“Course, he’s never brought anyone home before,” Jess adds, studying me with interest. “Not since Hannah.”
“We heard about that,” Sarah says gently. “What happened with Luke. That must have been awful for him.”
I nod, not trusting myself to say the right thing about a situation I only know secondhand.
“He seems happy now though,” Jess continues. “Different. More... I don’t know, more like himself?”
Before I can ask what she means by that, Mitch is sliding back into the booth, and somehow the available space has shrunk. I end up pressed against his side, my hip touching his thigh, his arm automatically coming around the back of the bench behind me.
“What did I miss?” he asks.
“The girls were just telling me about your legendary charm with the opposite sex,” I say, tilting my head to look up at him.
“Legendary is a strong word.”
“What would you call it?”
“Accidental?”
I laugh despite myself. “Accidental charm. That’s even worse.”
“Why worse?”
“Because that means you’re not even trying. You’re just naturally devastating to the female population.”
The word devastating slips out before I can stop it, loaded with more honesty than I intended. His eyes darken slightly, and his arm tightens just a fraction behind my shoulders.
“Devastating, huh?”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Mitchy.”
The nickname earns me raised eyebrows from his friends and something that looks dangerously like heat in Mitch’s expression.
“Mitchell’s too formal. Mitch is too... I don’t know, professional.” I’m stammering now. “Mitchy is perfect.”
“I’m filing a formal complaint.”
“With who?”
“Haven’t figured that out yet.”
I grin up at him, enjoying the banter and the way his friends are watching us with obvious amusement. This is easy, natural, a playful back-and-forth that makes fake relationships look believable.
Except nothing about the way my pulse speeds up when he looks at me feels fake.
The evening passes in a blur of stories and laughter, and I find myself relaxing despite the territorial feelings that spike every time another woman looks at Mitch with interest. He stays close, his attention focused on our table, on me, making it clear without words that he’s exactly where he wants to be.
As the group migrates toward the small dance floor, leaving just me and Mitch in the booth, I realize I’ve created a problem. We’re alone, the mood is intimate, and the beer has lowered my usual guards.
“So,” I say, shifting to face him more fully. “How am I doing? As a fake girlfriend, I mean.”
His eyes drop to my mouth briefly before meeting my gaze again. “You’re a natural.”
“Good. I was worried I might be too obvious about the territorial thing with Amy.”
“Territorial?” His voice has gone rougher.
“Please. She was practically purring in your lap.”