Page 28 of Strictly Pretend

“Quite good, knowing you.” Linc shakes his head. “And you really threatened to tell her granddad about her lying if she didn’t agree to go with you?”

“When you put it like that, I sound like an asshole.” I frown, remembering the flash in her eyes when I said it. Her pretty, pretty eyes.

“You’re blackmailing the poor girl.”

“I’m not. I’m helping her. It’s not good to avoid a whole friendship group after a breakup.”

“It’s not good to avoid an entire family group either,” Linc says pointedly. And yeah, I feel like a bit of a dick because I have been avoiding them. Not because I don’t love them, I do. But because they all have something I’ll never have.

And sometimes it’s tough to come to terms with that.

“I need to see an actual picture photograph of this woman. Not just the official one in her background check,” Linc says. Abigail has finished eating and he puts Rowan back on the floor before he picks up a cloth and wipes her face.

“Why would you want to see a photo of her?” I feel a little weird. I shouldn’t have come here. But I needed to talk to somebody, and Linc likes to talk. A lot.

He’s older than me by two years, but we’ve been buddies since we were running around in diapers. And yeah, I’m thrilled he’s found love with Tessa and their kids.

But sometimes I miss him.

He turns to catch my eye. “It’s not like I’m asking to see her panties.”

“That was a mistake. And I don’t have a photo of her. That would be weird.”

“And blackmailing her to be your fake date to a wedding isn’t,” Linc mutters. “She has to be on social media. What’s her name?”

“Emma Robbins.”

He lifts his daughter out of her high chair and puts her back on the floor. She crawls over to me, then puts her hands on my legs. I lift her until she’s sitting on my lap.

Linc pulls his phone out and starts tapping at the keyboard. “What’s the shop called again?”

“The Vintage Verse.”

“She’s on LinkedIn. Oh yeah, she’s pretty. Nice hair.”

“Is she? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Shut the hell up. You ate her face at a wedding.”

“When you put it that way it sounds so romantic,” I snipe at him. I don’t like that description at all. It wasn’t like that. Yes, I felt a complete hunger for her, but it was more sensual than that.

And now I’m thinking about her lips, goddamn it.

“Oh no,” he says in a high voice. “I just accidentally requested to connect with her.”

“You didn’t.” I glare at him.

“I did.” He grins.

“Take it back. Unfriend her or whatever it is on there.”

“If I do that, she’ll know for sure I’ve been snooping.” He looks delighted at himself. “Or that you have.” He winks. “Oh, she’s accepted my request.”

I grab the phone from him. Sure enough, her profile is up in a way that you can only see if you’re connected. The profile photo is of her sitting in the bookshop. She’s wearing a dress with printed flowers on it, her flaming red hair pulled back and thick black glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. In her hands is a book – a tattered leather hardback – and I have to squint to read the title.Ducks, And How To Make Them Payby W. Cook.

My lips twitch because this woman is completely different to any I’ve met before. She’s frustrating and annoying and I want to taste her mouth again like I want to breathe air.

“Jesus, you like her.”

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