He picked up my phone and handed it to me, his thigh brushing mine as he moved. Then he leaned back into the sofa, pulling me with him.
My finger hovered over the camera icon. If I sent a picture, Mom would be thrilled. But John would have leverage.
“What’s in it for you?”
“Maybe I want to make someone jealous.”
“Bond Girl? Hate to break it to you, but she’d hardly be threatened byme.”
“So youarestalking me,” he said, but I caught the stiffness in his shoulders. A sore spot. Maybe Buzzfeed wasn’t totally wrong about trouble in paradise.
“Yes, I’mentirelyobsessed with you,” I said flatly, switching to selfie mode.
It was dark. We looked soft-edged, a little tired, but charged. His eyes sparkled. My cheeks glowed.
He rested his jaw lightly against my temple. His stubble tickled something low in my stomach.
I tensed.
His hand brushed down my arm, slow and casual, while I adjusted the camera.
“Relax. It’s just a picture.”
I forced a smile. One that said,Hey Mom, sorry I forgot to text, we were too busy making out.
The camera clicked.
The photo was a disaster. Blurry. We didnotlook in love. I looked like a hostage held at gunpoint.
“We can do better than that.” He took the phone out of my hand, brushing my fingers slightly. I knew what he was doing. Trying to throw me off my game, trying to play his charm card and confuse the poor young woman, make her unable to concentrate on the task at hand. Distract the competition.
I felt a flicker of pity for his poor, stunning fiancée.
Instead of focusing on the way he smelled, I imagined his outsides reflecting his insides. I imagined boils underneath his shirt. Red, seeping open wounds that would render any attractive person gross. I sighed.Yeah, that helped.?
“Ready?” he asked, holding the phone in a flattering angle.
An idea struck. A stupid one. I decided to tip the scales.
“Sure.” And just as the shutter clicked, I grabbed his jaw, leaned in, and kissed his cheek.
I felt him start. His breath caught—sharp—and it lit something electric between my thighs.
But I’d already snatched the phone from his hand, flipping through the photos to hide the tremble in mine.
John shifted, pulling his arm away. My lips still tingled where they’d touched his skin, but his reaction gave me a flicker of triumph. I’d surprised him. Shaken him, maybe.
Two can play this game, mister.
I sent the picture to Mom, attaching on a heart emoji to seal the lie.
John stood abruptly. “I should get to bed. It’s late.”
I glanced at the sky outside the window where a thin line of gray split the darkness. “Barely enough time left for your much-needed beauty sleep.”
He left without another word.
I’d never imagined I could sit with John Kater for an entire evening—speakto him, even—without throttling him. Yet here I was.
