Page 22 of Blue Line

I can’t live with Weston. That’s crazy. Even crazier is me pretending to be his fianceé and being in an advertisement, or on the company’s social media, or whatever it turns out to be, with him. I repeat with him. But he said they were going to pay well, and I can’t turn that down. Not when I still don’t have a job. What the hell is my life becoming?

“Okay. Good.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “We’ll figure out how we can break up after the summer is over, or whenever. I don’t know. Say we rushed into things.”

“What else?” I ask.

“This is a bad idea,” Holt says.

“Can you please leave?” I point toward the living room. “You made your opinions clear. We’ve heard you, and we’re choosing to ignore you.”

“Hadley—” Holt says.

“Don’t. Please. I’m a fucking adult,” I tell him. I turn my attention to Becca. “Please.” She gives me a small nod before standing up.

“Come on.” She gestures at Holt.

He blows out a breath but finally rises to his feet. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when this turns into a disaster.”

“Really, Holt?” Weston says from behind me. “That’s what you’re going with?”

Holt runs a hand down his face. “I don’t want either of you to get hurt or for me to lose either of you.”

What the hell does he think is going to happen? I furrow my brows.

“It’ll be fine,” I say.

Reluctantly, he follows Becca out of the room.

When Weston and I are finally alone, I turn around to face him, shocked at how close he is. We watch each other for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything. I rock back on my heels and finally break eye contact.

“Want a drink?” I move around him and pull a glass out of the cabinet.

He clears his throat. “Sure, I’ll take some water.”

I grab a second glass, get the pitcher of water out of the fridge, and pour us drinks. I chug down half of mine before filling it up again, needing the cool water to calm me down. A chair scrapes along the tile floor, and I know he’s taken a seat at the table. I set his glass in front of him and sit down.

Once again, there’s silence, and I have the urge to fill it, but before I can ask him what else we have to talk about, he starts speaking.

“We’re really going to do this?”

I trace the condensation on my glass. “I’m game if you are.”

“I am.” He clears his throat. “Do we need rules? A safe word?”

I snort. “A safe word, Weston Alexander? Not like we’re having sex. Because we’re not.”

“Hadley Jane, that’s not my middle name. Fine, no safe word. You sure about the no sex thing?” He bounces his eyebrows at me.

I roll my eyes in response, grateful he’s managed to cut the tension.

“Yes, Weston. No sex. None. Come to think of it, neither of us should be having sex with other people while we’re fake engaged.”

“If you change your mind …” He smirks. “But I agree, no sex with other people.” He leans forward, bracing his hands on the table. “You’re going to wear a ring.”

What the fuck? This is fake. No need for rings. I wave him away.

“We’ll say my ring is getting sized. Or cleaned. Or both.”

“For months? Nope.” He pops the p. “That’s my rule. And you’re living with me.”