Fake Fiancée

“That you’re too proud to admit when you’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong, Cookie.”

She set her sandwich down, a small smile on her face. “That’s the best nickname you could come up with? Why Cookie?”

I leaned back in the metal chair that was entirely too small for my frame. “Because you’re sweet enough to eat.” The words fell softly between us.

Time to move on, Max. She isn’t interested in sex with you.

“Next question?” I asked.

She nodded, thinking. “Hmmm, if I had to pick qualities in a fake boyfriend, I’d want him to be a great spider killer. Are you?”

“They don’t scare me.”

“Even the big hairy ones? There’s one currently residing in my bedroom somewhere.”

I grinned. “Let me come over and I’ll hunt him down.”

“Right,” she smirked. “Here’s a good one for you: Would you buy me feminine products?”

“I might come home with baby diapers—but yeah, I’d try my damnedest.”

She bit back a grin, but a giggle erupted.

I smiled. “Are you trying to make me uncomfortable, Cookie?”

“Maybe . . . anyway . . . how many times a day do you masturbate?”

“As many as possible.” And I thought about you every single time this week.

“Why do you want to put it in our butts?”

My hands flew up in the air. “Who said I did?”

She turned fire-engine red. “Fine. It was just a question—I’ve always wondered.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “You should see the color of your face right now. For the record, there are plenty of other places I’d like to put it.”

She waved that comment off. “Do you believe in soul mates or love at first sight?”

I tensed. “Yes.”

Her eyes zeroed in on mine. “Seriously? Come on—this is your fake girlfriend. You can tell me the truth.”

“If the universe wants us with one person, I dig it. I believe in fate,” I said.

“Don’t you just think it’s more about who is standing in front of you when the time is right? What if you met your one true love at a party when you were sixteen, but because you went your separate ways for one reason or another, you never see her again? Or maybe the next time you see her, she’s already committed to someone else.”

“I believe that whatever’s meant to be will be.” I toyed with my water glass, feeling self-conscious. “Maybe it’s because I lost my mom early, but I believe a lot of stuff that can’t be explained.

“When she died, I—I was lost. I can barely recall anything I did or said that night. But I feel her with me sometimes. She loved my hair because it was the same color as hers . . .” I laughed. “I’d always been a short hair kind of guy, but now that she’s gone, I wear it long. I dream about her too. I imagine she’s some kind of cool angel in heaven explaining football to all the other angels. They’re all sitting around eating chicken wings and pizza and watching me play on a big screen.” It wasn’t like me to open up about my mom. “I didn’t mean to get so serious. Ask me something funny.”

“I like you when you talk about her. Your face gets all soft.” She sighed. “Anyway, have you met her yet?”

“Who?”

“The girl fate has given you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Oh.”

I swept my gaze over her, taking in the V-neck of her gray shirt. It seemed simple enough with its funny logo, but the shoulders had been cut out and some kind of lacey material had been sewn onto the sleeves and hem.

“Did you make your shirt?”

She looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“Honestly, it was just a guess. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen. I like it.”

Another nonchalant shrug with a whole lot of meh.

She didn’t even care that I was impressed with her.

I wanted to push her. “It’s obvious you’re a talented girl—but can you kiss me without getting all hot and bothered? Right now.” I had no idea what I was doing or saying. I was acting on pure instinct.

She glanced at the tables next to us and then came back to me. No one paid us any attention. “You want to do another ‘elevator scene’? I thought we agreed on no more kissing.”

I shook my head. “Agreements are made to be broken.”

What the hell was I doing?

“Here?”

“I dare you.”

A hint of steel grew on her face. She’d taken the bait. She stood up, brushed her palms down her tight jeans, and covered the distance between our chairs with two steps.

I stood up to meet her. Her palms touched my chest, those eyes of hers burning a hole through me—or maybe it was the other way around.

Her lips met mine with a soft press and then immediately retreated, but no way was I letting her get out of this. My hand curled around her waist and squeezed. A soft nip, the slide of my hand in her hair . . . and her lips clung to mine.

Yes.

“I guess we should, um, sit down now. People are probably staring,” I murmured as we eased back to take a breath. Honestly, I didn’t give a fuck who was watching. I just didn’t know what to say.

She swallowed, her hands sliding down from where she’d curled them around my neck. She played with a strand of my hair, a soft look on her face. “Yeah.”