Page 31 of Faking It (Close Quarters 1)

“Look at how in love she is!” Ava sighs dramatically. “You can see it all over her face.”

Heat floods my cheeks and I gulp down some of my wine. I’m notthatgood an actress, and it terrifies me that Ava can see something I don’t want to show.

It’s good for the cover story. And youarea good actress, that’s all this is.

But I know that look comes from somewhere deep inside me, a part I’ve been hushing for years. I like Owen...a lot. Last night was more than sex to me even if it wasn’t to him.

“You must be one of the lucky ones.” Drew leans back in her chair and her eyes drift over to the men. There’s something in her expression that’s difficult to read. “To find a guy who won’t promise you the moon and then vanish the second he gets what he wants.”

Ava and I exchange a glance, while Emery nods empathetically. I get the impression there are two opposing views on love in this little group. I can’t help letting my gaze drift to Owen. He’s talking and laughing.

God, he’s gorgeous. When he looks back at me, catching my gaze with his, I’m ruined. But I need to get my head in the game. I’m not going to hang my hopes on a fantasy.

“So give me the lowdown,” I say. “Who’s who in this building?”

That’s what I’m here for. Information. A clue as to who might warrant our attention. Because, for the first time in my life, I’m struggling to keep my focus on work and I can’t drop the ball now. Not when I’ve finally gotten to where I want to be.

“Well,” Ava says with a cheeky grin. I suspect the sweet schoolteacher might enjoy a little gossip, which is good news. “Looks like your husband has already met the Lively brothers.”

“Rowan is a grade-A playboy,” Emery chimes in, the edge of her lip curling. “Thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

“He’s notthatbad.” Ava rolls her eyes. “Sure, he’s a little cocky but he’s a nice guy.”

“She’s only saying that because she’s had a crush on Rowan’s brother, Dom, since the day she moved into her apartment.” Emery shoots me a smug grin as she reaches for the wine to top herself up. “Dom is a great guy, actually. They run a gallery together, family business.”

“Yes, I went to one of theirs shows,” I say. “What about their friend, the chef?”

“Matt?” The two women exchange glances and eventually Ava offers a strange little shrug. “He’s...intense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I get the impression he’s got some issues. He was dating this woman for a while and it’s this on again, off again thing. We could hear them fighting sometimes when we were visiting a friend on his floor.”

“Yeah, theyloveda bit of drama.” Emery taps her chin. “But he went off the rails a bit after the last split. Quit his job and holed up in his apartment. Dom hinted that he’d fallen in with a bad crowd.”

Interesting. Ava and Emery continue on with their assessment of everyone who lives in the building—from the cute young couple with the newborn twins, to the glamorous older lady who apparently was the muse of some big Australian designer back in the day—I struggle to pay attention. Matt is definitely still at the top of my suspect list.

When my gaze swings back around to the rest of the barbeque action, I find Owen looking right back at me. The intensity of his stare sends a shiver down my spine and my traitorous body reacts, priming me for what I want—more. More of last night. More of his lips on mine. More of his hands romancing my body.

But I have to keep my eye on the prize and, unfortunately for me, the prize isnotanother night of fantastic sex with Owen.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Owen

“WAIT,SHEWANTEDhowmuch?” I shake my head.

“Twenty thousand dollars,” Hannah replies. “And that was for the little sculpture.”

Hannah had her meeting with Celina Yang this afternoon, following up from our visit to Dom and Rowan’s gallery a few days ago. Now we’re having a drink and bite to eat at the pub across from 21 Love Street. The great thing about this pub is that if you sit at the bench that runs across the front window—and put up with the rock-hard stools—then you have a perfect view of the entrance to our apartment building.

It’s been two nights since the barbeque. Three since Hannah and I crossed a line and did things I can’t get out of my head. Just long enough since we fumbled the “morning after” that Hannah is finally opening up to me again. Frankly, it’s happening sooner than I suspected.

Not that it makes me feel any less guilty about the way I handled it. I shouldn’t have ended the conversation by walking out like that. But Ialwaysretreat when it comes to that stuff.

“I almost choked on my coffee,” she continues. “I mean, I know she’s an amazing artist but geez! Who has that kind of money for something so...frivolous?”

“Lots of people would say art isn’t frivolous.” I’m goading her and her narrowed expression says she knows it, too.

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