“Don’t worry, I didn’t actually buy it,” he says, almost sheepish. “My sister brought it back from Dublin last time she visited. It’s my favorite.” He pauses. “I just didn’t know what else to get him. I don’t know anything about your father, and there’s not much you can give a man like him.”
He leaves it there, and I understand exactly what he means. Someone as wealthy as my dad isn’t easy to shop for. I nod.
“It’s still really thoughtful,” I say, getting up from the bed. “I just got him a T-shirt. I’d show you, but it’s already wrapped. It saysDad Jokes Are How EYE Roll.” I point to my eye. “Eye. Like an actual eye. Get it?”
Connor laughs. “That’s a terrible dad joke.”
“Yes,” I say. “That was the point. Anyway—thank you. For the whiskey. Really.”
“It’s nothing,” he says, setting the bottle on the dresser.
But something warm rises in my chest, too much all at once. The urge to kiss him is so strong it feels almost physical, and I have to actually hold myself back as the reality of our situation crashes in.
This isn’t real.
We’re pretending.
A couple of staged kisses and one accidental erection don’t change that.
We get ready in silence, taking turns in the bathroom. I pull on dark jeans and a deep green button-down Mom always says brings out my eyes.
When Connor disappears into the bathroom and emerges a few minutes later, I nearly choke on my tongue.
He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and a well-fitted gray suit jacket that sits perfectly across his broad shoulders. Simple, but devastating.
I stare. I can’t help it. He looks incredible—like he has no business standing in a cottage bedroom looking like that.
Connor catches me staring and shifts uncomfortably, his hand going to the lapel. “Is it too much?” he asks, already moving to take it off. “I can just wear the shirt—”
“No,” I say, too quickly. “Absolutely not. Keep it on. You look—” I swallow, searching for a word that won’t give me away completely. “Really hot,” is what comes out.
Connor’s eyebrows shoot up.
“It’ll piss Rick off,” I add quickly, like that was the reason all along. “Seeing you dressed up like that.”
It’s a weak save, and we both know it, but Connor lets his hand fall from the lapel and nods slowly. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I say, and look away before I say something worse.
The truth is, I barely care about Rick’s reaction anymore. What I care about is the way my heart kicks up when Connor looks at me, the way my skin still tingles where he’s touched me, the way I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss in the hot tub.
About how he kissed me back.
About the fact that when my hand slipped up his thigh in the water, he was hard.
That’s what I can’t stop thinking about.
But I can’t say any of that. Not ever.
“Ready?” Connor asks, picking up the whiskey bottle.
I grab the badly wrapped package from my bag and smooth down my shirt. “Ready.”
***
I shoot a glance at Connor as we walk up the path, his hand resting on the small of my back. It’s a casual boyfriend gesture, purely for show. But my skin burns beneath my shirt where his palm rests, and I have to stop myself from leaning into it like some touch-starved idiot.
God, I’m pathetic. Barely two days of fake dating, and I’m already in so deep I can barely remember what it felt like not to want his hands on me.
