Page 19 of Not By the Playbook

“The plan is to fake it for Jenna, not your seventy million followers!”

“What can I say, baby? I'm all in. Besides, you were going to be outed anyway.” I nod at the other patrons around us.

“Oh my God.” Her eyes dart around the place, the cameras trained our way becoming apparent.

“When I say I'm in, I'm all in.” My phone continues to light up with likes.

Rebecca’s lids shut and her head slumps back against the leatherette headrest.

I’m trying very hard not to laugh, but it’s a challenge. “Want me to update my Facebook status, too?” I deadpan.

She opens one evil eye on me. “You got any grandmas you have to warn off?” she snarks.

There are more whispers and squeals around us. Becs braces her elbows on the table and buries her face in her hands. A small groan of resignation leaks through. “No going back now.”

“Nope. There's no going back.”

Chapter Eleven

Sunday

LOGAN

True to her word,Rebecca committed to the cause and stayed over last night after we picked up some necessities from her place. Necessities that included an arsenal of pencil skirts and slacks to wear around the apartment, even on the weekend. She’s not fooling Jenna, but if it makes her feel more confident, I’m not going to tell her otherwise.

It’s Sunday evening, and Becs and I are sprawled out on the couches across from each other. I’m having a beer and watching the TV mounted behind her while she reads some kind of HR book. I’m not sure if she’s actually interested in the material, or if it’s another ploy.

Becs and I have spent the whole weekend at home playing the domesticated couple. If someone told me a week ago I’d be happy staying in without the possibility of sex (well, there issomepossibility, but I’m not pushing it) as opposed to going out with the guys and hooking up, I would have laughed my ass off.

I actually look forward to having Jenna around because I love teasing Becs so much, and it gives me an excuse to touch her. To put my arm around her and draw her close. Every time I do that, I discover something new—the smell of her Chapstick, her small, slightly turned-up nose.

The tiny mole at the corner of her mouth has become my homing beacon. I have this constant desire to lick that spot then drag my tongue to her lips and kiss her.

This whole situation is fucking with my head. I’ve always been a one-and-done kind of guy, and it perplexes me that I’m dying for round two with Rebecca.

My fingers rake through my hair. I sit up and turn the TV off then lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees to fix my eyes on her.

She looks over the top of her book to meet my gaze and tilts her head. Even her glasses are driving me crazy.

“Hey. You okay?” she asks.

“Yep,” I grunt, continuing to stare.

I know I’m making her uncomfortable when she starts to squirm, but I am objectively trying to understand what keeps drawing me to her. Somehow, the package that is Miss Rebecca Gerone is bigger than the sum of its parts.

“Ummm…You sure?” She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“Yep.”

I’m annoyed with myself for this introspection. I down the rest of my beer and slouch back. “You really have no hand-eye coordination?”

She frowns, looking confused by this turn in the conversation. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

Now it’s her turn to respond with a short, “Yep.”

“How do you know?” I persist.

---