It feels good enough to wreck my judgement.
I angle my phone to find the right frame. My hair has come loose from its bun, a few strands falling around my face. Finn seems almost possessively tender. His mouth is a breath from my neck, his gaze soft in the phone’s screen.
It’s a perfect lie.
‘Smile like you’re enjoying this,’ I murmur.
‘Not easy when I’m trying to keep you at a safe distance.’
‘Safe from what?’
‘Let’s say…you’ve seen it in certain leaked photos.’
‘Huh?’ It takes a second. ‘Oh.’
‘Aye, oh.’
Oh god.
I’m almost sitting on his dick. I’ve been a few inches away from it this whole time and now I know it and he knows I know it and my brain is fried.
I stiffen. Pun not intended.
But why would he… I mean, I’m not his type. Even though he says he doesn’t have a type, I’m definitely one hundred per cent not it.
He lets out a low breath. ‘Relax, it’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen. It’s just a reaction to how…convincing you are.’
Something about his voice makes me believe him; he sounds more amused than anything else. Finn Lennox. Rugby wild child and bad boy extraordinaire. The Dennis Rodman of Scottish rugby, so to speak. And I?—
Anyway, back to business. Right the fuck now.
I snap the picture. And another. Then I scramble off his lap before my body forgets this is all performance. The air in the room is charged. I stare at the photo on my phone. It’s disgustingly convincing.
‘We’re getting good at this.’ His voice is a little rough.
‘We are.’ I clear my throat, eager to get back on safe and neutral territory. ‘But we should probably practise a bit more. For the shoot tomorrow. We need to act natural.’
‘Practise?’ He raises an eyebrow, that crooked edge already curling at his mouth. ‘What did you have in mind? Please say more lap-sitting.’
‘Shut up. No, watching a film.’ I ignore the heat that fuses my cheeks. ‘On the sofa. Together. Get used to physical proximity.’ I sound like a malfunctioning, overheating robot. ‘As friends and colleagues, of course.’
‘So we’re friends, now?’ His grin widens. ‘I’m honoured, Theo. A real promotion.’
‘Don’t let it go to your head, Lennox. It’s a temporary post with a strict probationary period.’ I scroll through the streaming services on the television. ‘What do you want to watch? And if you say a rom-com, I will smother you with a cushion.’
‘God, no. My heart couldn’t take the schmaltz.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘What about Life of Brian?’
I stop scrolling and turn to him. Monty Python. Of course. It’s absurd and brilliant. ‘Always look on the bright side of life?’
‘It’s thematic,’ he says with a shrug.
A real laugh escapes me. It’s rare and wonderful. ‘Fine. But I’m not singing along.’
‘We’ll see.’
I pull the sofa bed out to give us more room. We pile it with cushions, and I grab the woollen blanket from the back of my armchair. He sits, those strong legs making themselves at home. I hesitate, then sit beside him, leaving a careful, professional six inches between us.
He takes in the gap and smiles. ‘Come here, darlin’. You said physical proximity.’
