Page 32

I narrow my eyes. "Yeah. You don't tell anyone this is real or fake unless I agree to it first. That includes your friends, your family, and anyone at the club."

His jaw tightens. "Yue—"

"I mean it, Ekon. If we're doing this, we're doing it right. No half-assing it. I need to know who you tell shit to, so no slipping up. You can't make me pretend and then tell someone the truth because you think it's funny."

"I don't think this is funny at all," he begins, voice thickening.

For a long moment, we stare at each other. Then Ekon steps closer, moving toward me at my kitchen counter. My breath catches, but he doesn't touch me. Yet, the cool wind from his body flares against me.

"I won't fuck up anything, Yue," he says quietly. "I promise."

I don't know why, but I believe him. Ekon doesn't leave my apartment though. That jackass makes his damn home on my couch. I meander to the bathroom in my bedroom. I'm brushing my teeth when he enters the hallway. A tap to the door has my eyes swinging sideways out the bathroom.

"Yue?" he calls.

"In here," I say around my toothbrush, giving him permission to enter.

He appears in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. His locs are loose now, no longer confined to a scrunchie. They fall around his face, and his gray eyes track my movements in the mirror.

"What do you want?" I ask, spitting into the sink.

"We need to practice."

I rinse my mouth and turn to face him. "Practice what?"

"Kissing."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"Kissing," he repeats, stepping into the bathroom. "If we're going to convince people we're mates, we need to be comfortable with each other. That means practicing."

"We've already kissed, Ekon. Multiple times. I think we're fine."

"That was different. That was..." He trails off, his gaze dropping to my mouth. "That was heat-of-the-moment stuff. This isn't that."

I cross my arms. "And you think practicing in my bathroom at six in the evening is the way to do that?"

"Why not?"

Before I can answer, he steps closer and plucks the toothbrush from my hand. I open my mouth to protest, but he's already wetting the bristles and squeezing toothpaste onto them.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Brushing your teeth."

"I was already brushing my teeth."

"I know. But if we're going to be mates, I need to know how to take care of you." He lifts the toothbrush to my mouth.

"Fake mates."

"Tomato, Potato."

A snort bubbles in my nose, and I stare at him like he's lost his mind.

"Open," he says.

"Ekon—"