I smile—hard.
Especially knowing he can’t see me looking like a giddy teenager because of the texts he’d just sent me.
He just wants you for your body, the devil inside reminds me, but I will it away and focus on my screen. On the way his words made me feel.
It makes me want to fuck with him—just this once.
After all, he’s the reason we’re even in this predicament.
If he didn’t pretend to be my boyfriend that very first night, I wouldn’t have known who he was that first day on set. We would’ve had a regular, colleague relationship.
My fingers tap away on the screen, my chuckle turning chaotic when my first message sends as I wait for his response to come through.
Me:Sorry, who’s this?
Unknown:How many fake boyfriends do you have?
Me:Depends who you ask.
Me:Wait…Robbie? I thought I had your number saved.
Me:This is a little unexpected, but I mean…why not?
Me:You know where to find me.
I send the last text with a grin so wide, my cheeks are starting to hurt, and my face heats. The little gray dots appear and disappear on my screen so frequently, I’m almost certain it’s glitching.
Until they disappear completely.
Heading to my room to slip into something more comfortable, I rummage through my drawers, pulling out black bike shorts, shimmying them up my thick thighs, and an old, oversized Paramore shirt that I throw over my head.
A fist pounds at my door, and it startles me.
With my heart hammering in my throat, I shout, “Hold on,” making sure I look semi presentable in the floor-length mirror against the back of my door, phone and keys in hand, my sunglasses now resting on my head.
“Who the fuck is Robbie?” Cole yells the second my door whips open, and he stalks inside. His frustration is obvious as he rests his palms on my kitchen countertop.
His triceps bulge through his dark gray t-shirt, and I don’t know how they don’t rip his sleeves to shreds.
I hate that my mouth salivates at the mere sight of a visibly jealous Cole.
It just…does something to me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shrug, clenching my thighs together while playing ignorant. Like these types of conversations are the most natural thing in the world. “Oh, you mean RobbieCrossland?” I sing out his last name, because I saw the way he tried to act cool in front of Harley, and that alone told me he was a fan of football. And if he was a fan of Harley when he was the Eagles superstar quarterback, he’d definitely be a fan of Robbie.
“Robbie fucking Crossland is who I have to compete with?” he spits. His grip tightening on the edge of the stone top, his knuckles turning white.
“Compete with? As far as I’m concerned, Cole, there is no competition. You and I are pretending to date for work, remember? All because you thought it was funny to let everyone know that I was off limits.” I hold the door open, hoping he takes the hint to leave. “Behind closed doors, I do who I want and what I want. But I promise, in front of people we work with, I’ll be the world’s best girlfriend.” I need time to compose myself before I break character and drag him into my room for the night.
You’d think I was the actor out of the two of us.
“You’re right.” He sighs with a slight nod, raising his hands, and accepting defeat. “I guess I’ll see you at work, Jenna.” He stalks out of my apartment, and slams my door behind him. My stomach twists at the realization that he didn’t find my joke funny at all.
In fact, he downright hated it.
Good, I remind myself.It’s better this way.
Keep it strictly…romanceat work, while being nothing to each other, everywhere else.
