Page 33 of Love You Truly

“Yes. But I don’t want you to think I’m trying to manipulate you into something for my benefit.” It’s exactly what I’m doing. The problem is the more time I spend with her, the more I want any arrangement that binds us together. And it has nothing to do with grapes.

She dismisses the thought with a wave of her hand. “It’s business. You’d be doing me a huge favor, and I’d want you to benefit from the arrangement.”

The flirtatious connection that’s been building disappears, and I suddenly hate that I turned the conversation to business. But the fire in her eyes and her genuine smile make up for it.

“Really?” I ask.

“Really. This could work, Dash.” For the first time tonight, I see the clouds clear from her expression. Without knowing what was bothering her, I had no way of making it happen before. I tried to entertain her with my stories, and her laughter seemed genuine, but it still hung there—that cloud.

Now I understand that she’s been buckling under the weight of her asshole ex and his hold on her. And now…I have a chance to make that cloud disappear. I want to be the one who accomplishes that for her.

One dinner with this woman, and she fucking has me.

Leaning on my car, I scrub a hand down my face and try to calculate how much wine I had at dinner. We shared a bottle, and I didn’t finish my second glass. If I come back after tonight with an inside track on Mallory’s first harvest once she starts growing grapes, I’ll look like a hero.

It all makes sense. She doesn’t seem to have any problem with it, even if it feels like a shard of metal is wedged under my breastbone, trying to dig out my heart.

There’s another reason that getting married appeals to me, one that I’m not willing to say out loud. It’s been growing inside my head to the point of being a near shout: I’m sick and tired of my reputation as the local heartbreaker, the man-slut who can’t ever seem to settle down. True, I’ve done my part to encourage the image over the years, but not lately. It’s been over a year since I’ve hooked up with anyone, but all anyone seems to remember is the string of one-night stands that became a habit in my twenties.

I’m nearly thirty now, and it’s possible that I’m broken. Maybe I don’t have what it takes to appeal to a woman long-term. Or maybe I need a jump start on rewriting expectations. Being married to Mallory for a year could convince the folks around here that I’m a worthwhile investment too.

Maybe I’ll even convince myself.

That’s not something I’m even considering telling the woman who’s contemplating giving me a shot at not one but two things that could change my life. I’ll just stay quiet and let her think she’s getting the better end of the deal, which is the only reason she’s still here with me. I'd like to see the easy smile she’s worn for the past ten minutes more permanently on her face.

“So…how’re we going to do this so it looks legit? You heard Felix. People talk around here, and he’ll start making noise if it seems like we’re trying to pull a fast one.” Mallory’s eyes dance, and I’m tempted to pull her into my arms right now and show her exactly how legit I can make us look.

Instead, I lie. “We’ll need to make sure people around here see that we’re dating, but we’ll have to be so comfortable with each other that they believe it’s been going on a while.”

“Yes. We should be so smitten that we seem oblivious to onlookers. It’ll convince people we’re in love and have been for a while, so they’ll start to believe they must’ve known about it, even if they didn’t.”

“Gonna take some good acting on my part, but I think I can manage to convince folks I’m in love.” I feel my dick twitch in my pants as I utter the word love, and it surprises me. I shouldn’t be turned on by it, but I can’t deny that I’m a little bit excited to fake being in love with her.

She swats my shoulder. “Glad you feel confident in your acting chops. Might be harder for me.” She grins, and I can’t tell if she’s kidding. I hope so.

I duck my head close to her ear and whisper, “I was in the high school play. I have practice, you know.” I hear the soft catch in her breath. Backing away, I run a finger down her cheek.

She shakes herself out of a semi-trance and squares her shoulders. It’s on.

Gripping my bicep, she pulls me toward her and coos so seductively it gives me goose bumps. “Yeah? Which play? What was your role?”

“I played Christian in Cyrano de Bergerac.” I can barely get the words out because my dick is pressing hard against my zipper now.

She takes a step back and laughs. I inhale a needed breath.

“Seriously? Talk about typecasting. So you were the pretty-faced guy who needed poetry and one-liners from your romantic friend in order to woo Roxane?”

I swallow hard at the memory. “I auditioned for Cyrano himself, but…”

“Hard to play against type, I guess.”

“Yeah, and like the walking hard-on I was back then, I fell hopelessly for my leading lady. Guess I couldn’t tell the difference between acting and the real thing.” I laugh, thinking back on my inexperience with women. “It took me months to get over her. Not that I ever told her or admitted it to my friends. Or anyone, really.”

Her eyes flit to mine. “So this is the first you’re letting that secret out in the world?”

I shrug. “Guess so. There you have it, Marshmallow, my soul bared before you. But don’t worry. I’ve learned a few things since then. I know the difference between acting and reality now. I can totally play this role for you without falling in love, trust me.”

Her expression clouds. A crease takes up residence between her eyes, and the corners of her mouth tip down. I want to erase all of it, but more than that, I want to understand why my high school theater role bothers her. Or maybe it has nothing to do with me. I want to understand that even more.

---