Page 47 of The Wild Card

She plates the chicken—perfectly golden, sitting on a bed of roasted vegetables—and sets it in front of me. Then she sits across from me, chin in her hand, watching.

“Eat.”

I pick up my fork, slice a piece of chicken and take a bite.

It’s good. Really good. The lemon and butter blend with something that melts on my tongue. My stomach reminds me that I am, in fact, starving.

“See?” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’ve said maybe ten words since you got home. You didn’t even complain when I left my mug on the counter.” She tilts her head. “Something’s wrong.”

Interesting that she knows me so well after such a short time…She’d make a great federal agent.

I chew slowly, buying time. The truth is sitting in my chest like a stone, and I don’t know how to get it out. I’m not good at this—at talking, at explaining the mess inside my head.

“The gala is in a few days,” I finally say.

“I know.”

“I told you we’d practice, uh, stuff every day until Saturday.” I set down my fork. “And I haven’t. I’ve been avoiding it.”

“Okay.” She says it carefully, like she’s not sure where this is going. “We can start tonight. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though.” I push back from the table, needing to move. “I told Daniels I had a girlfriend. I told him we were serious. And now I have to walk into a room full of people who know me, who’ve worked with me for years, and convince them I’m in a relationship.” I scrub a hand over my face. “And I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what? We’re just going to a party together. We’ll hold hands, smile, make small talk—”

“No. This.” I gesture between us. “The boyfriend thing. I don’t know how to do it.” I flinch when she touches me, and the idea of pretending with her gives me anxiety. I’ll probably break out in hives at the gala. Fuck.

She’s quiet for a moment, watching me pace. “You’re panicking.”

“I’m being realistic.” I stop by the window, staring out at nothing. “Maybe I should just accept the promotion and go to Alaska. There’s nothing holding me here anyway.”

When I turn around, Emmie’s smile has vanished. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah, but what does it matter if I can’t pull this off?” I shake my head. “I have three days to learn how to be someone’s boyfriend, and I can’t even—”

“What makes you think you’re so bad at boyfriend things?” She stands and moves toward me. “You’ve never even tried.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “That’s the point. If you asked me to, I could take you to bed and have you screaming my name in ten minutes. But holding your hand? Pretending to be in love?” I meet her eyes, and something in my chest cracks. “Sorry. That’s not me.”

She doesn’t flinch or look away. “Then let me show you,” she says.

I go still. “What?”

“Let me show you.” She takes a step closer. “How to do the boyfriend stuff. We’ll practice.”

“Emmie—”

“I’m serious. I’ve had boyfriends. I can show you the things you’re supposed to do.” She reaches out, her fingers wrapping around mine. I tense before I can stop it—but she doesn’t let go. Warm. Gentle. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“We’re going to cuddle.”

I stare at her, slight panic rising inside me. “Now?”