Sable flexes her fingers where they rest on the counter. “And how do I do that?”
I taste the words before I let them out.
“You let her see that you’re mine.”
Sable freezes.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and unblinking.
I don’t move.
“Yours,” she echoes, measuring, processing and turning the word over in her head.
I nod once. “We spend time together. Publicly. She needs to see it. Needs to believe that someone bigger, meaner, and far less stable than her has his eye on you.”
Shaking her head like that will physically reject the idea, she says, “So, what? You’re going to be my… bodyguard?”
I smirk. “Truthfully? I’m thinking boyfriend.”
Pink lips part slightly, but no sound comes out.
I watch realization settle in from the way she adjusts herself in her seat, dragging one knee up again, chewing the inside of her lip. Aside from getting her a restraining order and signing this blonde up for a padded cell, this is her best option. Even if it scares her.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I say, voice low.
She doesn’t.
She just swallows, lifts her chin. “I read a lot. Fake dating is one of the cringiest tropes.”
I smirk, cocking my chin. “Who said it will be fake?”
Her breath catches, just for a second, before she says, “I’m old, Hex.”My name on those lips.“You’re young. I’ve got a kid, a whole boring life. And you”—she waves her hand as if dismissing the idea—“you’ve got freedom.”
I push off the counter straightening to my full height. “You’re not old. You’re thirty-nine, and I’m thirty-one.” I step closer, keeping my gaze locked on hers. “There’s absolutely no problem.”
Her mouth parts, but whatever words she’s reaching for don’t make it out. Instead, she just looks at me, her eyes betraying the uncertainty.
“You were studying my ID.” It slips out in a murmur meant more for her than me, a half-formed excuse to believe I couldn’t have remembered. “Still... you’re young, and I’m…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Not.”
I lean my forearms onto the counter in front of her, my voice dropping to something more serious. “You’re exactly the right kind ofnot.”
Those lips pop open again and take the shape of an ‘o’. I don’t think she expected that response. She feels it land—every word, every truth—heavy and immediate. But I’m not done. I’ve only just begun.
“Tomorrow,” I say, leaning in a little. “Let me take you out. We’ll talk more about all of this. You’ll tell me what’s going on, and maybe we’ll have a good time.”
The chestnut glow of her eyes drifts away from me, searching the room for somewhere to hide. “I’d love to, but I’ve got to mow the lawn tomorrow. Yard work is usually my Sunday thing.”
I let out a soft breath. “Yard work, huh?”
A tight smile shows up on her face. “Yeah. Bash, my son—he’s ten—he’ll be home tomorrow afternoon from his dad’s. He’s got him every other weekend, so I like to get things in order before he’s back.”
I can’t help but study her. Mentioning her son lights up her eyes, and something about that pulls me in deeper.
Just as I’m about to say something else, her phone buzzes on the counter where she had pulled it from her back pocketand set it beside her. She flinches, telling me she’s been getting messages she doesn’t want. Probably for a while. She grabs it quickly. Her face drops as she reads something on the screen, lips pressing together in a way I’ve quickly learned means she’s stressed.
“What is it?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Sable tries to brush it off, but the tension in her face doesn’t lie. “Nothing,” she mutters, but she doesn’t move.
