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"Don't call me that."
I don't hide my grin, taking her hand in mine. "Oh, Jules." I repeat her nickname slowly, like I'm melting a delectable chocolate on my tongue, something savage in me laughing when her pupils visibly dilate. "No need to be like that. Don't tell me you're still mad about—"
She rips her hand away. "I'm not."
Clearly.
"You don't look surprised to see me."
She scoffs. "Want to know why?"
"Enlighten me," I purr, still close enough to smell the mint on her breath.
"I knew the instant my date was a no-show, that it could only be you."
"I was running late."
"Sure, you were." She rolls her eyes, returning an appropriate amount of distance between us. "Why trick me into a date, just to show me you're the exact same guy you've always been? You could've saved me a trip and called instead."
Ouch. Seems someone's grown some teeth.
"Don't act like you haven't been ignoring my calls for..." I tap my chin, feigning as if I'm lost in thought. Even though I know the answer by heart, maybe down to the exact day. "About five years."
She looks me dead in the eye. "Why would I pick up? I have nothing to say."
Genuine hurt nips at me. The size of a sliver, but it's there. Only for my self-importance to stride in like a smooth storm, who yearns to inform my best friend's little sister of her newfound importance to me. One that's greater than inflating my ego—although, a much-welcomed by-product—but of the freedom she can provide me. Of our symbiotic relationship she doesn't know she'll soon enter into willingly.
Sinking my hands into my pant pockets, I hit her with my trademark, smoldering gaze. The kind that would have ninety-nine percent of New York City's female population's knees trembling. "Let me take you back to our table, and I'll buy you a drink."
But, as I've always known, my dearest Jules is the one percent.
"Un-be-lievable." She enunciates each syllable, then twists, intending to leave me in the dust.
Now, for my trump card. My Ace in the hole. The wildcard on the flop that'll have her eating out of the palm of my hand...
"Don't you want your little game to land a feature in this year's DreamScape?"
FOUR
HAYDEN
Rule #2: A playboy must maintain an air of mystery.
He never reveals too much about himself, and his secrets are always under wraps. Secrets like how I knew about Juliana's little mobile app. A question she's surely trying to find the puzzle pieces for as we don't speak.
Sitting across from me, nibbling her lower lip in the most distracting way, she re-reads her menu for what has to be the twentieth time. A tall candle crackles between us, casting a moody glow, while the lights of the cityscape twinkle in the distance like stars reflecting off still water.
Unbeknownst to my begrudging date, tables here require a two-month reservation—minimum. My name alone warranted an exception, granting us the best seat in the house on less than a twenty-four-hour's notice.
I scored the epitome of romantic date nights.
Minus the romance.
"You're really not going to drink anything?"
Her gaze flickers over the top of her menu shyly, before darting back between the pages. "Water's fine."
Jesus. I stifle a groan. I'm really about to subject myself to a fake relationship with the most vanilla girl on this planet.
