Page 27 of The Wild Card

I recall the way he looked at Murphy last night, betrayed that his own cat liked me better. The way he stood in my doorway watching me decorate, eye twitching but not stopping me. The way he washed my mug without saying anything, managing his discomfort quietly so I wouldn’t have to change.

Crew Jensen is a disaster wrapped in control issues, wrapped in a really excellent body.

And apparently, I’m his fake girlfriend now.

I pull the contract toward me and read through Section 7 again, more carefully this time.

Attending work functions. Okay, I can do that.

Answering phone calls with “appropriate enthusiasm.” Vague, but mangeable.

Social media presence. I barely post anyway, so two photos a month isn’t a big deal.

Two months’ duration, or until the transfer is canceled.

“So let me get this straight,” I say slowly. “You need me to pretend to be your girlfriend for a couple of months, show up to some work events, post some cute pictures, and then we’re done?”

“That’s the general idea.”

“And in exchange, I get…”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

I want none of this. That’s what I want.

This is insane. This is absolutely insane. I should tear up this contract, find a new apartment, and pretend I never met Crew Jensen with his stupid gray eyes and his stupidly perfect forearms.

But.

I need this apartment. I need the stability. The rent’s within budget. And honestly, something inside me feels a twinge of sadness for him—the big, muscular man who has probably never experienced love in his entire life.

There’s also the way he shared his story with me—the foster care, the anxiety, the therapy—that makes me believe he rarely opens up to anyone. Yet, he confided in me. Plus he did lower the rent from what he initially wanted for the room.

“Okay,” I hear myself say.

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it, but on one condition.”

“And that is?”

I grab a pen from the clutter on the table and flip to a blank page in my notebook. “I have some rules of my own.”

Chapter Six

The Negotiation

Crew

Emmie pulls the notebook toward her, pen poised like a weapon. “If we’re doing this, I want to add Boyfriend Duties. Fair is fair.”

“Boyfriend Duties,” I repeat, the words foreign.

“You have a whole list of things I have to do as your fake girlfriend. I should get something out of this too.” She taps the pen against her lips, thinking. She labels the notebook page Addendum. “First: jars.”

“Jars.” My eyebrows shoot up.

“Opening them. All of them. Non-negotiable.” She writes it down in loopy purple script. “They’re always sealed too tight, and there’s a lot of pasta sauce in my future. You’re on jar duty.”