“Oh, God, Jay. This is crazy.”
“Nah.” She slips her fingers through mine, a comforting squeeze. “Relax. Your secret’s safe with me. I promise. And for what it’s worth I think this plan is brilliant. Sometimes the best things start out as pretend.”
I meet her gaze, and something unsettling zips through me. “You mean for me and hot coffee guy, right?”
She blinks, all innocence. “What else could I mean?”
Okay, good. Great. She doesn’t think I want Jaxon. Which I don’t. Obviously. The man is so not looking for commitment, and I don’t blame him. Heck, I’m not looking for anything long term either. I have to concentrate on my career, and can’t let anything distract me. It’s just that a girl occasionally likes a man’s touch, and for the record, I’m talking about Matt’s touch, not Jaxon’s. Definitely not Jaxon’s.
“It’s all going to work out. I promise and no one ever has to know.”
My stomach unknots a fraction, tension trickling out of me. For the first time in maybe forever, I think I’ve found someone I can trust. Someone who’ll keep my secrets and stand in my corner. The knot in my chest loosens, and for a fleeting, dangerous moment, I don’t feel so alone. The last time I felt this…safe? Not alone? It was standing in my living room with—ugh. Jaxon.
Frig.
“Now let’s go meet everyone.” Jaylynn squares her shoulders, all hostess confidence, and announces, “Ladies, I want you all to meet Rowyn Perry, Jaxon’s girlfriend.”
Every head swivels. A half dozen pairs of perfectly winged eyes and glossy lips beam at me like I’ve just been accepted into their exclusive club. My pulse skips, guilt prickling, but I paste on a smile and squash my unease. Like Jay said, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
We exchange pleasantries—names I instantly forget, laughs that are warm and welcoming—and the inevitable question lands: So how did you and Jaxon meet?
I launch into the backstory, the words tumbling out on autopilot because they’re true. “Oh, we go way back. Grew up in Snowberry together. Same grade. We were both back at Christmas and?—”
But then a loud voice cuts across the chatter, calling my name. My spine stiffens. Busted? Already?
I brace myself, but when I turn, relief floods me. Charlie—aka, Indie Rhodes—is striding toward me, all glowing skin and sparkling eyes. Last year, as a favor to Jaxon, I did a true story on her to clear her image, and tell the real truth about her ex.
“Rowyn!” she squeals again, and before I can react, she flings her arms around me in a genuine hug that I find myself leaning into. “I knew it.”
When we break apart, I tilt my head. “Knew what?”
“That there was something between you and Jaxon.” She waggles her brows. “When he introduced us last year, I could see the way he was looking at you.”
Is she kidding me right now?
I shoot a quick glance at Jaylynn, who isn’t even pretending to look innocent. She’s grinning like the cat that not only ate the canary but also left feathers in her teeth for style points.
Honestly, if all of these women are this easy to convince, pulling off this ruse is going to be easy. Walking away however…hard.
“I’m so happy for you two,” she adds. “That guy has had it bad for you for a long time.” She leans into Jaylynn. “I think that’s why he’s never dated.”
Because I’m a hard-hitting journalist who prides herself on facts, my first instinct is to blurt out the truth—that she’s dead wrong—but then I remember the plan. The ruse. But the truth is, the thing Jaxon was looking at that night he introduced us was an old friend. Just an old friend. And he’s not dating because of past hurts, not because he has it bad for me.
But I can’t say any of that.
“Ohmigod, you’re that Rowyn,” Brighton squeals. “Why didn’t you say so?” Before I can process, she’s hauling me into a hug that smells like expensive perfume and cotton candy lip gloss. “Girl, you are so one of us. Come on, sit by me.”
I laugh as she practically shoves me into a plush seat, my knees barely missing the table. Jaylynn drops into the chair on my other side like she planned this ambush. Before I can protest, a woman swoops in with the efficiency of a server at a five-star restaurant, pressing a wineglass into my hand.
“I wasn’t sure if you liked white or red,” one of the women says.
“I like both.”
She beams. “Knew we were going to like you.” She reminds me her name is Gina, wife of Ash, and adds, “Lots of names to remember, but don’t worry, you’ll get it. I own the Nook. It’s a café downtown. You know it?”
“Yes, I love that café.” Technically, I’ve only been there twice. “When I lived downtown, I usually went to Golden Grinds—it was around the corner.” I definitely don’t tell them I still go there because that’s hot coffee shop guy’s turf, and well it’s close to the office.
I take a sip of wine, crisp and sweet, while Gina plops down on Brighton’s other side.