Page 37 of Scoring Eden

Though, I’m confident my brain and heart are safe. They understand that no matter how many times he touches me, or looks at me adoringly, or tells me I look pretty over the next few months, it’s all for show. None of it will be coming from a place of truth. It’ll all be fake.

My body, however, doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

“Great.” My throat feels like sandpaper when I swallow, and heat seeps into my cheeks. “Uh, that was, yeah, very convincing.”

He’s either oblivious or immune to the sight of a woman blushing, because he continues unperturbed. We spend the next hour smoothing out the fine lines of our story.

We’ve been together for two months (we’re restricted on timeline because of his proclivities), but it was love at first sight, as if we’d known each other all our lives, blah blah blah. We have plans to move out of the city and into the suburbs at some point, but for now we’re just enjoying each other’s company.

Macon will not be mentioned. I’m clear about that. The less people who know about his existence the better. And Alex promises to set me up with his sister, who can give me advice on the most effective ways to keep children out of the public eye.

All the while, I’m able to hold onto my sensibilities.

That is, until Alex drops a nuclear bomb right onto them.

“We should probably practice kissing.” I rear back, almost toppling off the sofa. “Excuse me?”

“Kissing.” He’s so solemn as he says it, so serious, that I consider asking him to repeat himself for a third time. “You can’t be vaulting off of furniture like that in front of the investors, so we need to acclimate you to it.”

No. Absolutely not. Not today, sir.

“Actually,” I splutter a manic laugh, “I’m late to pick up Macon.”

“You said you have to pick him up at five.” He frowns at his watch. “It’s three-fifteen.”

But I’m already skidding down the corridor toward the front door, socks slipping on the glossy tiles. “You know what traffic is like at this time of day,” I call over my shoulder, ripping my jacket out of the coat closet and toeing my feet into my boots.

“You’re panicking.” His voice rumbles behind me, and I jolt into the wall. “And jumpy.”

Another manic laugh. An overly aggressive shake of my head. “Not me. I’m a cucumber.”

“A cucumber?”

“Cool as a cucumber.” I grab the doorknob. “You know what I meant.”

“Sure.” He grins. “You seem very calm right now and not at all flustered.”

I wiggle the knob. Nothing. “Great, because that’s what I am.”

Why won’t this fucking door open?

He leans against the wall beside it, not obstructing my exit but not helping me either. I get the sense he’s finding me far too entertaining right now to come to my aid.

“So, that’s a no on the kissing?”

“It’s a not right now.”

“Right.” His hands slide into his pockets. “It’s just that the next time I see you will be at the party, so are you alright to just wing it?”

“Sure, yep.” I’m not listening, too busy shaking the ever-loving shit out of his unmovable doorknob. “Wing it, sounds good.”

“Okay, well, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

The door finally opens. Hallelujah. I’m gone before he has the chance to say anything else, hellbent on my escape.

Porn.