Page 86 of Most Likely to Deny Love

“The hotel was ridiculous,” I admitted, the wine loosening my tongue. “Floor-to-ceiling windows. Bathtub big enough for two. And the view...” I closed my eyes, remembering waking up that first morning, with Jack’s arms around me and Paris spread out beneath us.

“Forget the hotel,” Maya urged. “What about the man?”

I bit my lip, trying to find words that wouldn’t sound like I was completely smitten. “He was... attentive.”

A chorus of groans rose from the table.

“Attentive,” Emily repeated, rolling her eyes dramatically. “That’s like describing Niagara Falls as ‘damp.’”

“Fine.” I leaned in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “He was insatiable. Demanding. Made me come so hard I nearly blacked out. Happy now?”

Poppy choked on her drink while Sammy slow-clapped. Maya just stared at me with an expression somewhere between shock and admiration.

“Jesus,” Maya breathed. “Where can I get one of those?”

“Sorry, there’s only one Jack Sullivan, and he’s currently fake-engaged to me.” I took another sip of wine, savoring the rich flavor and the pleasant buzz humming through my veins. “For Thanksgiving with his family in Colorado.”

“So basically you’re living a Netflix Christmas movie,” Poppy pointed out. “Fake engagement that turns real over a holiday weekend with the family?”

“Except it’s not turning real,” I corrected her, ignoring the little pang in my chest. “It’s just helping him out with some family drama.”

“Right,” Emily deadpanned. “Because men who aren’t invested regularly drop five figures on sapphire rings and fuck their fake fiancées against Parisian windows.”

“The ring is just a prop,” I insisted. “And the sex was... recreational.” And hadn’t happened since we’d returned. I guess what happened in Paris really did stay in Paris. God fucking dammit.

“Recreational,” Sammy repeated, shaking her head. “Girl, you are so far in denial you’re practically in Egypt.”

I opened my mouth to… well, to deny what she said, but Maya interrupted. Bless her.

“Speaking of your fake fiancé, isn’t it a little sad that we’re having girls’ night and he’s probably home alone with his dog?”

“Jack doesn’t do bars,” I said automatically. “He’s more of a ‘single malt scotch in silence’ kind of guy.”

“How do you know?” Poppy challenged. “Have you ever asked him?”

“Well, no, but?—”

“Text him,” Emily interrupted, her eyes sparkling with the particular brand of chaos she specialized in. “Invite him to join us.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No way.”

“Why not?” Maya pressed. “Afraid we’ll embarrass you in front of your fake fiancé?”

“Terrified,” I confirmed. “Plus, he’s probably busy.”

“On a Friday night?” Sammy arched a brow. “Doing what? Brooding professionally?”

“He could be catching up on work,” I offered, but even as I said it, I pictured Jack in his immaculate house, maybe with a glass of whiskey, scrolling through emails while Pickles dozed at his feet. The image made something twist in my chest.

“Text him,” Emily repeated, reaching for my phone. “Or I will.”

I snatched my phone away, holding it to my chest. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” Her expression was pure challenge. “I still have his number from that time I had to reschedule your meeting.”

We stared each other down for a long moment before I caved, unlocking my phone with a sigh. “Fine. But when he says no, you all have to buy the next round.”

The girls exchanged victorious glances as I pulled up Jack’s contact. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, suddenly unsure what to say. How did one casually invite their boss/fake fiancé/occasional lover to a girls’ night at a dive bar?

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