“And then I’d throw up on you,” I said. I was trying to save face, to get him back for what he just did to me and my body. So, why did that statement send a pang of traitorous remorse into my gut?
He jumped down from the counter with the grace of a jungle cat and slowly began walking toward me. I lurched backward into the wall in search of an escape, or at least a little space, but he was nearly upon me before I could move. He stopped a few inches away from touching me, but the heat radiated from him.
“And after all that, if you give me any sort of signal that you want more, well…I’m leaving that open. It just makes good sense. For our cover.”
His eyes bore into mine as he leaned forward, reaching his hand slowly toward me. I couldn’t look away, even as my skin broke out into flames all across my body. Warm fingers brushed my cheek ever so slightly before he grinned and patted it gently, as if I were a toddler, effectively breaking me out of my trance. “So, if you need a no-touching clause, you’re going to have to find a new fake boyfriend.”
My fingers clenched as he walked past me and made himself comfortable on the couch. When his back was turned, I took a few deep breaths. He was only trying to get under my skin. I had forced him into this, and this was him sticking it to me. It wouldn’t matter. We would never get to the point where I would be giving him any sort ofsignal. The idea was laughable, though the goosebumps were still on my skin, alive and well—a tingling reminder of the power Miles Taylor had with words when he chose to wield them…inappropriately.
He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back on the couch. “So, we’ve established that appropriate touching is acceptable. Next?”
I sat down warily on the loveseat, diagonal from Miles. “That was my main common-sense rule.”
“Didn’t take much to convince you to overturn it.”
“Contracting a violent stomach bug is still on the table for me. Then, none of this would matter.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Nah. I’d be over every morning, acting the part of the concerned boyfriend with chicken soup, and fresh blankets, andHome Alone.”
“WhyHome Alone?”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “Because it’s the best Christmas movie.”
“Agreed.”
His expression changed slightly. He looked surprised and mildly impressed. “I thought it would be too childish for you.”
I scoffed. “If you’re playing the part of a doting boyfriend, why would you bring over a movie you think I’d hate?”
“I’d help you discover the power of a true classic. We could follow it up withTheTerminator. I’m surprised you likeHome Alone, though.”
“It’s my favorite Christmas movie.” I didn’t want to give him any more explanation than that, so I didn’t. “Do you have any rules?” I asked. “Beyond trying to ‘get some’ whenever you deem the moment appropriate?”
A boyish smile broke out across his face at that. “Look at you, using words like the youth of ten years ago.”
I held my hands up in a motion like I was about to strangle him, which only succeeded in making him laugh.
“I don’t have any rules. Anything else on your end?”
I pulled my leg underneath me as I sat on the loveseat, wondering exactly how to phrase my demand.
“No commenting on my family. You show up and you play the nice boyfriend, but you don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t act like with them. You’re not allowed to pass judgment.” I trailed off, breaking his gaze for a moment only to bring it back again.
He didn’t move, just sat in the chair, looking at me with a slightly furrowed brow. My request had clearly baffled him. “Is there anything I need to know about your family before we do this?”
My stomach tightened. It felt weird enough that my coworker, Miles, knew my sister’s name. He had met my mom. And Russ. It felt vulnerable and intrusive in a way I hadn’t been expecting. He now had the potential to discover way too much personal information about me, and it was disconcerting. But if he was going to be my pretend boyfriend this week, I had to set him straight.
“My dad passed away last year. Russ is my mom’s new husband.”
A shadow passed over his face, and when it looked like he would say something more, I cut him short.
“Deal?” I asked.
It took him a moment to respond. “How about this? I won’t pry or pass any judgment on your family. But if you bring them up or want to talk about them, then the rule’s off.”
I wanted to argue. That wasn’t a concrete deal, but it was probably the best I’d get out of him. Besides, I wasn’t worried about me bringing them up. I was a closed book. I’d probably just raised his curiosity about my family even more, which might have been a sore oversight on my end.
“Fine. So, do we shake on—"