Page 31 of Should Have Been Me

I turned my chair to face him, crossing one leg over the other as I sipped my wine, keeping it in hand for easy access. “Well, I guess for starters, how old are you?”

“Thirty-eight.” I choked on the sip I’d just taken. “That surprises you?” he asked, curiosity and humor in those words.

I wiped at my mouth with the back of my wrist like a freaking lady. “Um, yeah! You look like you’re thirty-three, maybe thirty-four, tops.” I flopped back with a pout. “It really isn’t fair how easy you guys have it. You age gracefully, you can pee standing up, and you lose weight faster than we do.”

His eyes widened, his brows inching toward his hairline. “I’m... sorry?”

“As you should be,” I grumped.

He shook his head and his lips curled a teensy bit higher than they had before. It was enough of a smirk for me to realize I wasn’t sure I’d survive it if this man let out a full-blown smile. “What about you? How old are you?”

“I turn twenty-nine at the beginning of next month.”

He nodded. “Good to know. If we’re still putting on this charade then, you’ll need to provide me with a list of things you’d like for your birthday.”

I was about to take another sip of wine when my stomach cramped at his comment. Placing the glass on the table. I tried not to question how it was possible I’d somehow managed to forget this was fake in the past thirty seconds, and why the reminder made me feel a little nauseated all of a sudden.

I did my best to shake the sludge-y, unwelcomed discomfort off. I barely knew this man. It was ridiculous to be upset.

“Oh, that’s—Vaughn, that’s really not necessary. But thank you.”

“We’ll cross that bridge if or when we get to it.” I was sure we’d never reach that bridge. He reached for the wine bottle, re-filling his glass and topping mine off—again, without having to be asked. It was when he did those kinds of things I struggled to see him as the callous asshole he claimed to be.

“You said your mom taught you to cook. Are you two close?”

The tension in my shoulders loosened up at the shift in subject matter, and I visibly brightened at the thought of my mother. “Very,” I answered. “I’m actually close to both my parents. And my older brother, even though he doesn’t live here anymore, which bums me out more often than not.”

He tucked his chin into his hand as he regarded me, his index finger absently stroking across his bottom lip. I tried to ignore the tingle that started beneath my skin, but it was impossible.

“Where does he live now?” I got the feeling he wasn’t asking because he was digging for information for our ruse, but because he was really interested in knowing, and I was suddenly hit with a disconcerting thought.

Fake dating Vaughn Cavanagh might not be as easy as I originally thought. Because I was kind of starting to like the guy.

16

VAUGHN

Jolie spent the next half hour telling me all about her brother, Dalton, his wife, and the baby they had on the way. The whole time she spoke, her cheeks were tugged up in the brightest smile I’d seen her wear. Seeing the happiness on her face when she spoke about her family made my chest squeeze. She really was breathtakingly beautiful, and that smile only magnified her beauty.

The color in her cheeks rose to a pretty petal pink as she curled her lips between her teeth and bit down. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I’ve been talking about myself for so long. I’ll stop now,” she said with a hint of embarrassment.

“No don’t. I like hearing you talk.” The admission spilled past my lips without any input from my brain, causing her eyes to widen. “About your family, I mean,” I added quickly, suddenly feeling heat spread beneath my collar. That iron grip I had on my control at all times tended to waver whenever I was in her presence, but instead of being agitated by it, I was... enthralled.

Everything about Jolie intrigued me. From the one-sided conversation I heard her having with her cat before I knocked earlier, to the flashes of shyness, to the brash, almost impudent threats she made when I hurt her friend’s feelings. Everything about her grabbed my attention and refused to let go. This woman affected me in a way no person had before. “You’re very passionate. It’s nice to see.”

It was more than nice. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her. That had certainly never happened before. I hadn’t been lying earlier when I told her I liked her—as surprising as that revelation had been. And the more time I spent in her presence, the more there was to like.

She smiled sweetly, leaning forward to prop her elbow on the table and cradle her chin in her hand. “What about you? Are you close with your family?”

That question made my mouth dry and my throat tight. I took a sip of water, having moved away from the wine after my second glass since I had to drive, hoping it would ease the gritty sandpaper feeling in my throat.

Usually I didn’t mind sharing the truth about my relationship with my family. It was what it was, as far as I was concerned, and I honestly never really cared what anyone thought about that. Until Jolie.

“I’m in Pembrooke in the hopes of repairing my relationship with my father,” I admitted. It was the second time in as many days I opened up to this woman in a way I hadn’t expected to.

Her expression softened, her free hand coming across the expanse of table between us to rest on top of mine. That simple touch bolstered me somehow, placing me on more solid footing.

“Things between us have been strained since I was young.”

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