The air between us is charged, electric, scarily dangerous. We’re in the middle of a boutique with my brother photographing our every move and a sales associate watching with poorly concealed delight, but right now, none of that matters.
All that matters is the way Nitro is looking at me.
Like I’m the only person in the entire world.
Like I’meverything.
“This is the one,” I hear myself whisper.
“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse. “This isdefinitelythe one.”
Beck materializes at my elbow, grinning as if he were the Cheshire cat. “I’m going to say this once,” he whispers loud enough for Nitro to hear. “You’re not faking it, are you?”
Nitro’s eyes never leave mine. “Shut up, kid.”
But he doesn’t deny it.
And I realize, with startling clarity, that I’m not faking it either.
“We’ll take it,” Nitro says to Simone, but his eyes never leave mine.
My heart does this weird stuttering thing. “Nitro, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” The certainty in his voice makes something in my chest tighten. “Consider it part of the fake -dating arrangement.”
Right.
Fake.
This is all fake.
So why does the way he’s looking at me feel so devastatingly real?
“Sure.Fake.That’s definitely what’s happening here.” Beck chuckles, and when I finally manage to tear my eyes away from Nitro, I catch the knowing smirk on my brother’s face.
Oh no. Beck sees it. Whatever this is between Nitro and me, Beck sees it, and I’m going to get interrogated to within an inch of my life the second we’re alone.
“Your brother’s a pain in the ass,” Nitro tells me, finally breaking eye contact to glare at Beck.
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips, grateful for the moment to breathe. “He grows on you.”
“Like a fungus,” Beck agrees cheerfully, already heading for the door with his camera bag. “Now, who wants to grab dinner? I’m starving, and I have approximately four thousand questions about this motorcycle club situation that Marley conveniently forgot to mention until today.”
Oh God.“Beck, no!”
“Beck, yes!” He’s already heading for the door, leaving Nitro and me standing in the boutique like two people who desperately need a chaperone.
I turn to Nitro, apology written all over my face. “You don’t have to,” I say quietly. “If you want to head out, I totally understand. I know my brother can be a lot, and you’ve already done so much for me, and this wasn’t part of our deal—”
“I’m in.”
I jerk my head back. “What?”
“I said… I’m in.” His lips curve into this small smile that does dangerous things to my pulse. “But I’m picking the place. Beck looks like the kind of guy who’d choose somewhere with tiny portions and fancy names.”
“I absolutely am that guy!” Beck calls from the front of the shop.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m driving.” Nitro turns to me, offering his hand without seeming to think about it. “Come on, Small Town. Let’s go feed your brother before he wastes away.”
