I’M AN IDIOT.
James saw that there was something wrong and tried to help, and I shut him down at every turn. If we were actually dating, I’d be a frontrunner for the worst girlfriend ever award. As it stands, I’m a shitty friend.
Is that what we are? Friends?
That doesn’t sit right with me. But what’s the alternative? He isn’t interested in dating, and I shouldn’t be, either. We can be friends while we’re pretending to date, but I’m delusional if I think for a second it could go further. Even if I wanted it—and I don’t—it wouldn’t work out. Rich quarterbacks with Hall of Fame fathers don’t go out with barely scraping by hash-slinging wannabe photographers like me.
And even if we tried, eventually he’d realize I’m not worth it and leave. Just like… Dad.
His future is in a different city. Mine is half an hour away.
We’re not the same, and I need to stop this line of thought, because this dinner is getting more awkward by the second and at the table closest to us another couple our age just sat down, and the way the girl is looking at us makes it clear she knows who James is and would absolutely love to eavesdrop. Even worse than pretending to have a boyfriend in the first place would be Darryl finding out I’ve been lying about this whole “new relationship,” thing.
“This looks great,” I tell the server as she sets my ravioli in front of me. It’s lobster with a tomato cream sauce, something I love but almost never get to eat. She smiles at me, but that shifts into something way flirtier as she sets down James’ steak.
I need to ramp things up if this fake date is going to be successful. Eyes on the prize. I lay a possessive hand on James’ arm. “That looks delicious, honey. Make sure you let me try a bite.”
If he’s surprised, he does me the courtesy of hiding it. “Sure, princess, but only if you share yours.”
I giggle as I make eye contact with the girl at the other table. “So generous of you.”
His hand curls over my arm, dragging me close so he can whisper in my ear, “What the fuck is going on? Two seconds ago, I thought you were going to walk all the way back home.”
I keep up my smile as I whisper back, “That girl over there is staring. I’m making the date believable. Play along.”
To my relief, he settles back in his chair. “You haven’t told me about your day yet,” he says as he cuts into his steak.
I seize on the opportunity, feeling the tightness in my stomach ease. “It was good. I gave a presentation in my management class.”
“How did that go?”
I tear my gaze away from the girl—who really needs to get a life of her own—and look at him as I reply, “Fantastic. I wasn’t that nervous; the professor is very chill. Which, considering the major, is rare. Most of my professors have been seriously intense.”
“I took a couple of business classes before I decided to major in math,” he says. “That’s definitely true.”
“I still can’t believe you do that, by the way.”
“What?”
“Study math.” I make a face as I pop a piece of ravioli into my mouth.
He suppresses a smile. “I like it.”
“I do the books for the diner, and I always mix something up, without fail.”
“Like, by hand?”
I sigh. “Unfortunately. I know there’s software that will do it, but there’s only so much I can do with a cash business.”
“Cash only still? Wow.”
“There’s a lot my mother won’t change.” Whatever my father set in place before he left, you’d think was etched in stone on the ceiling. Making improvements has been a slow, painful process.
Before I can get too far down that road, I change the subject. “How was practice? Who are you playing again this week?”
“It was good. But we’re playing LSU.”
“Your old team.”
He nods, a grim look on his face. “It’s going to be an interesting matchup. They know me well, but I know them well too.” He nudges my shoulder. “You should come on Saturday. Do you have work? It’s at noon.”
Part of me wants to say no right away, but wouldn’t a girlfriend go to her boyfriend’s games, especially when he’s playing his old team? It would probably be weirder if I wasn’t there. “Sure, that sounds nice.”
“Awesome.” He smiles widely, transforming his face from simply handsome to stunning. My breath catches in my throat half a second before I remember I’m not supposed to let this attraction root any deeper. “Feel free to bring Laura or anyone else, I have plenty of tickets.”
“Will your brothers be there?”
“Not Cooper, unfortunately. He has a game in Vermont. But Seb will be there, and my parents.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “James.”
“What? You’ll like them.” He leans in a bit, dropping his voice even lower. “Even fake girlfriends can meet the folks.”
“What about friends?” I whisper back.
For some reason, that makes him brush his lips against my forehead. “Definitely.”
His kiss unleashes a cloud of butterflies in my belly. I’ve been trying to ignore it—especially when he crossed over the line—but it’s useless. Something about my body reacts to his in a way it does for no one else. I want to feel his lips on mine. His hands. When he brushed my skin as he zipped up my dress earlier, I had to press my legs together to relieve the ache his touch inspired.
If his kisses are anything to go by, he would be amazing in bed. If only I’d be capable of keeping it casual, I’d be all over him. We’d never work as a couple, but as a hookup?
“You’re staring,” I tell him.
He grins. “Sweetheart, you stared first.”
Crap. That was probably true.
He puts his hand on my thigh. It’s underneath the table, so no one can see; it’s not for the benefit of the server or the nosy couple. It’s very clearly for one person—me.
I swallow. His gaze flickers down to my throat and lower before settling back on my face. His hand, which covers my thigh easily, squeezes lightly. “Don’t try to make this any more or less than it can be,” he says.
I nod.
“Don’t leave me tonight, baby. Stay.”
I shouldn’t say yes. I should keep the boundary between us as airtight as possible. Because this scares me. This could so easily lead to deeper feelings, and I’ll be the one looking foolish again the second James finds someone he truly wants to be with or decides he doesn’t need our deal anymore.
Before him, I had no trouble doing the smart thing. Now? I make decisions I shouldn’t left and right. Like asking someone my body aches for to pretend to date me.
Yet the streak continues; I nod. I lean in. I press a lingering kiss to his mouth, promising him—and myself—something I have no business offering.
But in this moment, with candlelight shining on the table and James’ ocean eyes on mine, I don’t care.
