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But I can’t. Because I know what it leads to.

I avert my gaze just as he drops his arms. Thankfully, he didn’t catch me that time.

“Okay, I’ll call and order a pizza from Home Slice.” I’m thankful he’s okay with it because I don’t think I have it in me for any more… pretending.

“Think I might hit the shower really quick,” he says. “If that’s okay.”

“You don’t have to ask,” I reassure him and smile. “This is going to be your home, too, while you’re staying here.”

“Okay.” He looks like he’s still processing the weight of my words.

“What kind of toppings do you like?” I ask, realizing that didn’t come up in our little game of twenty questions.

“I’m not picky. Anything but anchovies or pineapple.”

“Pepperoni okay?” I reply with a smile. “Boring, I know.”

“Not boring. Classic,” he replies. “Sounds perfect.”

“Pepperoni it is. Do you want a salad or any breadsticks with that?”

“Nah, I’m good. Unless you do?”

“Okay. I think I might have a couple beers in the fridge from last time Emma and Mattie stopped by. Do you want one, or should I order some soda?”

“A beer sounds great, actually.”

“I’ll go grab some from the fridge and call in the order for delivery. I think we stirred up enough gossip for one day with that little performance outside the front door.”

“Oscar-worthy?” He raises his dark brows at me.

“So good I almost believed it myself.” Not almost. It felt too real.

“Well, that’s what we want, right?”

“Yeah.” Isn’t it?

He grabs his wallet and pulls out a black card and hands it to me. “Here, for the pizza.”

“No, Beau. You already got lunch. Let me.” I was so caught up in the moment and the day that it caught me off guard when he mentioned a write-off, reminding me this is all transactional.

“No, please. I insist.” His palm folds over my hand, closing it around the plastic.

All day, it’s been a push and pull, and the sexual tension would take a machete to sever.

“Fine, but tomorrow, we’re going to figure out a better system because I don’t want you spending all your money on me,” I answer honestly.

“It’s not a huge deal,” he urges and releases my hand, walking toward the hallway. “It’s just money, Sunny.”

“Spoken like a person who has a lot of it,” I mumble after he walks off.

***

It feels familiar, normal even. Us just sitting on the couch, chilling, and eating greasy pizza.

We’re watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and even though it’s my favorite, I can’t stop sneaking peeks at Beau.

He smells incredible, like fresh soap and spice. He looks so different in his black basketball shorts and an old NYU tee. Casual looks sexy on him.