Page 11 of Fake It Til You Break It

And if I didn’t hate when he pushed my buttons? Well, that didn’t mean anything, either.

Having finalized our plans, that should have been the end of it. Instead of sleeping peacefully, however, I spent the next eighteen hours overthinking every possible thing that could go sideways. And I hadn’t been entirely wrong.

Traffic on the interstate had been worse than anticipated, and I’d had to circle the block twice before finding the entrance to Beckett’s apartment building. As such, I had arrived late, frazzled, and nearing a state of complete shutdown.

Maybe he’d heard it in my voice when I’d called him, or maybe he had just sensed my growing panic. Whatever the reason, he met me downstairs at the entrance of the parking garage and directed me to one of the empty visitor spaces.

It might seem like a small thing to some, but I appreciated that he hadn’t left me to figure out the logistics on my own. Because having to navigate one more thing, even something as simple as finding a parking spot, might have broken me.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said as soon as I exited the driver’s door.

His gaze raked over me, charged, evaluating. “Jasper, we still have half an hour.”

Well, yes, and I knew the bookstore was only a ten-minute walk from his apartment because I had looked it up. Being on time wasn’t good enough, though. What if he decided he wanted todrive instead? Then we would have to find additional parking and walk from there.

“Nice car,” he added, though his tone sounded more amused than complimentary.

I glanced over my shoulder at the gleaming white hood of the Toyota Corolla behind me. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure at first, but it has an extensive list of safety features, and the gas mileage is amazing.”

“I see.” One side of his mouth crooked upward, and he shook his head. “Very practical.”

He was teasing me. I had come to recognize that gleam in his eyes, and I also assumed it had to do with the fact I didn’t drive a car that cost more than some houses.

“Were you expecting a Porche, maybe?”

“Not really.” Gesturing toward the exit, he waited for me to start walking, then fell into step beside me. “It suits you.”

He sounded sincere, if still somewhat amused, so I let it drop. I had more important things to worry about than what he thought of my choice in vehicles. Like the fact that we apparently had very different definitions ofcasual, and I might be overdressed for the occasion.

Beckett appeared effortlessly handsome in his relaxed jeans, navy crewneck, and a hint of stubble covering his jawline. I, onthe other hand, looked like a middle school librarian in my black chinos and sage button-down.

“I think I misunderstood the assignment,” I muttered as we rounded the block.

“How so?”

Coming to a stop, I held my arms out to my sides, then let them fall in defeat. “Look at me.”

Beckett frowned, and his brow creased. “I am looking at you. What’s the problem?”

“I look like I’m going to a PTA meeting!”

“Okay, okay, breathe.” He laughed, but rather than mocking, it sounded soft and reassuring. “Do you want my help?”

Obviously, but I didn’t see the point. “There’s no fixing this.”

“Have a little faith.”

I stood there, in the middle of downtown, awkward and unsure, while Beckett adjusted my clothes. First, he rolled up the sleeves to the elbows and undid the top three buttons of my dress shirt. Then he stepped behind me to pull my hair free from its low ponytail so he could gather it into a high, messy bun.

As he worked, I struggled to keep my spine straight and my shoulders relaxed while I breathed evenly through my nose. Because though I fought to ignore it, I remained acutely aware of his proximity, of the warmth pouring off him in concentrated waves.

The scent of his cologne invaded my senses and filled my head. I didn’t recognize the fragrance—something bold and spicy with a hint of musk—but I had the errant thought that it had been made just for him.

My heart throbbed against my ribs, my pulse racing with the speed of my thoughts. Electrical currents zinged across my skin where his touch lingered, and an involuntary shiver swept over me when he ran his fingers through my hair.

“There,” he said a minute later. “Not perfect, but you’ll do.”

I exhaled sharply, both thankful and oddly disappointed when he finally stepped away. Turning, I surveyed his handiwork in the reflection of a nearby window. No, it wasn’t perfect, but then again, I hadn’t given him much to work with.

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