Page 38 of Love Medley
And then I wonder…do I really want that to happen?
Chapter twelve
Jake
“Are you ready to do this?” Lucy says with a mischievous smile on her face.
Lucy and I plan to have a flirty conversation close to Sam’s working station. I’ve only seen glimpses of Lucy’s playful side, but with each passing day, it’s coming out more and more. I marvel at the thought that I might be helping her emerge from her shell.
That said, I’m really glad that Sam has moved on, because otherwise I’d feel worse about doing this. In fact, Sam has been on my mind a lot this morning, not because I want to getback together with her, but because I’m increasingly aware of how badly matched we were as a couple. Yesterday, Lucy pulled more information out of me about my family than Sam has ever gotten, and it’s because she was incredibly empathetic to what I was going through. I really felt like she understood, maybe because she’s seen her parents treat her brother in a similar way.
In contrast, when I told Sam about my dad, she immediately started defending him, saying that I should try harder to connect with him. She insinuated that I wasn’t making a big enough effort, and that’s why our relationship was so strained. Because Sam didn’t want to hear anything bad about my parents, I felt silenced. I don’t think she meant to do that on purpose, but after that, I clammed up whenever she asked me about my family.
Right now, however, I’m here with Lucy, and that’s all that matters. “No time like the present,” I say, grinning back.
Of course, Lucy always looks gorgeous, but for some reason, I’m more struck by her than ever before. Her black hair falls in waves on her back, her lips are a soft kissable pink. She has on a pretty sky-blue dress that shows off her tiny waist.
I gulp, wondering if she put on our shared favorite color…just for me.
Fuck. I have to stop thinking about her that way. This is all for show—she’s my fake girlfriend, for crying out loud. This isn’t real.
We linger in the vicinity of where Sam is typing on her computer, but not close enough that she can hear what we’re saying.
“I’m really looking forward to our date tomorrow,” Lucy says, twisting a lock of hair as she looks upwards at me through her lashes.
Logical and rational thinking goes out the window with all my blood rushing south. Apparently my body doesn’t give a damn if this is fake. Because once it sees Lucy, all bets are off.
“Me too,” I say, my voice sounding unnatural and wooden.
God, why are we even doing this? Then I remember this is about Lucy, not about me or Sam. Lucy needs to feel like I’m getting something out of this so that I can help her get rid of Weston.
And then I’m blasted back into the moment. Lucy is in front of me, so sweet and effortlessly enticing that my fingers twitch with a mad desire to touch her. But what if it’s the wrong thing to do? After a beat of hesitation, I reach out and tuck the curl she’s twisting behind her ear.
Lucy looks startled before her face slowly morphs into a shy smile. This is supposed to be a staged production, but it sure doesn’t feel that way.
“You look beautiful today,” I say, low and deep so that only Lucy can hear. Because my words are absolutely, one-hundred percent true, and they are meant for her alone.
“Thank you,” Lucy says, and to my surprise, she trails a finger down my arm.
My bicep muscle twitches at the exhilarating sensation of her skin on mine, and I have to hold in a groan. Jesus. This woman is going to be the end of me.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re wearing Tuesday?” I ask, more interested in the answer than I should be.
Lucy’s eyes glow with mirth. “It’s a secret. You’ll just have to find out. But you should wear a light blue tie if you have one.”
My mouth goes dry at the fact that I’m going to see Lucy Chang even more dressed up tomorrow night. If I’m having this much trouble holding onto my sanity now, how am I going to survive this dinner?
I think Lucy realizes I’m having trouble speaking, so she says softly, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I grasp for something to say. “Um…I’m a dueling pianist at Tunes and Tonic.”
Lucy’s mouth drops open in a perfect O. “Get out! How do I not know this already?”
I shrug. “It never came up.” But the fact that Lucy is apparently delighted with this new information makes me glad I said something.
“Tunes and Tonic…” Lucy muses.
“That's a mouthful, so the staff call the bar TNT,” I say.
