Page 57 of Not That Into You

Monica squeezes my hand again.

I take a deep breath before looking at her. “I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry for what my grandmother said. Do you want me to talk to her?”

She shakes her head. “No, but thank you for asking.”

I nod.

“And thanks for calling her out.”

It only irritates me further that she feels she has to thank me for sticking up for her. Have people let her down in the past? Have they made excuses for other people’s behavior at her expense?

The thought leaves my chest tight with anger.

I pull on her hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

I lead her back outside to a quiet spot by the pool. Standing in front of her, I slowly run my hands up and down her arms, needing to feel the warmth of her skin. She tilts her head, giving me a questioning look. I trail my hands down until I’m clasping her hands.

A soft breeze plays with her hair, and I wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through it.

Soft, probably. Silky.

After a moment, I put her hands around my neck and place my hands on her waist, swaying side to side.

She lifts a brow. “What are we doing?”

“What does it look like we’re doing?”

“Reenacting my prom night.”

I snort. “Your prom night was very different from mine. We wouldn’t be able to reenact my prom night in front of a crowd without getting arrested.”

I wiggle my brows while she rolls her eyes.

We sway some more before she looks around. “Nobody else is dancing.”

“We’re not really dancing so much as swaying. Think of it as a socially acceptable prolonged hug.”

I pull her closer, so our bodies are touching, and my hands slide lower down her back. I nuzzle the side of her neck, inhaling her scent.

“Cameron . . .”

I smile against her skin, my lips brushing her jaw. “Relax. This is exactly what I’d do with my girlfriend. I’m just making a statement.”

I tamp down the possessive voice that adds, And that statement is you’re mine. She’s not mine, at least not for the long term.

But she is mine for the moment.

Pulling back, I cup her face, not above taking advantage of the moment or our pretense. Having Monica close soothes something in me, and I’m more in the mood to indulge than to question why.

I caress her cheek with my thumb. “We’ve got to convince everyone you’re my girlfriend, right?”

She raises her eyebrows.

“My mother or the Threadstones could be lurking around in the dark.”

Her lips twitch. “Sounds terrifying.”

“Oh, it is. My mother, at least, is quite formidable.”

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