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Riley patted his hand. “That’s because you’re a guy who doesn’t understand fashion.”

“Apparently not,” he said. And perhaps only Marlowe noticed his tone tighten during that sentence.

Well, that would teach him to buy expensive leather jackets for his fake girlfriend before researching biker chicks.

Jace ran his hands over his jeans and turned to Marlowe. “Do you want something to eat? The onion rings here are really good.”

“Are the two of you still hungry?” Lucas asked. “I thought you just had dinner and ice cream.”

And that was the first mistake of the evening.

Jace froze and cleared his throat. “You know Marlowe. She has a huge appetite. Bottomless pit, I’ve always said.”

“Yep,” Marlowe said with forced cheer. “That was his nickname for me in high school. Bottomless pit girl. It’s also one of the reasons we broke up.”

“Oh,” Riley said uncomfortably. Her eyes darted between Jace and Marlowe.

Well, this was off to a bad start. But on the other hand, they were definitely picking up where they left off.

“I’m jealous of your metabolism,” Riley said, trying to smooth things over. “It must be nice.”

Jace took hold of Marlowe’s hand and gave her an intimate smile. “I’ll have to come up with a better nickname for you.”

His thumb ran across the back of her hand, a boyfriend sort of gesture. Fortunately, the electricity that had surged through her when they were teenagers was no longer there. This only felt like a part in a play.

He looked upward, considering. “Your nickname will have to be something that none of your other boyfriends have used, so I guess that eliminates Hellcat and Trouble.”

Irritation prickled through Marlowe. When Jace had said she would play the role of the bad girl, she hadn’t thought he would be inventing new things about her that had never actually happened.

She was going to have to fix this. She leaned forward over the table so Lucas and Riley could hear her better. “The name Hellcat was because I have a cat who hates most of my boyfriends. Sometimes animals are really good at recognizing self-absorbed, throw-a-girl-under-the-bus liars. Which is, you know, a lot of men.” She smiled at Jace. “I’m sure Mittens will warm up to you, though. Don’t take all that hissing tonight as a bad sign.”

Jace coughed uncomfortably and sent her a What are you doing look.

Marlowe returned her attention to Riley and Lucas. “You can probably guess where the nickname Trouble came from—my infamous painting stint at Safeway. I had a boyfriend who just couldn’t let that go. He thought calling me Trouble was cute. And that’s how you know a guy is a total loser.”

Jace dropped her hand and scanned the room. “Are you thirsty? Should we order some drinks?”

“You really do think I’m a bottomless pit, don’t you?” She playfully patted her stomach. “I’m still full from the ice cream. Why don’t we dance?” She took off her jacket as though the matter were decided, draped it over the seat, and slipped out of the bench.

Jace trailed her out onto the floor. The DJ was playing a slow song, one where the singer’s deep voice stroked the melancholy melody with each note. She would have liked dancing to a faster song better, something that wasn’t so intimate, but she had no choice except to let Jace pull her into dance position. He put his right hand on her hip and his left held hers. It was a casual stance, and yet she felt a tenseness in his posture.

He moved her around the floor with a firm lead and cast a glance over her shoulder to the table where Riley and Lucas still sat. “So far, your fake girlfriend routine leaves something to be desired.”

And now he was criticizing her. “Am I not dancing close enough to you?” She edged nearer, figuring it would bother him to have her all up and cozy in his personal space.

He didn’t seem to notice or mind. His eyes were fixed on hers. “Within the span of two minutes, you called me self-absorbed, a liar, and a loser.”

“I didn’t call you any of those things. I called my ex-boyfriends who gave me horrible gangster nicknames those things.”

His chin dipped. “Your body language said I belonged to that group.”

“Nonsense. I said Boots would love you.”

“Mittens. Your fake cat’s name is Mittens.” He looked upward and his shoulders heaved. “This is never going to work. You’re not going to be convincing.” His eyes shut in defeat. “My family will figure out I set this up, mock me for the rest of my life, and…” He stopped speaking because she’d taken her hand off his shoulder and slid it onto his chest in a flirty manner.

His eyes flashed open, and she felt the shift in his breath. Her hand continued to glide up his chest, slowly, seductively, until it rested loosely back on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asked.