Page 72 of On The Edge

“It’s only been weeks since Michael and I broke up.”

“And your point is what, because that didn’t answer either of my questions?”

“Because the question is irrelevant. Cruz isn’t like that. No doubt he looks at me and—”

“Wants more.”

“Bullshit.”

“Has he been avoiding you? Does he pick fights with you? Keep you at a distance?”

“So what if he does? I’m majorly cramping his playboy lifestyle. Plus, he has to be sick of me and doesn’t want to give me ideas that he wants more.”

“Girl, that kiss he gave you on camera? You’re telling me that was just for show?”

“One hundred percent.” I relive the wave of euphoria I had when his lips touched mine and then the pang of disappointment when I realized the cameras were there. “Kevin was on us to make our relationship known. The cameras were there. Believe me, by the look on Cruz’s face, it was the last thing he wanted to do.”

“A man doesn’t cup a woman’s face if he doesn’t want her. He gives her a peck on the lips. A kiss to the cheek. He does not step up to her and cup her face before slowly going in for the cinematic kiss.”

“You are so full of shit.”

“Watch the replay. It’s all over social media played to the sounds of women’s hearts breaking.”

I have watched it. Many times. Each time reliving the feeling of his hands on me. But I never looked at it in the way that Tessa did. I never saw it in that light.

“But you don’t like him. Don’t want him,” she deadpans. “Says the woman who bit her bottom lip when she stared after him in the garage.”

“I did not.” Oh, shit. Did I?

“It’s your tell. The thing you do when you are crushing hard on a guy. I saw it plain as day. So did however many millions who watched it.”

“I do not have a tell.” I so do.

She smirks and that look on her face tells me I’m screwed and that she’s right and has the receipts to back it up. “You don’t? Watch the replay.”

Fuck.

“You’re making my point for me. It was all for show. For the cameras. That kiss was to sell the lie. I promise, I’m not into him. He’s not into me. We had sex. It was fun. Now we’re all business.”

“That’s a lot of explanation for someone trying to convince herself there’s no spark there when, sweetheart, you two were smoldering.”

“Tess. This is me we’re talking about here. A Texas girl who wants to pay off her student loans and work her way up to vice president of branding at some top firm somewhere. I am not Cruz Navarro material. What happened was a blip in the matrix.”

“The same blip in the matrix that forced you two together when you never would have met otherwise.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“Maybe, but I’m still left wondering why you’re fighting this so hard.” She throws her hands up. “It’s me here. The one you go to for everything, and I’m sitting here watching you try to convince yourself you’re not into the man when it’s clear as fucking day you are. You wouldn’t be arguing otherwise. It’s okay to admit you want to fuck him again. It’s even okay to admit you kind of have feelings for him—hell, you’re living with the man, it would be impossible not to. But the question you need to be asking yourself is why do you think you don’t deserve either of those things?”

Deserve those things? Like the hardening of my nipples every time he touches my lower back? Or the slow simmering ache in my lower belly every time he leans in to whisper in my ear, his breath tickling my cheek? Or is she talking about the butterflies that hit me when sometimes I look up and he’s staring at me from across the room?

Reading into everything is second nature to me. I’ve written all that off as a me thing. As the result of wanting to be touched like a woman—the way Cruz touched me—versus like a stuffed animal you’re kind of bored with but take out and play with every once in a while. And maybe I didn’t realize the difference until the night we had sex.

“I do deserve them. You’re right. But at the same time . . . this whole charade will be over in a few months. Then we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programs.” And where will that leave me?

“Meaning he’ll be richer and you actually think after a few months of jet-setting and living the high life in Monaco that you’re going to be able to come back here and live the same life you were and be content with it?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I sure as hell hope not.”

“What are you saying, Tess?”