I roll over, punch my pillow once like that’s gonna knock some sense into me and close my eyes. But all I see is Eva. I hear her voice. Her laugh. Don’t get me started on her damn smile.
Fake fiancée or not, I think I might be in trouble. If Noah notice that I really like his sister, he will kill me and I don’t want to have a fight with my best friend. I need to stay focused on what’s important and not loose myself in her.
I’ve failed miserably today.
My plan? Focus on work. Be productive. Keep my head down and stay the hell out of my feelings.
In reality, I’ve done nothing but think about Eva since the moment I woke up. Her laugh, the way she teased me.It’s pathetic. I even tried to act cool around Noah, but I’m pretty sure the man suspects something is off with me.
Thankfully, he didn’t say anything. Probably saving it for the next time we’re out fishing so he can roast me properly.
Now I’m standing here, watching the clock. I told myself I wouldn’t go overboard today. No fancy dinner. Just some spicy crab dip and a batch of tostones because I know she loved them last night. Something casual. Friendly. Easy.
Totallynota date.
Except… I may or may not have trimmed my beard this morning. And yeah, I put on cologne. Not a lot. Just enough. I didn’t throw on a nice shirt, either—just a plain fitted tee and joggers. Comfortable. Relaxed.
Still… I checked the mirror more than once before sitting down. Because even if this thing between us is fake, she’s real. And I like having her around more than I should.
Now all that’s left is waiting for the knock on the door. Or the ding of her car door outside. Or any sign that she’s here and this ridiculous nervous energy in my chest can finally chill the hell out.
There’s a knock at the door and suddenly I forget how to breathe.
I take a second to check myself in the reflection on the closest window—because I’mnotridiculous—and then open the door.
Eva’s standing there with a giant tote bag slung over one shoulder, her cheeks pink from the cold. She's wearing jeans that hug her legs in a way that makes my thoughtsveryunholy, and a soft-looking cream-colored sweater tucked in at the waist. Over it, she’s bundled up in a tan beannie with a fuzzy ball on top. Cute. Way too cute.
“Hey,” she says, smiling like we didn’t spend half of last night fake planning our engagement.
“Hey,” I manage, stepping aside to let her in. “Do you always carry around your entire apartment?”
She laughs, brushing past me, and the second she slips off her coat, the fruity scent of her shampoo hits me like a damn truck. Strawberries or peaches or something summery and bright. Her hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, and I suddenly have this completely inappropriate urge to touch it. Just to see if it feels as soft as it looks.
Down, boy.
“This?” she lifts the tote dramatically. “This is my mobile empire. Tripod, ring light, camera stuff, some skincare samples, a water bottle, snacks, chargers—basically everything but a fire extinguisher.”
“No extinguisher?” I raise an eyebrow. “What if your moisturizer combusts?”
“I like to live dangerously.” She grins.
“Food’s on the counter,” I tell her, gesturing towards the kitchen. “Grab a plate before your empire collapses under its own weight.”
She sets the tote down with a dramatic sigh and heads toward the food. “Mmm, is that spicy crab dip?”
“Yup. And more tostones because I’m apparently trying to win your love through fried food.”
She takes a bite, groans, and does this little happy dance that makes me want to kiss the food for being the reason she’s making that sound. “Esteban, this is insane. I might have to come here every day just to eat.”
“I’d support that life decision,” I say, pouring us drinks like I’m not internally spiraling.
Once we sit down, she reaches into the tote again andstarts pulling things out like Mary Poppins. “So, I thought we could film a skincare basics segment for my page. I’ll introduce the new men’s line I’m testing, and you’ll be my charming model.”
I lift a brow. “You sure about that? I don’t know if charming is my default setting.”
“Please,” she snorts. “You flirt like it’s your full-time job. You’ll be great.”
“Maybe it’s different with you,” I say, softer this time, holding her gaze. “Maybe I really want to impress you. Maybe I flirt because I actually like you.”
