“You’d be surprised.”
“Your ex?” Insisting on veggies first thing is the morning is totally a valid reason to break up with someone.
“My mother.” He shudders. “Baked Brussels sprouts should never be offered before noon. Or ever, really.”
I lean closer. “Ihateveggies. I choke them down because they’re supposed to be good for you.” And because Dad tells me all the time about how Mom ate salad to stay svelte and healthy. I suspect he said that to get me to switch to eating more salad and less protein and starch, but my palate is what it is. “If I had it my way, I’d eat nothing but meat, eggs and potatoes.”
“And cheese?”
“Well, yeah, of course. Can’t forget cheese.”
A beatific smile breaks over his stunning face. “My kind of woman.”
My breath freezes, and I stare at the bliss radiating from him. My heart pounds, screaming,He’s the one and you’re stupid not to jump his bones.
There’s no meat better than this man.
My head, on the other hand, is desperately yanking on the reins to pull back.
Just imagine how embarrassing it would be if he meant “my kind of woman” platonically, and you threw yourself at him. Your pride wouldneverrecover. Remember what Dad said? Mom never had to throw herself at anybody. Men threw themselves at her.
My mouth is too dry. I gulp down the now-lukewarm coffee. I wish I could read his mind so I could know how he really feels. His actions say he doesn’t see me as anything but his younger stepsister’s best friend, but I’d love to know if there’s a way to make him view me as a woman.
Jump him. He’ll see you as a woman, all right.
Hahaha, no. Terrible idea,I tell myself. If I mess things up, he’ll never look at me with a warm smile again. He’ll quit coming to the shelter and do everything in his power to avoid me.
You’re his “fake” girlfriend now. You can have “fake” sex with him, too.
Why the hell is my mind putting double quotation marks around fake? I meantfakeseriously. I’m just not the kind of girl someone like Nicholas would date for real. If I’d said, “Let’s date for real to stymie your parents,” he would’ve been like, “Sorry, not that desperate.”
“Let me clean up.” I need to distract my one-track libido before I do something stupid. I can’t imagine him wanting to date me for real, not after I saw him turn away all those gorgeous women.
“No, no, no. You cooked.” Nicholas stands up. “You go rest on one of the couches, and I’ll put everything in the dishwasher.” He makes a shooing motion with a small grin. “Go on. Go.”
“Do you know what to do?” I eye him suspiciously. “Or are you just going to leave stuff everywhere until your housekeeper comes?”
He laughs. “My housekeeper is off on weekends, and yes, I do know how to load a dishwasher. Emma—that’s my half-brother Emmett’s mother—taught us basic chores around the house.” He comes over and grabs my plate. As he does so, his arm brushes mine. All the hair on my skin stands, my belly winding tight with sexual zing and longing.
It's all I can do to do swallow discreetly and manage a cool, careless façade. “Okay. But if you need any help…”
He waves me away. “I’ll holler.”
Smiling at his confident attitude, I go to the living room and settle down on one of the plush sofas. Although the morning didn’t start quite the way I envisioned, it’s now progressing the way I hoped—friendly and peaceful. I check my phone for missed texts or calls. I have a few, but they aren’t urgent. But there are some from Georgia that I check immediately.
–Georgia: How did the date go? Dolce is supposed to be amazing. I hope Owen splurged massively on you.
–Me: Actually, Owen was there for work, so the meal was comped.
It takes only a few seconds before my bestie responds.
–Georgia: Wow. That was cheap. But at least the dessert was good? I heard the tiramisu is divine.
–Me: No idea. I left before I could finish my pasta.
–Georgia: What? What happened?
–Me: He dumped me.
