Page 36 of The Stand-In Boyfriend

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure, you looked like you were in pain…”

“Fine. C’mon, let’s get back.”

Suddenly painfully aware of my position, I quickly get to my feet, offering my hand to help Noah up. In silence, we each grab a banner and return to our group, who give us curious stares, but don’t comment much.

I look up at where Lisa wants us to put the banners. “I think we’ll need a ladder. I’ll go and…”

Noah crouches in front of me and taps his back. “Jump up.”

“What?” I stumble back a step, looking at him like he’s gone crazy. “You can’t…”

“I’m fine, Sunshine.”Tap-tap.“Jump up.”

Taking a deep breath, I step forward. “I seriously don’t think that’s a good idea,” I mutter, but do as he says, sliding one leg over his shoulder and then the other. His fingers grip my ankles for support and then he straightens to his full height.

Letting go of one of my ankles, he grabs the banner and hoists it up. “Ready?”

It’s actually much simpler than I thought it would be. Together we work in silence, setting the banners while Lisa directs us from the floor, always finding something to complain about.

We’re done just as the bell rings, and students come rushing out of the classrooms.

I slide down Noah’s back, feeling the strong muscles underneath my palms. He turns around, giving me a look I can’t quite decipher.

His hand reaches for my face, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Pick you up tomorrow?”

I swallow hard, nodding. “Sure. Tomorrow.”

Chapter Fourteen

NOAH

“What is this?” I narrow my eyes at her as soon as she slides into the passenger seat of my car.

“What?” she asks, looking completely confused.

“This.” I pull at the neck of the jacket she’s wearing. A very big, clearly male jacket.

“Oh.” She looks away guiltily. “It’s a jacket.”

But it’s not just a jacket. It’shisjacket. And she’s wearing it while she’s pretending to be my girlfriend.

Fuck.

My hands grip tighter around the steering wheel as I try to keep my cool, but it’s hard. So damn hard. It shouldn’t matter. But it does. And I don’t like it at all.

“It’s his, isn’t it?” I grit through clenched teeth.

“He had like five of them, and we were dating.” She shrugs. At least she didn’t try to lie about it.

“Well, you aren’t anymore,” I point out.

She flinches at my harsh words, making me feel like an asshole as a flash of pain crosses her face. Still, she doesn’t cower.

“No, we’re not. I just exchanged a real asshole boyfriend for a fake one,” she mutters angrily, and then turns to look out the window.

Fucking hell.

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