Page 16 of Love You Truly

I lean in close, making sure my breath feathers across her neck as I speak in a low, growling tone her ex can hear. “You won’t just get used to it; you’ll love it. I’m sure of that.”

As long as we’re both putting on a show, I might as well swing for the fences. I give this guy another five minutes of discomfort in the situation before he bugs out of here. Fine by me.

My friends wait at a table across the room, where a cold beer gathers condensation in front of my empty chair. They’ll love this story, especially from the guy voted least likely to get married—ever.

I haven’t given much thought to marriage. I’m the youngest of three guys in the family, and so far, only one is engaged. There’s an order to things, or so I always assumed, and with Archer still holding the mantle of oldest single guy in the family, I figure I have plenty of time before I need to settle down.

Besides, this little stage play is simply that. As soon as her ex blows out of here, we can go back to what we were—not friends. Not a couple. Barely acquaintances, even if bonded by a pickle mishap and an unreturned text. And now this. Not sure what that makes us, but I’m open to ideas.

Yet hearing Mallory refer to me as her anything, let alone her fiancé, has unleashed a sudden urge to throw her onto one of the wooden game tables in the pub and tear her clothes off. Slowly. Luxuriously…

“Sure, yeah. Okay, well I still need to hash things out with you. Time’s a-ticking and we’re in this together…” her ex says, jutting his chin out but taking one step backward.

“Send it in an email. I’ll look at it when I’m at work.” One warm hand wraps around the back of my neck, and she drags a finger from the other hand down my chest. “Right now, I want to play. Okay, honey?”

I feel my cock twitch in my pants, which surprises me because I know this is an act. She could barely stand the sight of me a month ago in the grocery store, and the only thing different now is her ex in the room.

But my body responds to her touch nonetheless. It’s purely physical—I have no illusions about that. But in another minute of letting this little fantasy play out, everyone within ten yards of me will know I’m not acting by the wood in my pants.

“I’m all yours.” I am nothing if not a good sport, so I carry the ball all the way over the goal line. Pulling Mallory’s body firmly against my hip, I caress the side of her face with my hand. She watches me with a slight look of fear, more because she doesn’t know what I’m planning to do than because she isn’t willing to go along for the ride.

The corner of my mouth lifts, my partial smile reassuring her we’re in this together. She nods ever so slightly and lifts her chin. I don’t have to glance to the side to see her ex’s eyes glued to us. Even if it pains him, he can’t look away from the car wreck that is his lost relationship with this woman.

I feel bad for him there. I may not know Mallory well, but this guy was outclassed when he had her.

Then I go in for the kill, showing him that he should seriously regret whatever he did to screw up the relationship because I know without asking that he was the one who screwed it up.

Dragging a finger down Mallory’s cheek, I stare into her eyes like a soldier coming back from a year at war. I let the sounds in the room fall away and listen for her breath, which comes a little faster as I touch her skin. Pre-performance nerves, I’m guessing.

Her eyes stay locked on mine, focused. We have a job to do. Even if her heart is beating like a snare drum under the pale skin of her throat, she’s here for the show. I won’t disappoint. “Been waiting all day to see you.” I make sure my voice has plenty of growl, enough to make sure her ex knows she drives me wild.

“Aw, I missed you too,” she coos, nuzzling against my hand.

“Jesus, Mal, enough already. You’re not even into public displays.” Her ex sounds bored, but the crimson at the tips of his ears says otherwise. He’s pissed. Or mortified. Or both. He stares at the two of us like he just might hire a hitman.

“I am now.” Her voice is breathy and soft, more audible to me than him.

But really, it’s all for him. I remind myself again.

“Whatever. I call bullshit on this whole charade. I’ll send you an email.” He moves toward the exit, but he still has the drink in his hand. I stay focused on Mallory’s chest rising and falling, but I can see her ex pause by the door. Watching us, nosy.

So I lean in and brush my lips over hers. They’re softer than I expect, and I catch a whiff of cherry, which only makes me need to taste them. Her eyes drift shut and I deepen the kiss, cupping her cheek.

I need to keep this real, even for a zealous boyfriend, so I pull back only slightly and linger. Her breath melds with mine, and I tip our foreheads together. Then I kiss her once more, softly. And once more, like I can’t get enough.

I keep her tight against my hip and move my arm up to her shoulders. Possessive. Unwilling to go a second without having her close. She tips her head up and kisses my neck, and I have to fight to keep from carrying her into the nearest closet or the back of my truck and tearing her clothes off.

I feel the breeze when the door opens with a wheeze, bringing a little more air in from outside and letting her douche of an ex out.

Other than the woman I gather is Mallory’s friend, who’s been staring at us with her mouth agape, not a single person in the room seems aware of what just happened in our corner of the bar.

People make out in bars all the time, and even more people get into fights in bars. Probably as a result of making out with the wrong woman. It’s all connected, from where I sit.

Mallory’s interaction with her ex barely qualifies as a scuffle, and our kiss barely tips the radar on public displays. But it was a hell of a good kiss.

I can tell by the color rising in Mallory’s cheeks and the slightly dazed look in her eyes that she agrees. She refocuses quickly and takes a long swig from a glass of amber beer. I wouldn’t have pegged her as a beer drinker. She seems like a champagne or rosé gal, based purely on perception, but that’s changing by the minute.

“Thanks for that,” she says nonchalantly. She goes to the board and plucks the darts out one by one.

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