Page 24 of Strictly Pretend

And it does something weird to me.

“Flapjack crumbs,” I say.

“Oh.” Her brows knit and I realize my fingers are still on her. Slowly I pull them away, and there’s this weird sizzling gaze between us.

All I can think about is how those lips tasted when I kissed her at the wedding. She blinks, like she’s thinking exactly the same thing.

I shift in my seat, stupidly turned on at the memory. What the hell is happening here? I go to move my fingers away,just as she lifts her own hand up, and our touches graze for a millisecond. Her pupils dilate.

Christ, she’s shivering. I frown, trying to remember what I was going to say before I got completely distracted by the fact I want to kiss this woman.

Oh yeah. I had a cunning plan.

“Hear me out,” I say as though touching her hasn’t just given me a hard-on. “Because I know a way to make him feel like a complete loser.”

Her eyes shoot up to mine. “I’m listening.”

“Go as my date to the wedding. We can stick it to him where it hurts.”

“What?” She looks appalled, and I like that much better than when she looks turned on. “Why would I want to do that?”

If I were more thinned skinned I’d be wounded by her being so horrified.

“Actually, don’t answer that,” she adds, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m even giving this stupid suggestion any head space.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m not doing it for any altruistic reason. I’d want payment.”

Her mouth drops open. “What are you? A gigolo?”

I laugh because that’s one thing I’ve never been called before. Cold, yes. Unfeeling, definitely. An asshole? So many times…

“I don’t mean monetary payment,” I tell her.

“Then what would…” She trails off. “Oh no, I’m not giving up the book store to you just so I can get one up on an ex I don’t even care about.”

“I’m not asking you to give up the store.” Not yet.

“Then what?” she asks me.

I take a deep breath. “I’ve found another building. In town. That would house you, the therapy guy, and the dress shop. Justagree to see it, to think about moving in there. That’s all I ask in return.”

She says nothing. Just lifts her tiny little cup to her lips and drinks the espresso in one go. “This idea is stupid.”

“Yep.” I can’t lie, it really is.

“And juvenile.” She shakes her head. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Thirty-two,” I tell her.

“I can’t believe I’m even listening to this. I have so many better things to do. Like bang my head against the wall until everything disappears.”

“I guess there’s one other option,” I say, hating myself because I don’t want to go nuclear. But I want that building. And I want it bad.

“What?” she asks, looking suspicious.

“We could go back to the book store and explain to your granddad exactly who I am and why I’m here.”

Her mouth drops open. I’m not proud of myself. Okay, I’m a little proud of myself. But she was so obviously lying to him in there.

---