Page 26 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

Lance said yes but… what am I doing? Augustus looks like someone ran his mother over with a forklift and Lance looks like a deer caught in the crosshairs.

I’m ready to back out and verbally spew my secret—that I saw their movie and was simply testing the waters to see if they were still dating while also trying to get laid. But I don’t get the chance, thankfully. Aug gives me a curt smile. “I get it. He’s all yours.” Then he walks away.

I’m left standing there with Lance, and when I turn back to face him, I find him looking… annoyed.

“Thatexcited for our date, huh?” I say, putting my hands on my hips as I glare up at him, his gaze pinned to Aug’s back until he’s around the corner and likely back in the office. He looks down at me.

“I’m annoyed that I like you, Brielle.”

I study the dip between his brows and the way his tongue sweeps along his bottom lip, how he pinches the back of his neck in his palm. “That’s a really lovely sentiment,” I snark, rolling my eyes. Then I glance at my watch. We’ve got thirty minutes of shooting left before we’re done for the day. “Late coffee after shooting?” I ask, because he did say yes and despite the weird energy popping off between Lance and Aug, Idowant to have coffee with him.

For some annoying reason… I like Lance. And I like that he smirks just a little when he agrees.

We finished shooting in relative silence, and after, Aug disappeared into the office, relaying to Lance that he’d be there the rest of the night. So we left for our coffee date, and now, as we sit across from one another at Rise & Grind, I’m wondering why the hell Lance agreed to this. He’s been sulking over a muffin for the last thirty minutes.

Finally, I snap in front of his face, garnering his attention. “Are you this much fun on every date?” I ask, giving up on trying. It’s the end of the day and while I can’t take off my bra, I can get my hair off my neck. I loop an elastic around my locks and secure a low pony, then roll the kinks from my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says, picking pumpkin seeds off his muffin top mindlessly. “I know I’m being a total shit right now, but I do like you, Brielle. And Iaminterested in you.”

“Seems like it.” I take a bite of my cranberry scone, watching him. Why do women look dramatic when they sulk but when a man like Lance does it, I’m attracted? Damn my simple vagina. I take another bite, and his eyes lift to mine, our gazes idling for a moment before I ask, voice low, “Did you say yes to make him jealous?”

He startles, his hands motionless over his muffin as he blinks at me, those icy blue eyes thawing as confusion settles over him. “What?”

I keep my voice low, despite the fact we’re alone in this place. Even the barista is in the back. “Did you say yes to make him jealous?”

“I really do like you, even though I’m an asshole most of the time.”

I blink at him, taking note of the way he inches closer to the table, how he plays with the worn edge of a napkin, gaze still pinned to me. “Okay, so you like me. But you didn’t answer me, and I think we both know that.” I sip my latte, then try again. “How much of you saying yes was because you like me, and how much was to make Augustus jealous?”

I swear I can see him weighing his options as he carefully chooses his words. But we both know the truth. Husky but quiet, Lance says, “Fifty-fifty.”

I nod, relieved that he didn’t deny it. “So you’re broken up?”

His eyes search mine. “Yes,” he whispers. He doesn’t ask me how I know, and that relieves me.

“He looked very sad that we were going to have coffee,” I go on, as if he didn’t see that for himself.

Lance pushes the uneaten muffin away from him but smiles up at me, changing the conversation course in a split second. “Where are you from, Brielle?”

I roll with it, because now I know thatthey are indeed broken up.

“California, in the central valley.” I shrug. “I love it there, aside from the allergies.”

“I’m from Detroit,” he says, catching me off guard. For some reason, I thought I’d have to pull information from Lance. But he’s giving it to me, willingly. “I realized when we were talking about first moving to San Fran, I never told you where I came from.” He folds the edge of a sugar packet as he talks. “I came to California because my parents didn’t like anything about me, so I left as soon as I graduated high school and didn’t look back.”

“Where did you go before you came to walk the piers in San Francisco?” I ask, teasing him about what he told me he did on his first night here.

“Los Angeles.”

I cansosee that. He’s beautiful and trendy, and that body screams movie star. He is so LA.

“But I hated it,” he says, surprising me. “Too many people.”

“There are a lot of people in San Francisco, too, though,” I point out, wishing I hadn’t because obviously he knows a lot of people live here.

One side of his lips quirk up. “Therightpeople are here.”

My pulse hammers in my eardrums. I know my neck must be red. “Oh yeah?”

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