I’ve been complimented before.
Derek used to tell me I was pretty, usually right before pointing out everything I needed to fix. My dad says nice things when he’s trying to smooth over my mom’s criticisms. Beck hypes me up constantly, but that’s what brothers do.
This?
This is different.
Because Nitro means it.
I see it in the way he’s looking at me, in the tension radiating from his massive frame, in the protective fury simmering beneath his words.
“I—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “Thank you. For being kind.”
“I’m not being kind,” he says quietly, his voice dropping to that low rumble that does dangerous things to my insides. “I’m being honest.”
Oh God.
Don’t fall for him.
Don’t fall for him.
Don’t fall for this beautiful, protective, genuine man who looks at you like you matter.
Tiffany suddenly returns with his coffee, setting it down with another flirtatious smile that Nitro completely ignores. She lingers for a beat too long before finally retreating.
“So…” I grab a napkin and pull a pen from my bag, desperate for something to do with my hands. “Rules. We should probably establish some ground rules for this whole fake-dating thing.”
Nitro picks up his coffee, takes a slow sip, and nods. “Smart. What were you thinking?”
“Well, we need to make it believable, right?” I start writing, my hand shaking slightly. “So maybe… hand-holding? In public?”
“Hand-holding,” he repeats, and there’s something almost amused in his tone. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
“And pet names.” I write that down, too, even though I’m not sure why I’m documenting this like it’s a business contract. “Like you calling me Small Town, me calling you City Boy. That kind of thing.”
“I think that’s a given.”
I tap the pen against the napkin, my brain racing ahead to the part I’ve been dreading. “And… kissing?”
The word hangs between us, heavy and loaded.
Nitro’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers tighten around his coffee mug. “If it comes up. If we need to sell it.”
“Right. Just one. If necessary.”
“If necessary,” he agrees, the corner of his lips turning up ever so slightly.
The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a knife, my pulse pounding in my throat, in my wrists, in places I didn’t even know had a pulse.
“We should practice,” I blurt out, immediately wanting to take it back when his eyebrows lift. “I mean, not the kissing! Oh, God, I just meant… like going on more practice dates? So, it looks natural when we’re around Derek and his people?”
Something that looks suspiciously like disappointment crosses Nitro’s face. “Practice dates. That’s a good idea.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He leans back again, more relaxed now. “We can’t just show up at the gala cold. People will see right through it. We need to build a… what do they call it? A narrative?”
“A narrative,” I echo, slightly dazed by the fact that he’s not only agreeing but actively strategizing. “Exactly.”
