“Anyway,” I begin, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “We were talking about hot coffee shop guy.”
“Matt,” she says softly, watching the scenery blur by outside her window.
“Right. So, uh, this is going to sound a bit odd…”
Her lips quirk. “I’m a reporter, Jax. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard and seen it all.”
I cut a glance at her, taking in the way she’s sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat, one hand resting on her knee, the other absently fiddling with the vent.
“Okay, what if we play a game.”
Her brows rise. “What kind of game?”
“Well, something to get his attention. Something to show him just how stupid he was to stand you up.”
Something warm flickers across her eyes. She twists in her seat so she’s facing me more fully, her knee bumping the console. “You think he was stupid?”
“Fucking right I do.” I glance at her, then back at the road, my thumb worrying the seam of the steering wheel. “Any guy with half a brain cell would jump at the chance to date you.”
“Would you?” The words slip out of her like a reflex. The second they’re in the air, her eyes go wide. “I’m only asking for research purposes,” she adds quickly, lifting both palms. “It’s the reporter in me. I don’t want to date you, Jaxon. You’re my friend and that would be weird.”
“Weird,” I echo, but my grip on the wheel tightens. My body disagrees, a slow heat pooling low, and my cock—traitorous bastard—shifts against the seam of my jeans. When did weird start sounding so damn good?
She goes quiet, chewing her bottom lip, then her eyes brighten with realization. “Let me get this straight. You’re suggesting we continue to pretend to be a couple to make him jealous.”
“You’re quick, Rowyn.”
She exhales a slow, low whistle. “Okay, so color me wrong. I haven’t seen or heard it all.” She wiggles in her seat, crossing her legs the other way, the leather squeaking softly. “Take a left up here.”
I flick the blinker and steer, the car humming as we coast into a quieter street lined with maples.
“You think it could really work?” she asks after a beat.
“I don’t know.” I glance at her again, her profile sharp against the window light. “But if you have a handsome—your words not mine—hockey player drooling all over you, I’m sure hot coffee shop guy will stand up and take notice.”
She tilts her head, biting back a smile. “Drool? If there’s going to be drool involved, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
I bark a laugh, the sound rougher than I intend. “Not real drool or slobber,” I assure her.
“Oh, well. I’d never say no to slobber.”
The image she plants in my head makes me choke on a laugh, yet my cock thickens even more, my brain tossing out all kinds of suggestions I’m absolutely not allowed to act on. Not with her. Not now.
“Jaxon.”
“Yeah?” My voice comes out lower than I mean.
Her fingers twist the edge of her sweater. “Why would you do this for me?”
The question hangs between us for a moment. Why would I do something like this?
It’s not because I enjoyed being with her tonight—though I did. Too much, maybe. It’s not because I liked the banter, or the way she makes it so damn easy to just be myself when everyone else wants the larger-than-life version of me. No, that can’t be it.
It’s because Snowberry is small. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. And Rowyn… she’s had it rougher than most. No father. A mother who carried anger like other people carry purses—always at her side, ready to use. An obedient daughter who had to excel at everything she touched, because failure was never an option.
But tonight—tonight I saw something else. Cracks in her armor. A glimpse beneath that polished, unflappable exterior. And it hit me that maybe she was the model student, the perfect daughter, the picture of control not because she wanted to be, but because she had to be. Maybe she needed to prove something, justify something, in ways I can’t fully understand.
What I do know is this, she’s always been there for me. And if there’s anyone on this earth who deserves a happily-ever-after, it’s her. I don’t see that kind of ending for myself—not anymore. But for her? I’d fight for it. Maybe that’s why a part of me wants to help—so I can see it happen for someone else, even if it never will for me.