Page 47 of Beg Me

“That pissed him off, didn’t it?” He doesn’t fight his grin. “Fuck that guy, Markie. You can do so much better.”

“I’ll concede that point. But what am I supposed to do now that he thinks we’re dating?”

“He’s drunk. He won’t remember.”

I laugh. He clearly doesn’t understand how small towns work. “Oh, he’ll remember.”

“Then say he’s a liar.” His shoulders, wrapped in a black cotton T-shirt that matches the hat sitting backward on his head, lift in a shrug. “It’s not like that’s too hard to believe.”

“And have everyone think that I lost a boyfriend to a pretty blonde from Colfax County, then couldn’t find a partner, then got one and lost it—and then I got a new hot boyfriend and then … not?” I snort. “I don’t think so, rugby boy.”

He takes a step toward me, his eyes twinkling. “So, what are you saying, pickleball girl?”

“Pickleball girl, huh?”

Jory stops inches from me. His chest nearly touches mine. If I coughed, our bodies would touch, and I’d melt into a pool of lust at his feet.

“You can’t answer my question with one of your own,” he says, his voice deepening.

I tilt my chin. “I’m saying you’re going to have to fake date me. You caused this mess. You’re going to have to help get me out of it.”

“Oh, darn.” His smile is filthy. “Does this fake-dating scenario have any built-in benefits?”

Someone knocks on the door, yelling at us to hurry up. But neither Jory nor I break eye contact with the other.

The air between us swirls, growing thicker and hotter with each passing second. I should say something witty, then open the door, effectively ending this stunt that I’ll probably regret in the morning.

But I don’t.

Instead, I place my hands on his chest, pressing my fingers into the fabric of his shirt. His pupils widen as his gaze locks on mine. All I can think about is dropping to my knees and making him follow through with his threat from earlier.

“It was very chivalrous of you to come save me tonight,” I say, smiling up at him. “But it was also very, very hot.”

His forehead wrinkles. “Save you? I wasn’t saving you, Markie.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“I promised to go to war with you. And I keep my promises.”

Mother.

Fucker.

I lick my bottom lip, desperate for physical contact. I can’t help that it’s effectively breaking my own rule about not sleeping with men who won’t give a shit the next day. After what he did tonight with Jasper, and the swoony shit flying out of his mouth right now, I’m waving the white flag of surrender. What’s a rule without an exception?

“What’s happening here?” he asks, the words feathering across my lips.

I stand on my tiptoes, running my hands up to his shoulders. “I’m hoping,” I say, staring at his mouth. “That I’m about two seconds from getting kissed.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Fuck, Markie.”

“We can do that, too,” I say, laughing softly.

His eyes squeeze together as if this conversation is pushing his restraint to the brink.

When he looks back down at me, I can see the heat in his eyes that’s burning in my belly.

“No, we can’t,” he whispers, leaning back and away from me. The pained look on his face does nothing for me. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.”