Page 48 of Play Pretend

“Of course.” I tapped the seat invitingly.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but her gripping both front seats and hiking her leg over the center console was not it. She twisted and shifted, her ass slamming into my face before she sank into the chair and straightened her skirt.

“Thanks.” She grinned before sliding her seatbelt over her chest.

Honestly, I was too damn stunned to do anything other than stare at her. Blink. Breathe. Stare. That was it.

Roughly, I cleared my throat and turned my gaze forward. I shifted the car into drive, and we silently drove through the quiet streets of Cedar Ridge.

It wasn’t an awkward silence, even after her ass was in my face, but it was comfortable. Companionable. Like it had been at the lighthouse earlier.

I tapped my fingers against the gearshift. I couldn’t believe we agreed to date just hours ago. It felt like that happened days ago, weeks ago. But it hadn’t. This was our first night as a fake couple.

My gaze slid toward her, and I watched from the corner of my eye as she stared out the window, her chin propped on her palm. She tracked the moving scenery, a million thoughts whirling behind those shadowed green eyes.

I would’ve paid anything to know what she was thinking.

All too soon, we pulled up in front of the duplex. It was odd seeing her place quiet and dark, her car not parked in the driveway. We stayed in the truck for another moment, just staring at our shared house.

What was I supposed to do now? Talk to her? But what did I say? No matter how hard I tried or how many words floated through my mind, nothing felt right.

Before I could even attempt a conversation, she reached for the handle, and I grabbed her hand. She jolted at my touch, but didn’t pull away.

“I’ll help you down,” I said softly. “I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”Again. But I didn’t think that needed to be said.

She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath but stayed put. My lips twitched, and a part of me loved that she was such a brat. Maybe that meant she was already comfortable with me.

I strode around the truck and pulled her door open. Our eyes met in the darkness, my breath hitching as she seared me to my core. Everything fell away, and all that was left was her. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just her and me. Me and her. Us.

Her hand slid into mine, and I helped her from her seat, making sure her feet were settled firmly on the ground before letting her go. I locked up, hoping she thought I was just being annoying by locking the doors seven times and not that I had a compulsion to do so.

She stumbled as we walked toward the porch, nearly tripping and falling. I wrapped my arm around her waist, anchoring her to my side. I liked it—touching her. Keeping her close.

I liked it a lot more than I should.

“Is this okay?” I asked, glancing down at her.

She relaxed into me, a soft sigh leaving her lips. “Yes,” she muttered, and I felt my heart soar.

I helped her the rest of the way, all but carrying her up the rickety steps to her door. It took all I had not to demand she let me sweep the place to make sure she was safe, but that wasn’t first date behavior.

Fakefirst date behavior.

She peered up at me, and my breath caught in my throat. Was I supposed to kiss her? Shake her hand? Give her a pat on the back?

“Thanks for inviting me tonight,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “It was really fun.” She pulled away from me, and her presence was immediately missed.

“Thanks for going.” I rubbed the back of my neck. My fingers tapped against the warm skin there, my hair tickling me.

“I’ll, um, see you around,” she murmured, and I dipped my head in a nod.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat as I stepped away from her, needing the distance but not wanting it. “See you around.”

She gave me the softest, sweetest smile before slipping inside and clicking her door shut behind her. I waited to hear it lock, then I made my way to my half of the house. After my ritual, I sank into my chair and ran my hand through my hair, sighing.

What a fucking night.

willow

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