Page 32 of Act Like You Don't Care
He nodded, his face solemn.
Nice to have it spelled out, I guessed. Okay, acting. What would I do if this was a movie and I had to show that the playboy was starting to settle down?
Well, first thing, I wouldn’t be on the opposite side of the table from him, I’d be curled up next to him as close as I could get. So I moved my chair over until our knees bumped underneath the table. “Well, I guess we can start here.” And thank heaven, I saw our server coming then with our plates.
Miles draped an arm across the back of my chair and leaned back as if to stay out of the way while the server set our plates in front of us, offered us fresh ground pepper, and checked to see if we needed anything else.
“Just a bit of privacy,” I said, giving her a wicked smile as I leaned into Miles’s arm. "Your ravioli smells good," I commented as she walked away.
"You want to try one?"
"Absolutely. Just one, though. Nothing worse than pasta for calories." I stared at him expectantly, then at his fork, then back at him.
He caught on quickly enough and poked his fork through one of the ravioli and held it up to my mouth. I nibbled at it, taking my time and making a big production over wrapping my lips around the pasta.
“Good?” Miles asked. He was smiling, his head tilted toward me, but I noticed his eyes never stopped moving.
“It is. You should eat some before I change my mind and make you trade plates.”
“Let me try yours first,” he said, with a jerk of his head toward my chicken.
“Sure.” I flirted a little as I scooped up a small bite of chicken dripping with sauce and held the fork up to his mouth. I was a little too entranced by his mouth for my own comfort, but if I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, then the crowd would read the emotion as real, which was the point of the whole thing. Gossip.
“I like that too,” he said and I felt his fingers brush against the back of my shoulder.
“Nice,” I said, referring to the caress. “You’ve been putting some thought into this relationship.”
He shifted a touch closer and his short hair brushed against my forehead. “Some. Tell me to stop when you need me to.”
I shook my head slightly and leaned in to kiss him. I made it a lover’s kiss, the kind I used in ‘after-sex’ scenes in movies, gentle and slightly tentative, as if I was savoring the taste of him the whole time. True to his word, he left me in charge, following each tilt of my head and shift of weight with a complementary one of his own. If I hadn’t known that he was playing a part, I might have fallen for the lie. But a lie it was, just as much as if I’d hired an escort to play my boyfriend for some reason.
We wereacting.
I think it was right around then that the reality of it all hit. Up until that moment, I’d thought I’d understood, thought I’d been coping, but I wasn’t. For a brief, fierce moment, I wanted this to be a real date, and something inside me was angry that it wasn’t. So when Miles started to pull back, I followed him, tilting off my chair until I had to sling an arm around his neck or knock the two of us over onto the floor.
“I think we’re good,” he whispered in a moment where I gave him time to breathe.
His words shocked me back to some sense of normality. “Just wanted to make sure the pictures were real-looking.”
“I’m sure they will be.” He ran his fingers through my hair, tucking bits back behind my ear like he had some actual feelings for me, and smiled. “Let’s eat and get you back to the hotel.”
“Right.” I made myself smile and turn back to my food. The discreet and not-so-discreet glances of the diners around us scraped at my nerves like sandpaper.Jetlag, that’s it.Suddenly, it all made sense. Jetlag and long hours and really bad sleep. I’d be better tomorrow.
The chicken was completely tasteless.
Tam
My mood didn’t improve over food and I was glad to get out of the restaurant and back to the hotel.
“We’ve got a tail,” Miles said quietly after he’d handed me out of the cab and paid the driver. “Let’s get inside.” He pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick message as we hurried into the hotel, only slowing down when we were halfway through the lobby. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you out in the open until the guys can do a threat assessment.”
My heart stuttered a couple of beats until my brain caught up with him and I realized he was doing his best to keep me informed. “Oh.”
He put his phone away with a smile and guided me toward the elevators with a casual hand in the small of my back. “You want to know these things, right?”
“I, uh—” Three days ago, I would have said yes. Now I wasn’t so sure—there was something to be said for ignorance. I opened my mouth to comment about that, but long habit of protecting my public image—and despite our play-acting, this was still entirely public—made me stop and instead say, “Yes. I don’t want to be blindsided. If anything is going to happen, I want to be able to look it in the eye.” I gave him a hard look, my independent omega-needs-no-one glare.
He just nodded and hit the button for the elevator. “Let me know if you change your mind. Some people find it overwhelming.”
