Page 6 of Play Pretend

“And it really upsets me,” she continued, ignoring me. “It upsets me for you. You don’t deserve?—”

“Mom—”

After checking the few places I could think of, I gave up. I didn’t have time to search for it.

I moved through the house to the front door. The lacy white curtain billowed, reminding me the window was open. I needed to remember to close it when I got home later.

Her voice still carried through the phone, oblivious to my chaotic morning. With a final glance back at the messy living room, I took a deep breath and slipped outside, the cool morning dew immediately clinging to my skin.

I turned the speaker off and held the phone between my shoulder and ear as I locked the door, making a mental note to clean the dead leaves littering my half of the porch. I also needed more potting soil.

Oh, and I was out of Oreos.

The door beside mine clicked shut as my deadbolt slid into place. Maybe if I stood perfectly still, he wouldn’t know I was here. Or maybe if I closed my eyes, he couldn’t see me—you know, the wholewhat I don’t see isn’t really there, thing?

“Morning,” Ronan grumbled, his voice sounding like he’d gargled with rocks instead of mouthwash this morning. So, standing totally still with my eyes closed didn’t work.

How unfortunate.

With a fake smile plastered to my face, I turned toward him. My eyes traveled up the long length of his strong body, desperate to linger on the corded muscles I knew he had hidden beneath his uniform.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” I chirped, using my best customer-service voice. Not that he was a customer, but interacting with Ronan Caldwell called for using that voice. It was pleasant and sing-songy, and put distance between us. Despite being neighbors—and my fake boyfriend of a year, though he still didn’t know—there was nothing personal between us. Nothingthat screamed neighbors, or friends, and certainly nothing that even hinted at us being a couple.

“Who’s that?” Mom asked in my ear. The phone nearly fell to the ground at the sound of her voice, but I caught it before it could land. Ronan’s blue gaze ate me alive, searing me to my core.

It really was unfair how attractive he was. You’d think someone that hot wouldn’t have such a chip on his shoulder, but here he was, in all his grumpy glory.

“Your trash can is on my side,” he said. I blinked, the words barely registering. When they did, I turned my attention toward our shared front yard.

“It is not.Yoursis onmyside.” I pointed an accusatory finger at the plastic bins in question. How could he think mine were on his side? That was ridiculous. I never left anything on his side—except for the occasional dead leaf. He was the messy one. His stuff always seemed to migrate to my half of the white-paneled duplex.

“No—”

“Yes,” I shot back. “And your trash stinks. Keep it away from mine.”

“Trash stinks; that’s just what it does.”

“Whatever.”

“You two are so cute.” Mom laughed.

I sent a glare at the phone as I stumbled down the few front steps. The wood creaked under my weight, and I held my breath, bracing myself, just like I did every morning. I knew that any day could be the day it finally snapped—and when it did, I only hoped Ronan wasn’t around to witness me falling on my ass.

“And your truck was leaking last night!” I called over my shoulder. Gravel and leaves crunched under his boots as he followed me toward our vehicles.

“It was water. I washed it and it was drying?—”

“Just keep it off my side,” I told him as I reached my car. My fingers wrapped around the door handle, our gazes meeting over the rusted roof. His face was blank—well, no. It wasn’t blank. It was passive. Annoyed.

Which was fine. Because I felt the same freaking way.

“Keep your dead plants on your side of the porch, then.” My eyes narrowed into slits.

“You try keeping that many plant babies alive. It’s impossible!”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Have you thought of having fewer plants?”

“Fewer plants?” I gasped, completely appalled he’d suggest such a thing. “Absolutely not.”

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