Page 4 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

Yeah, I did my researchthatwell.

“I’m not a waitress.” Blake isn’t trying to be rude, but being mistaken for a server makes me even more jumpy. There’s absolutely no reason to explain myself though because Ken murmurs at the same time, “Oh my God,” in a tone thick with recognition.

From the corner of my eye, I spot Alex Steinmann and his wife, Britney, look up from a whispered conversation they were having.

Great. Practically the whole group is staring at me now. I expected this, but the attention doesn’t help calm my nerves.

Ken stands up. He’s still smiling, but there’s a darker, almost wary look in his eyes.

“Do you know her?” Blake asks him.

Ken nods, then pushes himself out of the booth and comes to stand in front of me. Another, smaller wave of an old grudge burns in my stomach, but the real reason I take a step back is astonishment.

Because he’s far taller than I remember. When we were teens, he only had a few inches on me. After ten years, he’s at least a foot bigger. His muscles have filled out, and even if I’d noticed that while combing through the pictures online, it’s nothing compared to seeing him face to face.

Blake shrugs and looks away, and the rest of the booth slowly does too. I’m half relieved, half ashamed. No doubt they’d have taken me for a puck bunny if Ken didn’t claim recognition, and some of them are probably still thinking that now.

I try not to focus on that, aware that Ken is studying me. His height and width aren’t the only things that’ve changed about him. His grin seems different from our teenage years. Less playful, more confident. The years have sharpened his features, honing the muscle, covering his jaw with dark stubble, and refining the angles of his face.

He’s not just handsome. He’s—there’s no damn way around it—breathtaking. And I hate having to acknowledge that.

He’s still staring at me, not done with his once over. I suddenly feel on display, especially because of my skimpy outfit. I wonder what differences he’s noticed in me. Not that I give a damn. The only thing I care about is the glaring discrepancies in our success and careers. While Ken is making millions in his dream job, I‘m still scraping around, trying to make a living.

Life is unfair.

Which is why I’m taking matters into my own hands.

“Good to see you again, Edwards.”

That’s a lie. It’snotgood to see him, but I’m sick of his lazy perusal of my body. Anything to move the conversation forward and away from this awkward pause.

“Charlie.” For some reason, hearing him say my name makes my heart beat faster. He gives me a half smile. Then, as though it only just occurred to him that we’re seeing each other for the first time in ten years, he raises his arms in invitation for a hug.

My body recoils, but only slightly. I knew I’d have to touch him if I am to make my plan work.

Closing the gap between us, I push my body flush against his. Ken’s arms come around my lower back, crushing me close with a little too much intensity. Holding my breath, I lean into the embrace, my breasts flattening against his hard chest, until my hips graze his and there’s barely space for a tissue to squeeze in between the both of us.

Until he can be absolutely certain that there’s an invitation in that hug, somewhere.

Ken seems to grasp it pretty quickly. His hands slide two inches down my back, one of his fingers grazing the topmost part of my ass.

I hear myself inhale sharply. Worryingly, it’s not out of shock or embarrassment.

It’s because the moment I feel Ken’s wide palms on my lower back, my stomach bursts into flames.

It takes every drop of willpower to not pull away and run right out of the club.

See, I’m a planner. I plan every damn thing. Planned my first career by the time I was seven—even if thatdid not turn out the way I wanted. Planned my second career while in my sick bed recuperating from the fallout from my first dream. And I carefully planned buying the restaurant I now run and making something out of it. Hell, I planned every second of this meeting.

But I sure failed to plan that I would feel something for Ken. And not just because I dated his twin throughout my teen years. It was because I just couldn’tlike Ken. Yeah, there was that moment when he confessed his love for me and those strange butterflies that fluttered in my belly. But the rest of the events of that night quickly made me forget about it. I thought the butterflies were gone for good.

But now…

I look up at him, our bodies still pressed together. His blue eyes are widening, and I can tell that he’s feeling a surge similar to mine. But that look appears only for a second before an easy grin replaces his shock.

Another classic Ken move. Hide all his true feelings behind a smile, all the damn time. If he’d allowed himself to open up to me when we were teens, a lot might have changed.

Like me.

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