back in one as if it’s vodka.
“Sorry.” Calla peers at me sheepishly as she pushes my now half full beer bottle across the table to me.
“Don’t be.” I hold her gaze, wrapping my mouth around the very spot Calla’s lips have touched.
“Is he watching?”
The flavour of yeasty hops bursts across my tongue, coating my tastebuds. I flick my eyes a little to the left, meeting the icy cold stare of Thomas McAvoy. “Mhm.”
Calla leans a little further across the table, grabbing the vase of water to pour both of us a glass. I can’t help but notice, out of the corner of my eye, the way her tits push together, the slinky material of her top moulding to the perky shape of them.
I’m pretty certain she isn’t wearing a bra. It was one of the first things I noticed as the waiter took my name and then lead me over to the bar where Calla was already sat, waiting. Her top, dipping low behind, leaves her entire back on display, without a single strap in sight.
My cock kicks in my trousers at the very thought.
Widening my legs beneath the table, I break the staring contest between Thomas and I first.
Any other time I might feel as if as I’ve lost the pissing contest, allowing the prick to win, but not tonight. Not when I’ve got Calla sitting right in front of me, garnering all of my attention without even knowing it.
Why would I want to spend all summer evening staring at his pug-like face when I can be looking at her, drinking in the fact that it’smeshe’s chosen.
Calla peers back down at her laminated menu, flipping to the mains page. “We should just act natural.”
“Iamacting natural.” I jolt as an unexpected kick ricochet against my shin. “Ow! What the fu—”
“Keep your voice down,” she grits through a sunny smile. “I didn’t even kick you that hard.”
“Liar,” I snarl back, without any real bite. Calla knows it too. I can tell in the way the corners of her lips twitch as if she’s holding back her laugh. “Do it again and see what happens, sunshine.”
