“Thank you,” she says, and puts her hand on my arm. Strange. She’s touched me before of course, but my body didn’t buzz the way it’s buzzing now. Maybe I’m tired after being on the road.
“Anytime. Besides, I owe you one.” I don’t want to say too much, yet can’t help but ask. “Billy’s a friend of yours?” When her lips turn down, I hold my hands up, palms out playfully. “No judgment. Okay, maybe some. But not much. Yeah, probably much.” I snort out a laugh, and from the corner of my eye, I catch the way Billy is watching us. Good, let him see how good we are together. Not that we’re together, but the fucking nerve of the guy to insinuate that she was faking a relationship—which maybe she was, and no doubt had her reasons.
She chuckles, the tightness in her face easing. “Colleague only,” she corrects. “His girlfriend Julie is nice, though.” Beneath the little black dress she’s wearing, her shoulders slump slightly as she glances back at the table, and I follow her gaze.
“Do you all quadruple-date often?” I ask, eyebrows raised.
“No.” Her brow knits, faint frustration there. “They’re basically all Billy’s friends. He wanted to set me up with a divorced friend of his. Actually, it was Julie’s idea. She thought we’d hit it off.”
I cock a brow, waiting.
She exhales. “I told him I was dating someone.”
Okay, I’m not the reporter here, but I sense a story. “Are you?”
A small, guilty cringe touches her lips. “Not really.”
“So that was a made-up story to get out of dating his friend?” I nudge her and tease, “Here I thought you were the only honest journalist in town.”
I assumed that would pull a laugh from her but instead she glances down, and for the first time, I catch a crack in her armor—just the faintest flash of uncertainty.
“Hey.” I tilt her chin up with my thumb until her gaze meets mine. “It’s okay if you made up a guy.”
“I didn’t. Not really.” She shifts closer. “There is this guy. I see him every morning. Same coffee shop. We chat while placing our orders, and he’s really nice. So I… foolishly asked him out.”
“Foolishly? Why is that foolish?” I ask, even as a completely irrational pang of jealousy tugs at me.
“Come on, Jaxon,” she huffs out. “You’ve known me since we were kids.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Well, you heard Billy. Even he seemed surprised that we’d be dating. He knows I’m not your type. I don’t think I’m any guy’s type.”
“Because they’re intimidated by your brilliance?” I ask. Honestly, I’ve never seen a crack in this woman’s armour before tonight. She’s always exuded confidence, a woman who knew what she wanted and let nothing stand in her way.
She snorts softly, like I’ve broken through her defenses. “There’s a compliment in there, so thank you. But no. Because I’m not the kind of girl who could get a guy like you.”
I lift my head and find Billy still watching us. Something cold and possessive threads through me. I lean into her, slide my hand around her waist, tug her closer until her scent fills my head.
“Then let’s make him believe this.”
And before I can second-guess myself, I press my lips to hers—kissing her like it’s all I’ve thought about since I ambushed her table.
The problem is…it just might be true.
2
Rowyn
I sneak a sideways glance at Jaxon as I take the last bite of my fish and chips, the salty tang still lingering on my tongue. He’s in full storytelling mode, his deep laugh carrying across the table, and somehow he has every single person hanging on his words. He makes it look effortless, like he was born to command a room.
Honest to God, I still can’t believe how quickly he clocked the situation I was in tonight—and how seamlessly he swooped in to save me. No hesitation. Just Jaxon being Jaxon.
I suppose he thinks he owes me. I did see what went down with Ember years ago when they were together, and then again, this last Christmas, when I played the part of his girlfriend long enough to shield him from her claws. Pretending with him had been…fun. Too much fun. But now, back in Boston, the big city has a way of reminding me that reality doesn’t bend to wishful thinking. Reality is work. Reality is deadlines and long hours and the kind of ambition that doesn’t leave room for messy entanglements.
It’s not like I was expecting anything with hot coffee shop guy. I learned early that love comes with sacrifice, and I refuse to carve pieces of myself away just to make room for someone else. My mother gave up her dream career as a travel nurse when my father walked out, trading flights and freedom for stability and sacrifice. She did it for me, and she never let me forget it. That lesson etched itself into my bones: careers or families, choices or compromises—you don’t get to have it all, no matter what glossy magazine articles claim.
As if he senses the shift in me, Jaxon turns his head. Our eyes lock, his brow arching in that silent way he has of asking what’s going on inside me. God, when did he get so good at reading people—at reading me?