Page 15 of False Start, Real Passion

His hand finds the small of my back as we follow. His touch sears through the thin fabric of my dress, branding my skin. I stiffen, muscles locked tight. It’s nothing overt, just enough to remind me he’s there…until this thumb continues to trace idle circles and it sends sparks down both sides of my body. He’s taking this role a little too seriously and when I gaze at him, I catch the edges of a playful smirk.

Our table by the window, and the view is stunning. The skyline stretches out like a promise, glittering and endless. I sit across from Jaxon, separated by the width of the table and the lies between us. He smiles like he knows something I don’t, and maybe he does. I pick up the menu and hide behind it, praying for an invisibility cloak. I can do this. It’s all part of the job. Professional, I remind myself.

“Nice place,” I say, staring too hard at the words in front of me.

His eyes are on me, heavy and impossible to ignore. “Isn’t it?”

I shrug like it’s nothing, like I’m not already a bundle of nerves and denial. “Hope it doesn’t blow our cover. Wouldn’t want people to think we’re actually dating.”

He chuckles. “Would that be so terrible?”

Yes. No. Maybe. “Devastating,” I reply, managing a shaky smile.

He’s about to say something else when the server arrives with a bottle of wine and fills our glasses. I take a large sip, my eyes darting around the room, taking in every romantic cliché that adds weight to the tightness in my chest. He lifts his glass, and his gaze doesn’t waver.

I drink more, trying to dull the edge of awareness that his presence always brings. The wine is good, smooth, with a finish that tastes like bad ideas and regret. I put the glass down, clasp my hands in my lap, and pretend to study the menu again.

He leans forward, arms resting casually on the table. But there’s nothing casual about his attention. It pins me down, makes it hard to breathe.

“You’re really going to pretend this doesn’t mean anything to you?” he asks softly.

The words catch me off guard, and I nearly choke on my own ambition. I plaster on my best PR smile, the one I’ve used a thousand times before when deflecting difficult questions from persistent reporters. “It’s PR, Jaxon. You know that.” I laugh, but it’s brittle. Not like his.

He shakes his head slowly, like he’s disappointed in my dodge. “I know what it started as. But that’s not what it is anymore.”

My pulse races. I’m not sure if it’s from panic or from hope. “You’re reading too much into this,” I say, my voice almost steady. “It’s just—”

“Just dinner?” he cuts in. “Just PR?”

“Yes,” I insist, too quickly. “We’re just doing what we agreed to.”

His fingers tap lightly on the table, thoughtful and calm, while I fight to keep the charade alive. “Agreed to lie.”

“Agreed to make this convincing,” I correct him, clinging to the script.

He smirks. “Guess you didn’t count on being this good at it, huh?”

“Why are you so sure I’m not?” My defensiveness cracks through my façade, sharper than I intended.

His hand reaches across the table, brushing against mine in a barely-there touch. It’s such a simple gesture, but it sets off fireworks behind my eyes. The room fades, leaving just us and the white-hot tension.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“You feel it too, Tori,” he says, voice low and steady. “You can lie to the cameras. But don’t lie to me.”

The bravado I wore like armor falls away, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. The truth sits there, raw and undeniable. I want him. And it’s more than I’m ready to admit, even to myself. I don’t pull my hand back. I don’t say anything at all. I just sit there, staring at him, wondering when this all became so real.

It’s terrifying. And exhilarating. And I have no idea what to do next.

He pours me a drink then himself.

“To this,” he says as he raises his glass.

“This?” I question.

“Yes, to this.”

We tap our glasses together and his fingers brush against mine…again.

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