“Finally,” Andrew sighs. “Where the hell am I supposed to be driving to?”
“Now who’s hangry,” Nicki replies. “Did you have dinner before you left? I did tell you in my message to eat first.”
“Yes, yes, no eating on this date, I got that message loud and clear,” Andrew snaps, tapping his steering wheel. Three times with his left hand and three with his right. His eyes dart across the lanes, tracking the movement of cars as they speed down the freeway. “Where am I going, Nicki?”
“I’ll text you the address so you can tap it directly to your navigation.”
“Okay great, but where?—”
“See you soon, highness.”
The phone disconnects, followed seconds later by an incoming message with an unfamiliar address that is close enough to Los Angeles to make Andrew’s blood pressure rise. He hates Los Angeles. The city itself is fine, the people are great, the food is incredible, but the traffic is enough to almost make Andrew want to quit driving.
Setting his navigation to the address provided, he’s surprised when his GPS pops up with the name of where he’s going.
What. The. Fuck
* * *
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not, Nicki.”
“We did your date, now it’s time to do mine.”
“First, I don’t think that’s how dating works. Second, what does this kind of date have to do with making your father believe that we’re a couple? Third, did you fill out the paperwork?”
“One, it is, because I say so. Two, it’s all part of the plan. And three, uh I forgot.”
“What plan?” Andrew asks, planting his hands on his hips in an eerie impersonation of his mother. Thank god Charlie isn’t here to see it. “And did you actually forget, or are you lying to me? I swear to god if you’re lying to me, I’ll?—”
“You’ll what?” Nicki interrupts, leaning against the wall like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s dressed down just slightly today in a pair of designer jeans and a soft looking long sleeve black shirt with a scandalously low v-neck, a myriad of his tattoos on display. Andrew has the inexplicable urge to map them out, which only makes him feel more flustered.
“You’ll do what?” Nicki prompts when Andrew hasn’t answered.
“I’ll have strong words for you.”
“Oh no, strong words,” Nicki snickers. “You gonna tell me I’m naughty too?”
“Youarenaughty,” Andrew sighs. Until this very moment, he didn’t know there was a person alive who could try his patience more than his twin brother, but Nicholas Whitmore takes the cake as the most annoying, difficult, pain-in-the-ass man alive.
“You know, some of my exes called me that.”
“Yes, well I’m not your ex, am I?”
“No, you’re my boyfriend.”
“Fakeboyfriend,” Andrew corrects.
Nicki waves a dismissive hand. “Details.”
Andrew twists his watch band. “I like details.”
“I bet you do. You probably read spreadsheets for fun before bed too, don’t you?”
“I do not,” Andrew answers, thinking about the book he just started last night, something he found recommended on Reddit with fated mates, and feels his face heat. “I read—well, it doesn’t matter.”
