Page 11 of Keep Me

I watch them settle into seats on the same side of a four-person table. Reggie’s full of bubbly energy that grates on my nerves with its fakeness. My brother’s charming, but he’s not that charming. Our eyes briefly meet, and her obnoxiously bright smile drops. I realize then that this is all to get under my skin. I can see the taunt in the way the corner of her mouth ticks up and her focus sharpens in challenge.

And it’s fucking working.

Lochlan places his hand on the table, palm up, and she happily places hers in it. Their fingers intertwine and, if I didn’t know better, I might be fooled by the look they give each other. Saccharine sweet.

But despite knowing this is a charade, nothing but a farce, I can’t help but think that something about this just feels…wrong. The constant, low simmering that possesses my psyche flushes with envy. At first, I’m angry at myself for letting this act of hers get to me. But then I realize I’m not envious of the way she looks up at him through her lashes or that he knows how the weight of her hand feels in his. It’s not that.

I’m jealous that he’s squandering this perfect opportunity. Not to fuck her, but to fuck with her.

They order wine, and he offers her a taste of his. She takes a sip with a curve of a smile on her lips and her eyes locked on his. And he may as well be a goddamn cartoon with bulging heart eyes for all he’s eating it up.

What’s worse is they look totally in place, like they belong here together. The bar has a classic but minimalist style, the perfect place for the happy couple on their romantic night out. My own saving grace is that they don’t serve pasta, so I don’t have to watch them share a piece of spaghetti Lady and the Tramp style. God, that would really make me sick.

She spots two men walk in together from across the restaurant and shoots up from her seat to wave them over. Without thinking, driven by nothing but spite, I find myself yanking Lochlan out of his chair by the collar of his shirt.

“What the hell, dude?” He grunts, and Reggie gives me an equally enraged glare.

“Make yourself scarce,” I growl.

“But I’m her—”

“Not anymore. Fuck off.” He rolls his eyes, exasperated, but follows my order and walks right past the two men on his way out.

“Reggie, how are you?” one of the men croons as they approach.

She loosens the divot between her brows, and her scowl transforms into a smile. She hisses through her teeth, “Behave, Fox.”

I loop my arm around her waist and pull her into my side. “Don’t worry about me, babe.”

She introduces me to her friend, Matthew, and his husband, Stephen. “Nice to meet you.” I turn up the charm, shaking their hands with a wide smile. I start up friendly conversation as we take our seats. Reggie’s shock and confusion that I haven’t bitten anyone’s head off yet delights me.

She’s rigid in her chair, the pulse in her neck jumping, and my eyes zero in on the minuscule movement. While the men check out the menu, I grip the back of her neck. She tenses, her hand instinctively wrapping around her dinner knife, but eases when I begin to massage the taut muscles.

I work my thumb in circles and lean over to whisper, “Relax, Cortez.” I feel her bristle with my proximity. This rare show of discomfort has me leaning in further to brush my lips against her temple. The gesture may look tender, but it’s anything but as my breath flutters on her skin. “This is your game we’re playing. Can’t back out now.”

Her jaw pulses, the only indication that she heard my words. Then pain shoots up my arm as she wrenches back the pinky finger on the hand I didn’t realize I’d placed on her thigh. I swallow down a groan. For some reason, it’s not a grimace I have to fight back, but a smile. I hear her message loud and clear. Let’s fucking play.

“So, how do you two know my little stinky?” I ask the table as I dust a knuckle across her cheek, and her face twists into a forced smile.

“Well, that’s one nickname that shouldn’t leave the house.” She chuckles dryly, and her friends laugh as she looks at me pointedly. There’s fire in her eyes, but it’s not all anger. No, there’s a spark there too—small, but still noticeable like a flash. The spark of a challenge accepted.

It’s so easy to get a rise out of her. Just my lax smile in return makes her bite her lip in restraint. That's when I realize exactly how much fun this night is going to be.

Reggie

I think I would be less annoyed if he were doing some over-the-top shit like airplane feeding me his risotto. Instead, he’s a master of small touches, light grazes, and shuttered looks that make me feel off balance. He plays the part so well. Down to the nuanced subtleties, like how he seemingly absentmindedly brushes a strand of hair off my neck or the barely noticeable way his shoulders are curled in and angled toward me like I’m the center of his gravitational pull.

I can tell Matt and Stephen buy the act completely, asking us questions not to interrogate the veracity of our relationship, but because they are genuinely curious about this new development in my love life.

And what pisses me off even more is that he has an answer for everything—how we met at the gym but I wouldn’t give him the time of day, how he won me over by leaving daisies on my windshield. It’s as easy for him to lie through his teeth as it is to breathe in oxygen. And when he’s not lying, he’s telling the god’s honest truth. He knows my order at my favorite coffee shop, that I don’t like mayo on my sandwiches, and that I listen to ASMR if I can’t sleep.

It’s bone-chilling honesty that makes me feel exposed and violated. He has no right to know these casual, mundane facts of my life as if he is a part of it.

The waiter comes around to drop off the check. Roan already has his card out and ready, held out between his two fingers. Matt begins to protest, but he insists. “Please let me. The pleasure was all mine, getting to meet friends of this beautiful lady.” He gives me a simmering look that, for a second, makes my skin tingle before I remember he’s full of shit.

“You got lucky with this one.” Stephen wiggles his eyebrows between us, and I plaster on yet another fake smile.

“Didn’t I?” I cup his jaw, the low stubble rough on my palm. Pulling him toward me, I place a kiss on his cheek, feeling his jaw tense under my hold. My lips barely graze his skin as I whisper, “I’m not paying you back for that.”

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