Page 38 of Scoring Eden

I need porn.

TEXT THREAD BETWEEN ALEX AND EDEN

Alex: I’ll pick you up at 8.

Eden: I’ve already booked a cab.

Alex: Cancel it.

ELEVEN

ALEX

In case Eden hasn’t canceled her cab, I roll up outside her place half an hour early. Well, strictly speaking, I don’t, but Ian, my longtime personal driver, does, his brow furrowed as he takes in the crumbling brickwork of Eden’s tumbledown apartment building.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place, sir?”

“Yep.” I offer him no further explanation. Because what would I say? Yes, Ian, the woman I’m dating does, in fact, live in a building that ought to be condemned. And yes, I do have the resources to do something about it, but this relationship isn’t real, so I’m not sure she’d be all that accepting if I suddenly upended her life and forced her to move in with me.

Not that the thought hasn’t entered my mind.

“Very good, sir.”

“I’ve told you before, Ian. Just Alex is fine.”

Tugging on my tie, I cross an ankle over my knee and suck in a long breath. This is it. We’re playing in the big leagues tonight. Tomorrow, I will either find myself without a team to play for, or I’ll be one step closer to keeping the role I’ve worked for all my life. It’s all down to Eden and me and how well we can sell this charade.

That said, I’m prepared for it.

I’ve spent the last couple of days watching Hallmark movies, so I’ve got a decent idea of how I’ll be expected to behave. Touch her lower back. Hold her hand. Help her fix up her dead aunt’s dilapidated inn, should the opportunity present itself.

I’ve got this. But given the way Eden fled my apartment two nights ago at the mere mention of a kiss, I can’t be confident that she does too.

My head rolls toward the window just in time to catch her stepping out the door. I’m out of the car like a shot, sprinting to her side before she can bust her ankle on the jagged pathway.

If I thought she’d be grateful for the help, I was mistaken.

Her cheeks flame as she looks up at me. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I was picking you up.”

“And I told you I called a cab.” She digs a newly manicured finger into my chest.

I follow the baby-pink nail polish along to her slender finger then up her bare arm. She must be freezing in the harsh winds of February, but I can’t deny that the cold—and the rage—has added a pretty shade of rose to her cheeks. Her dress is pink to match her nails, and it’s a soft satin that catches the lamplight as she moves. Her makeup is subtle, her lips a single shade darker than their natural color. A fact I only know because I’ve spent way too much time looking at them on the few occasions we’ve been in each other’s presence.

“Fuck.” I gawk at her before realizing that I ought to expand the point. “You look…” Beautiful. Stunning. Extraordinary. None of those words seem accurate enough to describe the way she looks right now. “Exquisite.”

Her eyes widen.

“What?” I ask at her surprise. “I can use fancy words sometimes.”

She hugs her arms, and I remember how cold it is.

Pulling off my suit jacket, I drop it around her shoulders and lead her toward the car. “Look, I know you’re pissed at me, but can you be pissy in the car? Where it’s warm.”

She makes a scoffing sound but, to my surprise, doesn’t argue. She even takes my elbow when I offer it, though I suspect it’s because she’s unpracticed at walking in heels, rather than anything else.

But I don’t complain.