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“Fuck you, asshole. I’m dating my neighbor. We have tickets for a show.” I shove my hands in my pockets.
“You’re dating? For real? That’s… that’s good.” He draws the last word out longer than necessary, undecided. Jerk.
“It’s a fake dating arrangement.” He’s about to say something, but I continue. “Nevertheless, it would prove to you I can maintain a relationship.”
“Okay, I can see how your competitive ass is doing it to prove something to me—not that I care much—but why wouldsheagree to that? What’s wrong with her?” The baby fidgets in his arms and he kisses her head.
His tender action is at odds with his usual asshole behavior. Seeing him like this stirs something inside me. It feels like envy, but that makes no sense, so I file it away.
“Nothing is wrong with her,” I growl, defending the angry woman who hates me a little too eagerly. “She needed a fake boyfriend and I obliged. It’s good practice to find out what you keep promoting, dickhead.”
“Fake relationship is nothing like an actual one. Nothing is at stake. You don’t worry about losing her.”
“Well, if nothing else, I’ll prove relationships are boring.” Kissing and provoking London Lowe is far from boring. The dynamics would change if we were a couple.
I’m not even sure why her refusal impacts me this much. Okay, I like to win. And yes, I don’t remember a woman refusing me. Ever. But she isn’t even pleasant company.
Rocco might be right—I’m not capable of a relationship. I’m already failing at the fake one.
“Are you sleeping with her?”
His cat jumps into his lap. He used to carry guns, run clubs where the girls fulfilled all our fantasies and more, and now he’s an exhausted man with a baby and a cat. What’s so attractive about that?
“No, I’m not. Yet.” I regret adding the last part as soon as it leaves my mouth.
His eyes shine as he grins like a Cheshire cat. “She hasn’t put out yet.” Then he goes completely serious. “You lost everything in that courtroom.” His voice is grave, but his expression is mocking.
“Why am I even friends with you?” I growl as he tries to swallow back his laughter. I wish the baby would wake up now and scream into his ears.
A knock on the door prompts me to check the time. “Shit, I’m late. Go be a parent while those kids are innocent enough to not understand what an asshole their dad is.” I snap the laptop closed.
“You’re late,” London snarls the minute I open the door.
My retort dies on my lips when I take her in. Her usually straight hair is curled in loose waves, falling around her face and past her shoulders. I’ve only seen her in a ponytail and suddenly I’m overcome with an intense need to fist that mane and coil it around my wrist.
She is wearing a short white fur cape. A black skirt flares out from her waist to her knees. I roam down the length of her legs and land on red stilettos. They match her clutch and her lips. I want to lick that lipstick away while I get her naked, keeping her in those heels only.
“Sorry, I was just finishing a call.” I grab my keys and wallet from the console table by the door and yank my coat off the hanger.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asks while we wait for the elevator.
“I’m surprised you clean up so nice, Chils.” I chuckle, pushing away the fantasy of riding her in those heels. And failing.
“I guess that’s as good of a compliment as your small brain allows.” The door slides open and she steps into the cabin, allowing me a perfect view of her behind, a seductive secret under the flowing lines of her skirt.
“You must be running low on ways to insult me.” I stand beside her, avoiding another look because the first one already runs like a feature film in my head.
“It might be a misconception that lawyers are smart, but let’s face it, your brain has been eaten up by your ego. I’m shocked it fits in here with us.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Chils, I always make it fit.” I put my hand on the small of her back under the hem of the cape and lead her off the elevator.
She growls instead of responding to my innuendo and I chuckle, earning me a shove in the ribs with her elbow. Perhaps tonight will be fun after all.
* * *
I couldn’t have been more wrong. The ventilation in this place must be broken and my suit continues its performance as a scratchy blanket. London keeps frowning at my fidgeting.
To make things worse, our seats are in the middle of the damn row. My knees are practically pushing holes in the back of the man in front of me. This is why I never go to the theater.
