Page 43 of The Front Runner
I turn and grab two beers from the fridge and drop one in front of Stefan. As I walk away, I drag my hand across the broad expanse of his shoulders with my free hand.
I can’t explain why I did it. I just felt the overwhelming need to touch him back. To thank him for doing this for me.
I still can’t quite figure out why he’s doing this for me.
You’re not the pawn, Mira. You’re the prize.
Try as I might, I’ve been unable to scrub that sentence from my mind. I feel like he went and carved it into my brain like teenagers carve their initials into a picnic table. There’s no erasing it. The rut is there. And I’m stuck in it.
I walk into the living room and am met with a chorus of hellos, hugs, and backslaps. My cousins, my uncles, my aunts—it’s nice to see everyone, but it’s always so overwhelming. So loud and busy. I prefer to socialize one-on-one or in a small group. It’s more relaxing, more intimate—less chaotic.
The get together moves around me, and I chat when necessary from where I lean against the wall. But my eyes keep finding Stefan, hunched over a table, working quietly with my grandmother.
It makes my chest ache in a foreign way. And I give up all pretense of looking elsewhere and allow myself to watch his hands moving deftly, his toned forearms flexing below the cuff of his dress shirt that he’s now rolled up. He really looks into it. And I’m finding myself entranced. It’s right up there with watching him kiss Loki square on the nose. Or stroke Farrah’s forehead with so much love and respect.
What if I’ve been wrong about him this entire time?
“Honey, you’re staring.” My mom nudges me with her elbow, shaking me out of my daydream.
My cheeks pink at once. “Oh shit. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to see.”
I roll my eyes and take a swig of my beer, peeking at the table again. Which is right when Stefan looks up and catches me staring. A slow grin spreads across his face, and he lets his eyes trace my body. Heat pours through my bones, and I feel like they might melt entirely when he looks at me like that. Like he’s undressing me with his eyes and plans to devour me.
He finishes his perusal with a sly wink, and I’m almost positive my panties combust on the spot.Wink. Poof. Gone.
I look away, blinking, and swigging pointlessly at my empty beer bottle.
“No shortage of chemistry between you two. I bet the sex is sensational.”
Here comes the free spirit, Kama Sutra side of my mother. A couple glasses of wine and this is what comes out to play.
“Mom. Please, don’t.”
She turns to face me, and I see Stefan behind her, being dismissed by my Nana with a wave of her hand. With only a few steps, he’s closing in on us. Which is right when my mother adds, “Listen to me, Mira. Your father looked at me like that, too. And guess what? The sex was sensational. It still is. A marriage is hard work, but great sex makes it easier.”
Someone dig me a fucking hole.
“Wise words,” Stefan says, folding himself into the spot right beside me. His arm snakes around my waist, hand splaying across my rib cage possessively as he presses a casual kiss to my temple. Like this is perfectly normal. Like this is real.
It’s feeling pretty authentic right now. In my family home. Where he’s being nice, and polite, and charming.
It’s unnerving.
My mother grins and moves on to the next group of people, completely undeterred. In fact, I’m pretty sure in her mind, Stefan just promised her grandchildren.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-shout through gritted teeth.
He pulls me tight to his side and whispers against my hair, “Pretending to be your boyfriend. Like you asked me to. You do realize people in relationships touch each other?”
I scoff. “I wouldn’t know.”
I chance a look up at him to find blatant confusion on his face.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
