“Boring?”
“People act like they care when you’re talking, but really they’re just counting down the seconds until they can grab the mic back.”
“Fascinating worldview,” he said, setting her bag on the bed. “Thanks…for sharing.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was never an oversharer until Mr. Uptight interfered in my life.”
“And he’s the one who sent you to therapy?” Marcus kept his tone light, as if he were clarifying a footnote.
“Right.” Frankie’s mouth curved, sharp and vengeful. “Mark my words, when I discover his identity, he will die a thousand ugly deaths.”
Marcus forced his expression into something neutral, even amused, though the threat landed with precision. All the more proof she could never know it was him.
“What if you meet him and fall in love with him? Will he—”
“Bite your tongue. Fall in love with him? Not a chance.” She shuddered. “Absolutely not him.”
The declaration shouldn’t have stung, but it did. He cleared his throat. “Tell me more about this friendship club.”
She perched on the edge of the bed and slipped off her heels, which, against his better judgment, drew his eyes straight to her legs. Long, bare, and entirely too distracting.
“Officially, it’s being called Operation Small-Town Chic. Because I couldn’t exactly put How to Fake Being Friendly So You Don’t Die Alone on the invitations. But it’s kind of brilliant. And philanthropic, if you ask me.”
“Philanthropic, huh?” He forced his gaze away and moved toward the door like he mightactually use it.
“In case you haven’t noticed, this town needs fashion help. And their social skills? Borderline tragic. I’ve invited the ones who need me most.”
He told himself to say goodnight and keep walking. That would’ve been smart. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe like a man staring down a train. “You’ve read one book on making friends and now you’re running seminars?”
“Please. I was already an expert. I just didn’t bother to deploy my knowledge. For obvious reasons.”
This should be interesting. “Such as?”
She grabbed a decorative pillow and plucked at the fringe. “I don’t like people.”
He bit back a smile. And still, she was starting a club. Not for show. Not to prove a point. To actually try. She was hiding it under fashion, but the truth peeked out like a tag left dangling on new clothes.
It made her human. Messy. Maddeningly…likable.
Which was exactly the problem.
He shoved the thought away. The Bad Boyfriend Project was already wobbling like a drunk on roller skates. If he let himself enjoy her honesty, he was done for.
Still, surely he had more bad boyfriend moves available to him that didn’t involve bad sex. Moves that would produce quick results. Preferably ones that didn’t come with asshole tactics and lasting psychological scars.
Think. Think—
The foster cat.
Georgehad griped about it again while rewiring the upstairs outlets. Grouchy. Territorial. Demon-possessed. Returned by the past three residents who’d tried to adopt it.
Perfect.
Marcus pulled out his phone and typed fast.
Marcus: SOS. Bring the cat. The angry one. Say it’s a welcome-to-town gift for Frankie. Her feelings are hurt she hasn’t received a welcome basket and Ziggy has.
He hit send, pocketed the phone, and realized he was grinning. Fantastic. He was plotting feline sabotage while smiling like a man halfway in love with his target.
