He tips his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t strike me as the polite type.”
“Only when someone doesn’t let a door hit me in the face.”
“That’s a low bar, sweetheart.”
“Good,” I murmur, stepping past him. “Means you might actually clear it.”
“You keep talking like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like me.” He laughs under his breath, and the sound settles somewhere between my ribs.
“Relax. I barely tolerate you.”
“Lucky me… but I plan to change that.”
The rain has stopped, leaving everything slick and shining under the glow of the streetlights. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I’d grabbed a jacket.
He stops beside my car and turns to me, palmoutstretched, that smug little grin tugging at his mouth. “Keys?”
It takes me a second to realize what he’s asking. I fumble in my bag, find them, and hand them over. Our fingers brush briefly, and the tension between us sparks to life again, but this time, he doesn’t pull back right away, and neither do I.
“Are you always this jumpy?” he asks, mouth curved like he already knows the answer.
“Only when strange men follow me into elevators.”
He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “You’re cute when you lie.”
“Cute,” I echo, rolling my eyes, because it’s easier than admitting what that one word does to me.
“You like being called cute?”
“I prefer being called right.”
“Then we’re both in trouble.”
The banter between us is a shield, flimsy but necessary. It’s the only thing keeping me from blurting out something reckless because underneath every jab and smart remark, there’s this pulse of awareness I can’t shut off. Every time he smirks, every time his voice drops just a little too low, it feels like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t mean to show him. And I can’t decide whether I want him to stop or keep going.
Neither of us says anything. The quiet between us feels heavier than the words we were just throwing around. He’s still looking at me, and I do what I always do when I feel cornered. I reach for humor.
“Already acting like it’s your car?” I tease, breaking the silence before I drown in it.
He lifts one shoulder, unlocking the door with lazy confidence. “Just trying to make sure my fake girlfriend gets the full-service experience.”
“Is that what you call this?”
I start toward the passenger side, the gravel crunching under my shoes. He falls into step with me, close enough that I can feel his presence without looking and reaches the door a beat before I do.
He opens it, then pauses, resting one hand on the frame as he looks at me over the roof, eyes glinting under the streetlight. “Depends on how the night ends.”
I try for an eye roll, but it doesn’t land. He waits until I slide in before leaning down to buckle my seat belt. His hand brushes my collarbone on the way back, and my entire body locks up.
“I can do it,” I say a little too quickly.
“I know.” His voice dips lower, quiet and certain. “But you let me anyway.”
My pulse kicks so hard it steals the next breath right out of my chest. The entire world seems to shrink to the space between us, to the way he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that exists. It makes me want to forget everything else—the fake date, the rules, the reason we’re even here.
He straightens up and shuts the door with a soft click. A second later, he’s in the driver’s seat beside me, the hum of the engine breaking the silence.
“Address?” he asks, fingers already on the GPS screen.
