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Damn.
Just like that, I know I’ve lost my mind to this fake fiancée scheme, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop.
There’s a certain stubborn vulnerability to her that tells me she’s not going to give me more, not tonight, and that’s honestly best for both of us.
“Good night, Junie,” I whisper, holding her gaze.
The atmosphere thickens as she looks at me, eyes wide, the light from the lot reflected in twin green pools I can’t look away from.
For a second, I’m consumed by having her in my arms, feeling her warmth, reaching into her so much deeper with my tongue.
Only, if I start that here with no Nana, it only ends one way.
And that’s one curse I won’t bring down on her yet.
That’s one colossal error I can still prevent before it happens, however much every molecule of me wants it.
Thankfully, she moves before I do.
“Night,” she whispers, shoving the door open and practically running inside.
Smart, smart girl.
I head back to the car and throw the umbrella in the back, still shaking my head.
What the hell is my malfunction?
I can’t keep doing this, kissing this chick and melting my brain—and I damned sure can’t let it go further.
Tonight has to be it.
The only time we ever let temptation drag us dangerously close to the edge.
This is fake, dammit.
Fake,fake, and if I don’t engrave that into my brain, then we’ll both walk away from this bruised and defeated.
* * *
Two more daysdon’t ease the tension.
I’m a night owl by nature, but I’m up later than usual, tossing and turning and throwing myself into encore workouts and cold showers when nothing else helps.
I texted her a few times—yes,I fucking text now—just to confirm everything’s still fine and she hasn’t branded me an evil heartbreaker for life.
The few texts that come back are cold, two-word answers.
What little she says is some version ofit’s fine, leave me the hell alone.
Shit.
That’s it, then. Either I’ve gone and hurt her, or she’s just as twisted up with confusion as I am.
Or she’s decided she hates me and she’s just trying to figure out how to get out of this insanity.
Fuck.
I can’t even blame her if she does, because I’m the one who turned a fake one-off kiss into a marathon make-out session that’s left me with blue balls larger than the moon.
