I sank back onto the couch with a thud.
He brushed a hand across his mouth. “You really thought I wouldn’t even try?”
Yes. That’s exactly what I’d thought. Because it fit. It fit the story I’d written in my head. It fit who he was.
And now the narrative was shifting under my feet. I stared at him, unsettled. He looked… different. Still made of the samepieces, but somehow clearer. Sharper. Like someone had wiped the fog off a mirror. A different kind of John.
“I guess a little competition’s good for my work stamina.”
I scowled. Nope. I hadn’t been wrong. Still arrogant. Still full of himself.
My phone buzzed, its sudden glow slicing through the moment.
I picked it up and squinted. It was Otis.
omg omg omg. You will NOT believe?—
I smiled.
“Is that your boyfriend, Nora Rose?” The voice across from me was low and amused.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said automatically—then instantly regretted it. Not his business. And he'd used my full name. He must’ve heard more of the conversation with Mom than he’d let on.
“Oh?” His smile faded to a smirk. “So you lied to your mom?”
Thanks for the guilt trip, Mr. Shitbag.
“That little collage—was that for her?”
I huffed. “I don’t have an explanation that isn’t completely mortifying, so I’m choosing not to answer you right now.”
He didn’t even blink. Just watched me.
“I can keep your little secret, Nora. I don’t have to tell the others how obsessed you are with me.”
I cracked. “My mom can’t know I’m here. In this competition. So I told her I was on a trip with my boyfriend. Your name came up. Don’t” —I held up a finger— “ask me why.”
Silence spread between us like a heavy fog. It filled all the corners of the room. My knee started bouncing. I thought I may burst.
“So what? You’re not going to tease me?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, John Kater did something terrifying.
He stood in one smooth motion and dropped onto the couch beside me, an arm wrapping around my shoulders.
I froze. “What… are you doing?” I asked, bewildered. Not daring to look at him. He waswaytoo close.
“We’re taking a picture for your mom,” he said, giving me a squeeze in emphasis.
“We are?”
He nodded at my phone. “Don’t want to disappoint her now, do we?”
I had to look at him. Mistake. That close, I registered the heat radiating from him. The pressure of his thigh against mine. And his scent—clean, woodsy, a little spicy. It infiltrated my space in a good way,
NO, bad thoughts, Nora. Yes, he smelled lush and mouth-watering. But nothing about this was good.
