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“On what?” Dash asks, sprawling in the seat beside me.
“On your family. I’ll need you to give me the whole story on Zelda, Palm Beach, your life… Anything and everything a real girlfriend should know.”
He laughs, and I’d be lying if I claimed the sound didn’t make my skin tingle. Just more proof that there’s really no justice in this world. If there were, a man as rich and hot as Dash would have a braying laugh that reminded people of a donkey.
His looks back at me. “Oh, wait. You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious,” I say, getting annoyed. “I need this plan of yours to work. Some of us aren’t born with a gilded spoon shoved up our… noses. I have a lot on the line here, and I’d appreciate it if you’d cooperate.”
“Right. Sorry.” He smirks. “My beautiful, scrumptious faux girlfriend, please, ask whatever questions your delightful little heart desires.”
I huff but find that it’s near impossible to stay irritated with Dash for long.
Too bad. That would make this trip a whole lot easier.
“What’s to know?” Dash says with a casual shrug.
“Why your grandmother has such a hold over you, for a start,” I comment. “Can’t your parents deal with it?”
“They would,” Dash nods, “If they were still with us.”
With us? I turn with an inquisitive look. He can’t mean…?
“They passed,” he explains, his tone so light you would think we were still discussing that threesome. “Boating accident. I was fifteen. Zelda…”
“Oh.” I blink, my mind racing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”
“How could you?” Dash gives another easy shrug. “I don’t really talk about it. But it’s probably something my super-fake girlfriend would know. So…”
“Noted.” I swallow. Losing his parents at such a young age seems like it should be a major part of our conversation, but Dash quickly moves on to describing how he takes his coffee, (with enough cream and sugar to entirely negate the point) and his favorite sexual positions—“in case anyone asks”—and the moment passes.
Message received.
We spend takeoff trading basic information about each other. Background, school, hobbies… When I ask about his grades, he replies, “Good, even though I studied hard and played harder,” and wiggles his brows, making it clear exactly what he means by playing.
“No steady girlfriends, even then?”
He heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Alas, no. More like a steady stream of dates and short-term companions. Though,” his blue eyes are warm as they drift the length of my body, “I would have made an exception for you, of course.”
“Of course.” I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the heat that follows his gaze, slipping over my body smooth as molasses. It’s wild: My brain knows all too well what an incorrigible playboy the man is, but somehow my body doesn’t get the memo.
Which means I need to set some boundaries, and fast.
“Ground rules!” I blurt.
Dash wrinkles his forehead. “I’m sorry?”
You should be, brandishing all that charm and sex appeal without a license!
“What I mean is, we should agree on the level of PDA we’re both comfortable with now, so there aren’t any… Surprises.”
“Trying to get my pants off already?”
“No! We will both keeping our pants on!” The exclamation shoots out of me like a bullet, causing the eyeballs of the white-haired gentleman sitting across from us to just about bulge out of his head.
I take a deep breath. “What I meant was, do we hug in public? Hold hands?” I swallow hard. “Kiss?”
“Definitely hand-holding and hugging,” Dash replies. “If we want to sell this thing, I mean.”
