Page 178 of Remy

“You won’t want to use the retort anymore?”

“I’ll figure out an alternative. But Baltimore was never meant to be a home base. We’re only here to reassert authority. I’ll be gone soon enough.”

“Gone?” She sits straighter. “You’re leaving?”

“Eventually.” I drag my gaze to hers, wanting to know what my departure means to her. If she’s relieved. Excited.

It’s worse. Disappointment stares back at me.

Fuck, Ollie. Don’t do this to me.

“It’s a good thing, Pyro. I’ll be out of your hair, and you won’t have to be an accomplice anymore.”

“But you enjoy being in my hair.”

I fucking love her gall. She doesn’t shy away from me. My compliments, maybe. But not this shit between us.

“Your hair is an enjoyable place to be. But we both know I was never meant to be there.” I unclasp my belt and climb from the car, absolutely fucking hating myself when I decide it’s a great idea to round the hood to open her door.

I’m no gentleman.

This isn’t a fucking fairy tale.

Yet she climbs from the Escalade like an ethereal goddess. The right dose of poise. The perfect hint of insecurity.

She’s fiction. Far too perfect to be real.

“One drink,” I mutter. “Then we’re going home.”

I close her door and make for the sidewalk.

“Wait.” Her heels tap as she hustles to maneuver around me, blocking my path. “Let’s play a game.”

Warning bells blare in my fucking ears.

“A game?” I glower.

“Mm-hmm.” She nods. “We’ve been doing it all day—actually, we’ve been doing it for months—so it’s only an extension of our current reality.”

“That doesn’t sound like my type of?—”

“Come on.” Her eyes beg. “It’s simple. Haven’t you noticed how often we play pretend? We do it with my father’s health, faking our way through conversations as if he’s not dying. Then we pretend you’re not a wanted criminal in front of Lucy. I even pretended not to notice when you got jealous in front of the chef.”

My nostrils flare at the reminder of that asshole.

“Just for one night, why not play the game a little harder and pretend there’s no external influences keeping us apart?” She blinks at me through dark lashes. “No defiant uncles or homicidal enemies. It’s just us. Two random people who get along seriously well despite the crazy world around them.”

Wouldn’t that be fucking nice.

No chains holding me back.

No fear of her winding up in a pool of blood at my feet, bullet ridden and begging for help.

“That’s not a good idea.” I walk around her, pausing when both her hands wrap around my wrist.

“Why?”

Why?

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