I chuckle. “I’ve never had a long-term relationship.”
“And why’s that?”
“Too busy with work. Being a soldier, then being a cop.”
Then getting justice when the law fails.
She rests her head against my shoulder. “Then maybe we should be glad this is only make-believe, huh?”
I clear my throat. I’m aching for her in a way that makes no damn sense. I just met this woman and yet…
“Maybe,” I say. “What about you, Elle?”
“What happened toSunshine?”
“You like that?”
“Yeah, actually. I do.”
“You know, Sunshine, if I were your boyfriend, I’d kiss the top of your head right now. Like in the movies. Lean in and kiss you and smell your scent.”
She finds my hand in the dark. Squeezes hard. When she speaks, it’s daring, like she’s taking a chance and knows it. “Then maybe you should do that.”
I move my lips to her hair, breathe her in. She smells of vanilla, and something else, something more primal. When I kiss her head, she makes a soft sighing noise that touches something deep inside me.
“That felt very… convincing,” she murmurs.
“I’m convinced,” I agree.
“So, if you’re determined to pretend, you’re not a ladies’ magnet?—”
“Whoa, slow down. What do you mean, pretend?”
“I saw the way those women were looking at you today.”
“What women?”
“Come on,neighbor. The ones power walking down Main Street, the yoga-pants gang. It’s not a big deal. They were just staring.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her, clueless to what she is talking about.
“Oh,really?”
“Seriously.” I look down at her. She’s staring up at me, suspicion in her eyes. “I don’t remember any women, yoga pants, or sweatpants, or any kind of pants.”
“Seriously? Most men would’ve loved that: been flattered at least.”
I search my mind, not wanting to lie to her. Not more than I already am, anyway. “Seriously.”
“Then you’re a different breed, Rhett,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s nuts. Anyway, I was saying… maybe you should tell me what your dream girlwouldbe.”
“You really want to know?” I ask.
“If you tell me, I can try to be more like her. You know, to sell our whole fake-relationship thing.”
“My ideal woman would probably be around twenty-four years old, with perfect gold-colored eyes, a shield of sassiness but a clear, gorgeous layer of vulnerability underneath. She’d be the best big sister any girl could ask for, and a fighter. Every single day she’d fight. Even when she was scared. Especially when she was scared.”
Elle licks her lips, eyes glistening. I love it when her eyes do that. Shine like she might cry, but she will not let herself. Strength and softness mixing together.
