Page 23 of Love is Fake

“Not if I can help it,” Lennox snorts quietly before looking a little dismayed he was so honest in his response. Like he’s shown more of himself than he planned.

I smooth out my frown before he sees it. Even back in high school, I always thought Lennox lived some kind of a charmed life. A wealthy family, one of the most recognizable in the state, the big house, the fancy car, high-end clothes. From the outside it looked like he was living the dream, but his words are giving me a peek behind the curtain and I’m starting to wonder if I wasn’t mistaken.

“Me neither.” I skip over his reaction as if I didn’t notice it. “My dad keeps on trying to get me to head down, but with work it’s hard. And after New York, small town ‘Bama feels a little…”

“Claustrophobic.” Lennox finishes my sentence with a sigh and I look over at him, surprised he found the word I was thinking.

“Yeah,” I nod, in agreement, our eyes meeting and holding. This time, as our gazes stay fixed on each other, I see understanding. I see that he knows exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not exactly sure what Lennox sees as he looks back at me. What I do know, however, is that we lock eyes for a few seconds too long.

Looking down, I bring the focus right back where it should have been this entire time.

“Let’s start off in the pool,” I suggest, although if I’m hoping for a distraction, seeing Lennox half-naked is probably the worst idea I’ve ever had.

“Sounds like a good idea. You bring your bikini?” Lennox’s eyes drift over my body as if he has x-ray vision, like he’s undressing me with his eyes.

“I’mnot going to be swimming,” I tell him, sounding prissy as a Catholic school-teacher.

“Shame,” Lennox says cryptically, before hopping off the bed.

“Crutches!” I shriek at him sounding like a damn first wife.

I’m knocked for six when he actually listens to me and grabs them from the corner of the room before making his way out.

“See,” he smiles over his shoulder, “sometimes I do what I’m told.”

I watch him leave, thinking that apparently, I don’t. Kiara told me to keep my distance from Lennox and, after barely spending a morning together, I already know it’s going to be a hell of a lot easier said than done.

Chapter

Six

I count it as a victory that I haven’t been fired by the end of my first day. If anything, Lennox and I –gasp– actually seem to be getting along. He’s even graduated me to the use of his nickname.

“It feels weird calling you ‘Nox’,” I tell him. Nicknames are too intimate, too personal. Another barrier between us I’m not sure I can afford to have fall.

“The only people who call me Lennox are my mother, Miguel when he’s trying to rile me and…” He casts around, scratching the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, which makes him look even more like an off-duty model. “And actually, that’s pretty much it.”

I smile, taking in his relaxed lean against the state-of-the art cable machine in his gym.

“And youdefinitelydon’t remind me of my mother,” he adds, making it sound like a compliment, although I’m not altogether sure why.

A part of me wants to dig down more into that, but I resist. I’m trying to avoid too many personal questions, because the more I find out about Lennox, the more I like, and the more Ilike, the more I want to know. It’s a sequence of events which won’t end well – not for me at least.

“Alright then, Nox it is, I guess,” I agree a little shyly, my breath catching as our eyes meet.

A small smile quirks up his lips as he continues to watch me with an unreadable expression. “Good.”

“So does that mean you’ll call me Izzy from now on like everyone else?”

Lennox shakes his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not ‘everyone else’.” It would sound arrogant coming from anyone else, but the reality is he sure as hell isn’t. He’s Lennox Gray and the man I’ve had a crush on since I was fifteen, not that he’s aware of that particular dirty little secret of mine. “Besides, Isabella is a beautiful name, it fits you.”

I don’t have time to reflect on Lennox’s comment before his phone buzzes with an incoming call. I’m happy for the disruption until I check my own phone and realize just how late it’s gotten. At this point, I’m into overtime territory. Not that that’s a problem. The problems will come when I’m on the road, falling asleep in traffic as thick as a mudslide. God knows what time I’ll get home. And then studying… there’ll be no way to cram a single ounce of information into my brain at that point.

I’m in such a panic thinking about everything I still have to do before I can even think about sleep that I don’t register Lennox coming close enough to touch me on the wrist.

It’s a gentle, innocent touch on my arm for Christ’s sake, so why does it make my heart race as if it’s something more affectionate?

“You okay?” He looks down at me with genuine concern.

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