Page 43 of The Fake Dating War

I’m practicing,” I rush out. “Believable, wasn’t it?”

“Do better. Pretend I’m all you think about.” She works her mouth with her teeth.

Why is she doing that? She needs to stop it. “Guess I’ll have to brush up on my acting.”

“There’s going to be a lot of guests—and a lot of attractive women.” She crosses her arms. “No pursuing anyone else.”

My eyebrows come together. What is she on about? “You’re the one who has been on that dating app. If anyone should need that warning, it’s you.”

Her cheeks flush harder, clearly out of irritation, but I can’t help but think she glows. Her eyes are full of passion as her words snap at me. “Like that’s any of your business. I can do whatever I want!”

“You can’t. This week you are mine. Act accordingly.”

“Tsh,” she squeaks. “If you think you can speak to me like?—”

I push in closer and am delighted when I see her on the verge of pushing back at me. I lean further forward. She steps back. I step forward. It’s a small hotel room, and soon I’ve got her pushed against the wall. My palm finds the wall beside her head.

Why am I doing this? Maybe because Patel today hasn’t been—herself. She’s been acting uncertain and—if I wasn’t wrong—nervous and scared? I much prefer the look on her face now. She is seconds away from kicking me in the balls. Before she can, I pull myself away.

At the same time, her phone rings. She fishes it out.

“You have pockets?” I say with surprise.

She spares me a cursory glance. “Most Punjabi outfits don’t, but I had mine made custom… two years ago.”

She goes to the bathroom again and chats on the phone. A few minutes later, she comes back, visibly unhappy.

“What is it?” Did her family already realize the relationship is a fraud? The hair snuggle must have done it. If she’d given me some indication we were supposed to kiss—that she would allow me to kiss her—I would’ve grabbed her and?—

I scrub a hand over my face. The flight exhausted me. My mind is going places it doesn’t belong. Though I suppose it might happen sooner or later. I’ll have to kiss her, won’t I? An unrelated buzz hums through me.

“My sister,” says Patel, bringing me back to the present. “Tomorrow morning, she’s booked a bridesmaid tour and wants you to come along. I tried saying you have work to catch up on, but she won’t take no for an answer. If we try to resist, she’s going to find you and drag you along. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I shrug. Based on his very public social media, Tarun isn’t landing here until tomorrow night. Just like Patel, my work login access is revoked, so my afternoon is open.

“Thanks,” she says stiffly. “I’ll send you an email tonight. Some facts about myself that a boyfriend should know. Study it. You can—also—send information about yourself. I guess I should pretend to care, too.”

“An email?” I whistle. “You know how to get a man going.”

“Yes, because that’s my one true goal in life.”

“Best to have some unachievable ones to keep motivated.”

She glares at me.

I glare back, wondering whether she’ll leave if I start taking my clothes off. I go to unbutton the top of my shirt.

“We both know if you could commit your life to a spreadsheet, you would.”

I’ve undone two buttons and Patel hasn’t noticed. If I cared at all, it would be a bit of an ego killer. Instead, she’s enjoying this tirade about my love of numbers.

She clutches at her chest and moans. “Oh, data!”

That sound goes straight to my cock.

I turn away from her, facing the window.

That moan of hers. And being together in a hotel room?—

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