Page 54 of The Match Faker

“Jade, I have to go.”

“Text me when you’re on your way home, okay?”

“I will.”

Children’s screams of delight—I’m assuming—reach us from downstairs.

“Thanks.” I set down my phone and hold up the socks. They’re the thick gray work boot kind with white and red trim. They’re worn and soft and obviously Nick’s.

It feels far too intimate, especially now, to wear his clothes.

“I don’t know how you take your coffee.” He sets the mug beside me.

“Black is good. Thanks.”

He lingers in the doorway. His hair sticks up on one side and his T-shirt has a hole in the shoulder. His facial hair darkens his jaw. “Everything alright?” he asks.

He looks handsome, if not tired.

“Fine.” Anger flares in my chest as I regard him with a frown. It doesn’t matter if Nick is handsome. He’s still a liar.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, ignoring my snark. He rubs his knuckles over his jaw. Maybe I’m imagining the scratch of his stubble as he does it, but real or not, that sound alone sends a shiver down my spine. It takes nothing for my mind to leap from the sound of stubble on his knuckles to what that stubble would sound like against my skin. Against my thighs.

I growl, grunt. An awkward, silly, ridiculous sound. One I would typically save for when I’m alone and mad at myself. As furious as I am at my reaction to him, as warranted as the berating is, I’m not alone.

He cocks his head. “Excuse me?”

My face gets hot and probably turns the color of a nice ripe tomato. I search the room for a weapon. It will be awkward, but I can probably bash my brains in with the old computer tower.

“I was holding in a sneeze,” I say in my most prim voice, being sure to hold my chin high.

“Cool. Well,” he says slowly. “You’ve got about a half hour before my mom comes searching for you. Then she’s going to feed you, make you wait thirty minutes”—he ticks each item off on his fingers—“and then make you come swimming with us.”

“Right. The indoor pool.”

He nods. “The indoor pool. Unless…” He checks behind him before stepping further into the room. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

I stand up from the desk, doing my best to right my pajamas so I can look somewhat proper, even as my heart and stomach ache. “Do you want my help or not, Nicholas?”

Hands held up in surrender, he steps back. “Just checking.” He turns to leave, then turns back again, one of his charming grins on his charming face. His stupid, charming face. “Have I told you today that I’m sorry?”

I throw his socks at him.

As promised,a half hour later I am herded downstairs, fed, and kept in my chair until another thirty minutes have passed.

“Nicky can walk you over to the pool once you’re changed. You brought your suit, right?”

“I did.” A nice green jewel-toned one-piece bathing suit with front zipper closure all the way up to my collarbone and full bum coverage.

Mindy beams. She has this innate ability to make everything a little less terrible. Is this what moms who give a crap about their kids are like? I wouldn’t know.

As I climb the stairs in the now quiet house, I find myself surprisingly excited. I’ve never been in a private indoor pool before. When Nick exits the ensuite, I avert my gaze, worried he’s naked again. I let out a relieved breath when I catch sight of him in my periphery. He’s already dressed in his bather and a T-shirt. But I’m not looking anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

I brush my teeth and put my hair up, wash my face.

Is there a Jacuzzi? God, what I’d do to relax in hot water with jets pointed at my back. Just the thought eases the tension in my muscles. Though as I continue considering the situation, I can’t imagine finding peace with children shrieking and screaming in what I assume is a vast tiled space.

When I pull out my bathing suit, my stomach plummets to the floor.

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