Page 31 of Pretend You're Mine

My stomach dropped, the weight of my mother’s comment pressing down like a lead weight. Had we talked about my trip? No.

Creed’s expression shifted from playful to startled. “Japan?” he echoed, his brows knitting together.

My heart raced as I shot a glance at Creed, silently pleading for him to cover for us. The last thing I wanted was for our fake relationship to be laid bare before her. “Oh, um, yeah,” I managed, forcing a casual tone. “Just a little trip for work, nothing too exciting. Sorry, babe.” I reach over and gave his hand resting on his knee a squeeze, hoping he’d play along, so that we could get through this with as little damage as possible. But my hand shook against his, and he didn’t squeeze back.

Creed nodded slowly, his expression schooled into something neutral. “Right. I must have forgotten,” he said a little too flatly. He offered my mother a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll, uh, manage while Avery’s gone.”

My mother smiled, seemingly satisfied, but I could see the flicker of something in Creed’s eyes—a hint of irritation mixed with confusion. The tension hung between us like a thick fog, but we were getting better at covering for each other, weaving our stories together with practiced ease.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that my mother’s comment had been more than a simple observation. Was she trying to trip us up, or was there genuine concern lurking behind her words? The uncertainty gnawed at me.

It felt like a lifetime, though only a few minutes had passed, when Creed leaned in close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “I think we’ve had enough for tonight, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice laced with something hard, something that made my chest tighten.

I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

We excused ourselves, but the silence between us as we left the living room was thick, buzzing with all the things we hadn’t said. I could feel his frustration radiating off him in waves, and I knew that once we were behind closed doors, this bubble of pretend peace was going to burst.

I knew Creed would be upset. I expected confusion, maybe disappointment. But this? This hollow, shattered look in his eyes, like I’d just ripped away something important—it was unbearable.

He stared at me, like he was trying to process my words and couldn’t make sense of them. We were still in the hallway, standing close but worlds apart. “You’re... leaving?” The question was soft-spoken, his voice almost lost in the quiet of the house.

I tried to find the right words, but they got tangled up in my throat. “Yeah, I... I’m flying out to Japan. Business trip. I’ll be gone most of December, back just in time for Christmas.” I was grateful no one could overhear us from where we stood. I could barely hold his gaze, let alone bear the frustration building between us.

His gaze shifted, the raw hurt in his eyes folding away behind a blank mask. The shift was so quick, it made my stomach drop. “Okay. Got it.” He moved away from me, putting a careful distance between us. His shoulders drew up, defensive, like he was bracing for a blow. “You don’t need to explain anything to me. It’s your life, Avery. I’m just... your employee, right?”

Employee? The word burned like acid. I took a step closer, reaching out, but he angled away from my touch. “Creed, that’s not... you know it’s not like that.”

He let out a short laugh, the sound brittle and hollow. “It’s fine. Really. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But it wasn’t fine. It was anything but fine. The air between us chilled, the space growing wider with every passing second. I swallowed against the tightness in my chest, struggling to find the words, to say something that would bridge the gap. All I managed was, “Look, I could... I could give you more money before I go, so you don’t have to?—”

Creed’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening like he was biting back a response. He shook his head sharply. “I don’t need your charity, Avery. We agreed on an amount, and I’m sticking to it.” His voice was clipped, controlled. A tone I haven’t heard from him before.

“But you don’t have to sleep in your car?—”

“I’m not,” he cut in, the words coming out sharp enough to slice. His eyes flashed, something raw and wounded burning behind them. “I’ve got a place lined up. The car thing... it was just temporary. I’ll be fine.”

Liar. He was lying through his teeth. I could see it in the way his gaze flickered away from mine, how he shifted on his feet, too restless. But I knew better than to push. Not when he was like this, all his walls up, as unreachable as he’d been most of the time since we met.

“Okay,” I said, though it felt like a lie to agree. My chest ached with the urge to reach out, to pull him close and make him understand that this—us—meant something to me. But I just nodded like everything was settled. “If that’s what you want.”

He didn’t answer, just shrugged and turned toward the stairs, moving like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

We climbed up to the bedroom in a silence that scraped at my nerves. I trailed behind him, my mind racing. He wasn’t meeting my eyes anymore, his shoulders drawn tight beneath his shirt. I felt the weight of all the things we weren’t saying, pressing down on my chest until it was hard to breathe.

In the room, we went through the motions—brushing teeth, changing into pajamas—like strangers. He stayed on his side of the bed, back to me, and I didn’t dare try to cross the space between us. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. But it felt like we were back at square one, like I was standing in front of a locked door that I thought I’d finally managed to open.

I wanted to tell him that he wasn’t just my employee. That I liked him—really liked him. That I wanted him to be part of my life, not just my bed. But the words tangled up in my throat, choked by fear and uncertainty. What if he didn’t want that? What if it was all just... wishful thinking on my part?

The silence stretched, heavy and cold. I lay down, facing the ceiling, and felt the emptiness between us like a chasm. The warmth of his body on the other side of the mattress felt miles away. I turned my head, watching the shape of him in the darkness, but he didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

I bit back the frustration building in my chest and turned away, curling up on my side, facing the wall. Maybe I should just sleep. Maybe in the morning, we’d be able to talk about this without the weight of the night pressing down on us. But the ache in my chest lingered, and sleep felt as distant as Creed’s touch.

The room was too quiet. Each breath sounded loud in the darkness, and I couldn’t stop my mind from circling back to the memory of earlier, to the warmth of his smile and the way his body felt against mine. Now, all of that felt like a different lifetime—like it never happened at all.

I lay there, eyes wide open in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wasn’t coming, not with all this static buzzing in my head. I could tell from the way Creed’s breathing hitched and caught that he wasn’t sleeping either. It was like there was a thread stretched taut between us, vibrating with everything we weren’t saying. The weight of his body, just a few inches away, was impossible to ignore.

Without thinking, I shifted, turning to face him, and in the darkness, I sensed him doing the same. The shadows blurred his features, but I could see the outline of his lips, slightly parted, as if he was waiting for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for.

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