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“I...” Her shoulders slump. “Okay. Fine. You’re probably big enough to scare him into being honest anyway, and that’s better than grouchy and defensive. He can be a mean drunk. Fair warning.”
“I thought Blake said he was clean?”
There’s a long pause as her face sinks.
“...he was. Some people stay clean. Some people don’t.”
I have a feeling she’s not just talking about Flynn Bitters.
But before I can ask, she brushes her hair back like she’s physically dusting away sour memories, and lifts her chin. “There’s one other thing we need to talk about.”
“Yeah?” I cock my head.
She looks at me like she’s staring down a dragon, blushing again. “What we’re going to do about those rumors.”
“What rumor—oh.” Uh. Fuckity. I scratch at my cheek, fingers tangling in my beard. “You mean us?”
“Yes.” She flicks her hands in a distressed, helpless gesture. “I feel like everyone’s watching us, waiting for us to hook up or—I dunno—kiss in public? It’s kinda hard to be sneaky with that going on and too many eyes on us.”
“Yee-ah.” I draw the word out, rubbing my chin. I already know she’s about to look at me like I’m crazy, possibly throw a bag of beans at my head, but hell, here goes. “Hear me out. What’s the harm if we just let ’em think it’s true? If everyone thinks we’re dating, they’ll stop watching and waiting for it to happen.”
I don’t think the noises that come out of her mouth count as English.
Or remotely human.
There’s a garbled squeak, a strangled groan, her hands fluttering like she just learned all of sign language and wants to put it to good use faster than her hands can move.
Mostly, she stares at me like she’s never heard something so ludicrous in her life.
Finally, she manages a fumbling, incredulous, “What?”
Ouch.
I keep my smile up, shrugging. “Would it be that terrible? It’s just temporary. When we don’t need the ruse anymore, we’ll let people think we naturally drifted apart and stayed friends. It’s a good distraction, and it’ll stop folks from needling us to death, asking why we’re always together.”
“I mean...”
“Look, it’s not like I’m planning to grab you and kiss you in the middle of the street.”
Even if now the thought’s cemented in my head.
Shit.
All I can think about is how it would feel to do exactly that.
Her mouth against mine, hot and willing and giving.
Her body going soft, melting against me like caramel.
The way her flesh would sink beneath my palms, all softness and hellfire—and damn.
Keep this up, and I’ll end up wishing for looser jeans.
Fliss looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. After a minute, she glances away, scrubbing her palms against her thighs and taking a rough breath.
She’s in skintight jeans tonight, paired with a pretty cashmere sweater in soft yellow, so loose it falls off one smoothly curving shoulder and clings to every line of her curves.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “Okay. It makes sense. Being your girlfriend seems better than being the easy slut who stole the new guy from under the Vulture Squad’s noses.”
“They need better hobbies.” I suppress a growl.
“Like smuggling gold?” She offers me a weak smile. “I’d better get back out there.”
“Sure.” I push away from the wall and tug the door open, then step back to hold it for her. “Ladies first.”
“Thanks!”
As she flits past me, she stops in the doorway, one slim hand resting on her hip. She gives me a long, serious look, her blue-violet eyes dark with questions.
“Seriously, Alaska—thank you.”
Then she’s gone, catching her apron from the peg and slipping out with a bag of beans under her arm, her voice rising warm and bright as she returns to the front.
Leaving me alone, wondering what exactly she’s thanking me for.
If she’d let me, I’d do a lot more than hold a door for her.
More than I dare put into words.
The rest of the night passes uneventfully.
Eli and I round off a proper dinner with sandwiches from this shop down the street that’s started jockeying for attention, then head on home.
I put Eli to bed and settle on the sofa with a beer, this tension turning me to pure granite.
It’s too early for me to hunker down for lights out, though I tell myself I’m not waiting up for a certain someone.
I’m not fucking waiting for her. Honest.
Eli’s left his camera on the coffee table. I pick it up to put it on the charger for him—but I’m caught by the images on the screen, a thumbnail gallery I tap to enlarge.
I can’t stop myself from grinning ear to ear.
So that’s Tara, huh? She’s a sweet girl, and she’s wearing the brightest smile on her face as she somehow manages to hold a wriggling armful of feline. She’s got Mozart and another local stray, Van Gogh, together at the same time without the two of them clawing each other’s faces off.
