She gasps, looking scandalized and also thoroughly impressed.
I smirk.
“Keep your lecherous eyes to yourself,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.
I laugh at this, throwing my head back and letting my book drop to my lap. “If either of us is lecherous, it’s definitelyyou,” I say. “Your eyes bugged out of your head when I showed you my tattoo.”
“Hey,” she says, stepping closer as her eyes flash with interest. “Speaking of that?—”
Oh no.
“What’s in the fourth drawer?” she says, her voice eager.
“I’m not answering that,” I say. She’s been asking me this question at random intervals ever since last night, springing it on me when I least expect it. I think she thinks I’ll answer if I’m caught off guard. “And we aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you.”
“Meh,” she says. “Fine. But just wait until you see me in one of your sister’s fancy-pants outfits.” She grins. “You’ll be drooling at how wildly attractive I am, and then we’ll see who’s the lecher.”
“My sister wears yoga pants and mom jeans,” I say, trying to ignore the effect that grin is having on my pulse. “Nothing about her is fancy.”
Juniper holds up one finger. “Maybe not now,” she says, “but I called her this morning and asked if she had any clothes that would make me look rich, and she said she had some outfits from back before she got married and had kids.”
I shake my head, rubbing my hand over my scruff and trying to hide my smile.
“Ah,” Juniper says, quiet enough that it almost sounds like she’s talking to herself. When I look at her, her eyes are fixed on me, her gaze soft, a little smile dancing over her lips. “That’s my favorite.”
I swallow as my heart gives a few extra thuds somewhere in my chest cavity. That keeps happening—I keep catching my body responding to this woman in ways it shouldn’t. And I know it’s because I keep discovering new facets of her mindand her personality that fascinate me. “What’s your favorite?” I say. I keep my voice steady, casual.
“That smile,” she says, pointing to my mouth. “It’s one of my favorite expressions of yours. When you smile at me even though you’re trying not to.”
My heart gives another unnecessary thud, and I swallow. This is not a conversation we need to be having.
“All right,” I say, apparently shocking her completely—she startles, her eyes widening and losing that dreamy quality. “I’ll bite. But if we get to Tonya von Meller’s house and I don’t like the plan, I’m throwing you under the bus.”
She recovers quickly from her surprise, batting her eyelashes and giving me a cheeky grin. “I’m too pretty to throw under a bus?—”
“Hardly,” I cut her off with a snort of laughter. “I assume, if you’re telling me I can’t veto your cover story, that you’ve already set up a meeting of some sort? How did you do that?”
“I reached out to Tonya and asked if…”
Actually, she doesn’t trail off; she finishes her sentence, but I can’t quite tell what she says, because she’s mumbling, ducking her head.
“Sorry?” I say, frowning.
More mumbling, more bowed head, more shifty gaze dancing away from my suspicious look. “I just…”Something something, mumble mumble.
I roll my eyes, even as that feeling of foreboding returns twice as strong. “Juniper.”
She throws her hands up in the air, energy finally exploding from her. “I asked her if my husband and I could come meet with her,okay?” she says. “We’re married now, okay? Happy? That is the cover story. We’re married and we want her advice on starting our baby girl in the pageant life.”
I gape at her, completelylost for words.
“I know,” she says, waving her hand at me. “I know. You would never marry me. You don’t evenlikeme. But this is the best I could do. She’s not going to just randomly meet two people she’s never even heard of for no reason. We needed anin, Aiden.” Then her eyes jump to my phone, which is resting on the bookshelf next to the bust of Shakespeare. “Are you gonna answer that?”
“Huh?” I say. My brain is still processing the fact that I’m going to have to pretend to be married to this woman.
“Your phone,” she says, nodding. “It’s ringing.” Then she begins backing away. “Tomorrow,” she says. “We’re meeting with Tonya tomorrow, okay? And we’re going to be married. Can you get off work?”
“Meh. Maybe.” Probably; I only teach one class tomorrow. I watch her go, picking my phone up only when she’s out of my sight. “Hello?”
