Page 54 of That Fake Feeling
Itwas all going so well, like we were two normal people having fun, like he’s not paying me to be here, like there’d never been a single photo shoot dick-grinding or kissing incident.
Butabout half an hour ago,Connormentioned the bottle ofJackDanielshe brought to the interview, andI’vebeen trying to get to the bottom of why he was deliberately trying to create a bad impression ever since.
“It’sno good smirking,”Itell him as he parks in front of a row of garages and turns off the engine. “Smirkingwon’t get you to keep your place on the board of your own company, and it won’t get me the checkIneed to finish my degrees.Norwill it complete the construction atTheLearningVillageor get them a new location in theBronx.”
Helooks at me from under his brows and smirks harder. “You’recute when you’re pissed off.”
Myheart races with frustration asIpush my fists into my thighs. “Andyou are annoying.”
“Somy executive assistant tells me.Andmy brothers.Andcousins.Andsometimes my mom.”
Heclimbs out, his jeans hugging his butt.Damnthose two perfect cheeks for being exactly at my eye level.Theydisappear behind the door as he slams it shut.
Iscrew up my eyes and drop my head back against the headrest. “Argh.”
Yes, this is a weird summer job, but never in a million years didIexpect him to try to sabotage the thing he employed me to do.Itmakes no sense.
IfonlyIcould figure this guy out.Whyis he so unfigureoutable?
Mychest expands asIforce a long, slow, calming breath into my lungs, then blow it out gently.
There’snothing to do but to get out and follow him.
Hisbiceps flex under the tight sleeve of hisT-shirt as he opens the trunk and nods at the sporty black car we’ve parked next to. “Elliot’shere already.”
Ipoint at the garages. “Doyour parents have a lot of cars?”
“No.ButMaxdoes.Thesewere built for him.Heprefers to keep his precious vehicles out of the city.”Connorpulls out our overnight bags. “MomandDadcouldn’t give a shit about things like that.Momhas an ancient truck she loves and wouldn’t give up for anything.”
Aloud squeaking comes from the house.ConnorandIturn to see the big green door swing open and a woman, the oneConnorhad his head tipped against in the photo, trot toward us.Thismust beMom.Dressedin jeans and a shirt patterned with tiny flowers, she has a huge smile on her face.
“Hello, myMostRebelliousSon,” she says as she wraps her arms around him.
Helifts her off the ground and plops her back down. “Rose, this is my mom,Maggie.”
Ihold out my hand to shake.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she says, gathering me into a hug.
Connorsmiles at me over her shoulder.
Hisface looks different, lighter, like every muscle in it has relaxed, like a weight has been lifted, like he’s where he belongs.
Maggieleans back and holds me at arm’s length. “Ican’t believe such a beautiful girl needs a pretend boyfriend.”
“Shedoesn’t,Mom,”Connorsays as he throws both our bags over his shoulder. “It’sme who needs a fake girlfriend.”
Maggielinks her arm through mine and leads me toward the house. “Well, this is the first time he’s ever brought a girl home.Andthat makes me happy.”
Ilook over my shoulder atConnorand drop my mouth wide open. “Ever?”
Henods.
* * *
“Redor white,Rose?”
Connor’sdad,Jim, holds up a bottle of wine in each hand asIstep onto the patio where the whole family has gathered around a huge table in the early evening sunlight.
