Page 35 of Most Likely to Deny Love

I escaped into the hallway, hoping my face wasn’t as flushed as it felt, praying no one would stop me before I reached the safety of my office. My lips still burned from his kiss, and I pressed my fingers against them, trying to process what had just happened.

Chemistry? We didn’t just have chemistry. We had a four-alarm fire. And I had no idea how I was going to survive pretending to be Jack Sullivan’s girlfriend without completely losing my sanity in the process.

JACK

I’d barely taken two steps in from the garage when I heard the familiar click of claws on hardwood.

“Hey, boy.” My voice softened automatically as I dropped my briefcase and bent to scratch behind his ears. “You would not believe the day I’ve had.”

Pickles pushed his head against my hand, dark eyes watching me with what seemed like genuine curiosity. I sometimes wondered if he understood more than he let on.

“I did something incredibly stupid,” I told him, straightening up and heading toward the kitchen with Pickles following. “Something that I may never recover from.”

I pulled open the refrigerator, staring at the contents without really seeing them. My mind was still stuck in that moment in my office, when Mia had looked up at me with those wide gray eyes and said she wanted to test our chemistry.

The memory of her lips on mine sent heat rushing through my veins all over again. Soft and warm and yielding, opening beneath mine so sweetly I’d nearly lost my mind right there and then. The little sound she’d made in the back of her throat had nearly undone me completely.

“Fuck.” I grabbed a beer and twisted off the cap, taking a long pull before looking down at Pickles, who had settled onto his haunches beside me. “What the hell was I thinking?”

He tilted his head to one side, clearly judging me.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I moved to the living room and dropped onto the couch, resting my feet on the coffee table. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see her.”

Pickles hopped up next to me without waiting for permission. He rested his big head on my thigh, a solid warm weight that grounded me as my thoughts raced.

What had possessed me to offer to be her fake boyfriend? And then to kiss her like that in my office, in the middle of a workday, with the door unlocked. Anyone could have walked in. It was reckless. Unprofessional. Completely out of character for me.

But god, it had felt good. Right, even. The way she’d melted against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine. How her hands had pressed against my chest, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer, just holding on as if she needed something to anchor her.

I took another drink of my beer, letting my free hand scratch absently between Pickles’ ears. The memory of finding her in the server room, huddled and frightened, flashed through my mind for the hundredth time this week. The thought of Mia facing that alone, especially after seeing how it affected her, twisted something in my chest.

So no, I didn’t regret offering. But that kiss had complicated things beyond what I’d anticipated. Now I knew what she tasted like, how she felt in my arms, how I reacted to her. Information I had no business knowing.

Pickles nudged my hand with his nose, demanding more attention. I obliged, smiling slightly at his persistence.

“You’re right,” I told him. “I made the offer. She accepted. Now I need to follow through without making it weird. Totally doable, right?”

Pickles looked skeptical.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I am a grown man, you know, not some teenage boy overcome with hormones.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me from my thoughts. I fished it out, my pulse picking up when I saw Mia’s name on the screen. So much for being a grown man.

So, about Saturday. We should probably have a backstory? Like, how long we’ve been dating, that sort of thing. Unless you think we should stick closer to the truth?

I stared at the message, picturing her typing it, maybe biting her lower lip the way she did when she was concentrating. I had to get a grip.

“Here we go,”

I glanced at Pickles, who was watching me closely.

“Sure,nowyou’re interested.”

My thumbs hovered over the screen as I considered my response. Professional. Keep it professional.

I think closer to the truth is better. Harder to slip up that way. We could say we’ve been seeing each other outside of work for a few weeks. Recent enough that you haven’t mentioned it yet, but not so new that it seems implausible.

I hit send before I could overthink it. Pickles huffed beside me, as if offering an opinion on my text.

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