Page 23 of Playing Pretend

I press my mouth shut.

He’s hurt. Probably embarrassed. That’s understandable.

He steps closer, decimating my personal space as his shoulder brushes mine. “I would’ve appreciated being told you were bringing afriend.”

I hold in a sigh and turn to face him. “Julian, we haven’t been together for months. I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’toweme?” His dark eyes narrow. “I would’ve thought it was human decency.”

He’s drawing attention, the chatter of colleagues in the vicinity already lowering to hushed, gossipy whispers.

“I’m sorry I’ve upset you.” I backtrack, ignoring how numerous onlookers stare over bites of cake or sips from mugs. “But I think it’s best if we keep our distance, don’t you?”

His nostrils flare.

I don’t wait for a response. I walk away, claiming a position at the end of the coffee line while those who eavesdropped murmur in hushed voices, undoubtedly starting rumors.

“Everything okay?” Cassidy steps in beside me.

“Is it too early to start drinking?” I focus on the stacked coffee pods on the table up ahead, pretending the blend options are fascinating. “I don’t think caffeine is going to cut it.”

“I can see that,” she murmurs. “What was that about with Julian?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” I shoot her a withering look and shuffle farther up the line. “This headache, on the other hand…”

She chuckles. “Are you hungover? I thought you would’ve worked the alcohol out of your system once you got back to your room last night.”

“No, I didnot.” Blood rushes to my face.Goddammit. “I crashed as soon as I climbed into bed.”

She smirks. “Sure you did.”

I reach the table and grab a mug from the stack. “I’m taking things slow. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“That might be the pace you’ve set, but it’s clear lover boy has a different speed in mind. That guy was hungry for the cookie last night.”

Oh, my god.

“Tell me, girlfriend, how does someone have restraint with a man like that?” she asks. “I’d tear him limb from limb.”

I ignore her, quickly scooting forward when the person in front of me finishes making their brew. I pretend placing my pod in the machine requires enough brain capacity to halt conversation, the drip and gurgle of liquid filling the void.

“That was a genuine question,” she prods. “I seriously don’t know how you’re not straddling him like a prize-winning mare.”

Because I’m not a qualified jockey.

I turn to her with an exaggerated smile and snatch my full coffee mug from the machine. “I’ll meet you in the conference room.”

“Like hell.” She grabs my arm, holding me in place while she takes her turn on the machine. “We’re discussing this.”

“No, thank you.” I slide away, grateful when her hand falls back to her side. “I’ll save you a seat inside.”

I maneuver through my fellow realtors, ignoring the whispers and eye contact as I make my way into conference room one. Six round tables fill the space, all loaded with pitchers of water, glasses, notepads and pens.

I take a seat at the table in the far corner, dump my cell in front of me, and focus all my strength on consuming caffeine. Vanessa, Max, and Phillip join me a few moments later, none of them offering anything more than a grumbled good morning as they hunch over their coffee to do the same.

“Big night?” I ask. “What time did you get to bed?”

“Too late.” Vanessa winces. “I think I only slept three hours.”

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