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I shrugged into it and said, “The cab driver was telling me relationships are stupid and how sex is all that matters and you know, I’d rather not discuss any of that with him.” I laughed. “Valentine’s Day makes people get philosophical in the worst way.”
“Before I moved here, everyone assured me New Yorkers don’t like to chat in cabs or car services, and it’s a lie. Straight up, a lie. I’ve pretended to talk on the phone in the back seat and drivers still try to have a conversation with me.”
“Right? Okay, next cab, we pretend like we’re in a fight so the driver doesn’t talk to us.”
Brandon raised his hand and then eyed me. “What are we supposed to be fighting about?”
“You drank too much and I’m worried you have whiskey dick.” I tried not to grin, knowing full well what his reaction—any man’s reaction—to that would be.
“What? No way. Fuck that. Try again.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re trying to get a rise out of me.”
I glanced at his jeans. “Maybe.”
His eyes darkened. “You’ve been getting a rise out of me since the first second you shoved me on that elevator. But I’m not pretending I can’t get it up, sorry. No. Not happening.”
“There’s the grumpy guy I first met. It’s just for effect, it’s nothing personal. I’m not actually worried at all, despite the fact that you chugged a martini.”
“No. That implies I have a history of whiskey dick, if you’re worried I might have whiskey dick.”
That amused me. “You’re overthinking this. Okay, so how about we’re fighting because I’m a horrible tramp and I was flirting with every guy in the place?”
He gave me a hilarious expression of horror. “No. Try again.”
“Because I spilled your drink?”
“What kind of asshole does that make me if we’re fighting over a spilled drink?”
He seemed to be missing the point. “It’s not real,” I said. “Be spontaneous and roll with it. Maybe I’m mad at you because I expected jewelry today and you gave me a blender.”
“I don’t like any of these,” Brandon said as a cab pulled over to the curb. “I’m not fake fighting with you. Follow my lead.”
This should be interesting.
It was.
Brandon’s plan to prevent the driver from talking to us was the exact opposite of fake fighting. It was way worse. It was fake loving.
The very second after I gave my address to the driver, he turned to me and brushed his hand through my hair. “You’re so beautiful, babe,” he murmured. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
His voice was frighteningly sincere. He was a hell of an actor. I couldn’t help it. My cheeks felt a little warm. I swallowed hard and tried to play the game. “Thank you, sweetheart. I feel pretty damn lucky myself.”
Brandon laced his fingers through mine and lifted my hand up, entwined with his. He kissed each of my knuckles. A shiver rolled up my spine and my nipples got hard, without warning. I was acutely aware of them, and my face felt even hotter. I had the horrible thought that I might actually be blushing. When the hell was the last time I had blushed? I couldn’t even remember. But he was gazing into my eyes with an intensity that was unnerving.
“I have a gift for you at the apartment,” he said. “I think you’re really, really going to like it. I’ve been wanting to give this to you for months.”
Now I wasn’t even sure if he was just still faking it for the driver, who was mercifully silent, or if he was going for a massive sexual innuendo. Maybe both.
“I didn’t get you anything,” I said, and my voice sounded ridiculously breathy. “I thought we weren’t exchanging gifts.”
“All I need is you. As long as I have you, I have everything.”
He had lowered our entwined hands, but his thumb was stroking mine. There was something amazingly erotic about such a simple touch.
“You have me,” I said, because it seemed like the appropriate response if we were in a relationship. And because for tonight, he was going to have me, no questions asked. I wanted him the way I wasn’t sure I’d ever wanted anyone.
He was just so much damn man. I willed the cabbie to drive faster.
Brandon leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth, a soft brush, barely there. Then he did the same to the other side.
