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He looked morose himself saying it.
Her lips tilted upward a fraction on one side. “I’m trying to process the fact we’re considering this. My mother will see right through it.” She held up a hand when it looked like he was about to repeat his sweet, endearing words from earlier that not even their friends would see how false it was. “What happens after the five days? She’ll leave, but she’ll know it was all a scam. I don’t know how, but she will. She’s got eyes everywhere, I swear.”
She shivered, hating how much her mother tried to control every aspect of her life.
Brick’s brows furrowed low, his eyes narrowing as if trying to figure out a complicated math problem in his head. “You don’t want to leave the city, right?”
“No. I love it here.”
She loved the theater, being on stage—when she found the right part, which wasn’t always easy. She loved the ambiance of the city, the people, and the energy that swirled around that only New York could provide. And if she was honest with herself, she liked—wasn’t quite ready to say loved—the man in front of her. It would be hard to leave him.
“Bills are tight. I get it. I’ve been there.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “We’ve all been there, Jezebelle. Why don’t you move in with me?”
Her eyes bulged as her mouth popped open. “You keep suggesting one crazy thing after another. I can’t move in with you.”
A cocky grin surfaced. “Sure you can. You’re my fiancé.” He winked like the devil just made a deal of a lifetime. “Not to mention, having a roommate can make life easier—with bills, anyway. Some roommates suck.” He chuckled.
“What are you saying, Brick?”
“I’m saying, after your mother leaves, we can go to being roommates. She’ll still get the impression we’re engaged because we’re living together, if she has little moles or something keeping tabs on you. Rent won’t be as much for you, since we’ll be splitting. I have a spare room. I’m a fairly clean guy, don’t do a lot of clutter. I work a lot,”—he waved his hand around the bar indicating he was at the bar more often than in his apartment—“so you won’t find me hovering or in your space too much.”
He straightened, offering a more subdued smile as if realizing he shouldn’t be too cocky with her. “It’s a suggestion. I’ll still stand in as your guy while your mom is here. Suggesting you move in as a roommate is just an added bonus.”
Added bonus?
In what sense? Did he hope for more to develop between them? Because she was not opposed to the idea. She still wasn’t sure the fake fiancé idea was a very good one. Her mother—well, to put it bluntly—was an overbearing, selfish, stuck-up, judgmental person.
She would despise Brick on sight. The tattoos—oh so sexy tattoos—lining up and down his arms. His devilish grin he displayed way too often. The tight shirts he wore. Definitely never a suit. His short, trimmed beard he sported.
Her mother liked nothing better than clean-shaven men dressed in high-powered suits.
Jezebelle smiled wide and held out her hand.
“You have a deal, Brick. I would love it if you were my fake fiancé and future roommate.”
His sly grin reappeared as his hand slid into hers, then he lifted it and kissed the back of her hand. “Your mother won’t know what hit her.”
Oh, Jezebelle couldn’t wait to see her mother’s reaction. Because it wouldn’t be pleasant. Sometimes, she just loved to piss her off.
