Page 2 of Fake Dating the Silver Fox

She reaches under my chair, her shoulders brushing my knees wider apart.

Good Lord, how much more can I take?

I must have uttered a caveman like grunt, because the woman freezes, then abruptly backs out from between my legs with a surprised look on her face.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.That face!

She’s Helen of Troy! Lady Godiva! Daisy Buchanan!

My breath quickens and my blood rushes through my veins. The words that had been so elusive for days suddenly pour through my mind.

That heart-shaped face staring up at me, lips open in surprise, could launch a thousand pens. Those lake blue eyes, wide with curiosity, spark inspiration deep in my core.

“I’m so sorry.” She slowly backs out between my legs, gathering the dog to her chest.

“It’s okay.” I snatch my notebook from the table and swipe away the spilled coffee.

She darts a glance at the notebook. “I hope that wasn’t anything important.”

I frown at my ruined doodle. “Just an entire morning of work,” I say with a wry smile. “No big deal.”

Guilt flashes across her face. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you another coffee.”

“I’m kidding. It’s nothing.”Not yet.

“Cupid is sorry, too.” She gets to her feet, clutching the little dog to her chest.

“Cupid?”

She beams at the pint-sized dog. “It fits him, don’t you think?”

The dog is one of the ugliest mutts I’ve ever seen, but tucked up against her breasts increases his attractiveness by miles.

“He’s pretty cute.”

She sets him down, and he goes straight for me, tugging on his leash. “Well, that’s new.”

“What?”

“Cupid doesn’t like anyone,” she says.

“Is it okay to pet him?” I don’t know much about dogs, but he looks like he’d be receptive to a scratch behind his ears.

“He doesn’t bite.” She frowns down at him. “Except that one time.”

“He looks ferocious.” I grin up at her as I reach down to pet him.

Her eyes dance with amusement. “He’s a menace to society.”

He licks my hand, and I laugh as the tiny tongue tickles my skin. I miss having a pet, but with my schedule, it just won’t work.

“He never does that! He really likes you.”

I meet her gaze and something clicks in my brain. Dried up juices stir to life. I know exactly what I need to write. This story needs a goofy dog. It will bring lightness to the heavy themes of stalking and kidnapping.

I grab my backpack, shoving my stuff inside. I’ve got to get this down before I lose it. I’ve got to get home, back to my dark writing cave where no one will witness my frantic typing.

Scrambling away from the table, I nearly knock the woman over. She stumbles, and I manage to catch her.

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