Pretending He's Mine

by Lauren Blakely

  They were just that. A creation.

  It wasn’t kismet. It wasn’t a sign.

  This was yet another scene in the script of their relationship. And that was totally fine, right? She didn’t really feel anything for him. It’s not as if she was longing for this thing to extend beyond a week anyway. At least, that’s what she told herself.

  She yawned, big and long and exaggerated. He might have been able to tell it was a fake yawn. But she needed an out, and it was the best she could do. “I’m sleepy. I better go. I’ll see you tomorrow for a dress rehearsal, so to speak.”

  “See you tomorrow, Sutton,” he said, then paused. “I can’t wait.”

  She hung up, took a long swallow of wine, placed the drained glass on her coffee table, then made room for her main man, who curled up by her knees. She closed the novel and reached for her files, reminding herself that actors were part of her job, not part of her heart.

  Even though she couldn’t wait to see him either.

  Chapter Eight

  The dinner was tomorrow. There was one more night of this pretend relationship, and Reeve wanted to have all his lines down cold. He didn’t want there to be any fuck-ups. But then, with what she’d done to him in the library and what he’d done to her in the theater, he couldn’t imagine anyone would think they weren’t a real couple. Fact was, they had chemistry in spades. There was something combustible between the two of them. It was as if he’d been given the keys to her body, and the same for her with him. The next day as he walked to her apartment on the Upper East Side, he was still thinking about the way they connected—but not just physically, because he liked talking to her too.

  More than he’d expected.

  Matter of fact, he’d never thought he’d be so into this arrangement. That he’d want more.

  He rang the buzzer.

  “Be right down,” she said, and he waited on the steps of her brownstone.

  He looked up and down her street. It was one of those quiet blocks in the seventies, not far from the park. There were trees and pretty stoops, and brick buildings and lots of families pushing strollers or holding hands with young children. It was a far cry from where he lived down in the East Village in a tiny shoebox of an apartment that he’d snagged on a sublease when an actor buddy got a touring role in the German production of Book of Mormon.

  But Sutton did well for herself, so it was no surprise she could handle a block like this. He leaned against the stone railing that led to her building, watching the street. A few fallen leaves blew past him, courtesy of the crisp autumn that had landed in Manhattan. He wore jeans, combat boots, and a tee-shirt—this one with the words Unplug Electric Vampires in a cool white typewriter font. He had on his scratched-up leather jacket, and his jawline was speckled with a bit of stubble. He ran a hand through his hair, and turned when he heard Sutton say, “Hey you.”

  There was something sweet in her voice, something almost romantic. He’d never heard her talk that way before. He turned to watch her walk down the steps with her dog—a tiny little brown and tan mix with a cute face, and a worn, blue fleece jacket. But Sutton looked even better. He’d only seem her dressed up and now he was getting a glimpse of the after-hours gal—she had on skinny jeans that showed off every gorgeous curve, short boots and a jacket.

  Then, as if she’d remembered that she didn’t talk in sweet, love-y voices, she cleared her throat and returned to her business-like tone. “Hi there, Reeve. So glad you can join The Artful Dodger and me for a jaunt through the neighborhood.”

  But he liked it better when Sutton let down her guard, and he was curious about the softer side of this sharp and smart woman, so he tried to draw her back. “Your dog is kind of insanely cute,” he said, and then kneeled down to pet the soft little guy.

  “Thank you,” she said, and there was that sweetness again, but as he rose to give her a kiss on the cheek—just in case anyone was watching, he reasoned—she was steely once more. Maybe she was the actress. Because he couldn’t read her anymore. She had this mask on—as if she felt she needed to be friendly, smiling, witty Sutton. Not the sweet one who melted under his touch. He wondered where that Sutton had gone. But he didn’t know what to say or how to ask, so he simply gestured to the sidewalk and off they went, The Artful Dodger at the end of his leather leash, nose to the ground, sniffing and leading the way.

  “Quite a fall we’re having, isn’t it?” she remarked.

  “Um, yeah. It’s definitely fall.”

  “So crisp. And the leaves are changing.”

  “Yep. They are definitely changing.”

  This was what they were talking about? The weather?

  “And soon winter will be here.”

  “That’s usually how it goes. One follows the next,” Reeve said, not bothering to mask the sarcasm.

  She gave him a sharp stare.

  “And then spring, and then summer,” he continued. “I studied the seasons in school.” But he wasn’t being playful. He was annoyed that she was being so…clinical…so cool.

  “What a great school. And how was your day?” She wasn’t going to indulge in letting him in. It pissed him off.

  “It was whatever. I went for a run with Jill. Helped her get ready for her big audition next week.”

  “Oh, Jill. You helped her, did you?” Reeve smiled privately when he heard the note of jealousy in her voice. She couldn’t hide it, and he was glad.

  “Yeah. I help her with a lot of things,” he added, and it was probably a stupid addendum to the question, but if he could get a rise out of Sutton, he’d take it.

  “What sort of things?” she asked coldly as they walked past a shoe store peddling heels that cost half Reeve’s monthly rent.

  “This. That,” he said in an offhand way.

  “Oh. This. That,” she repeated, punctuating each word.

  “Why? Does it bother you?”

  “Should it bother me?”

  “You’re my fiancé. Why don’t you tell me? As my fiancé, does it bother you?”

  Sutton stopped to let The Artful Dodger sniff a small patch of grass surrounding a tree. “We’re not real fiancés. We’re not real anything. So there’s no real way anything you do could bother me.”

  “All right. That’s clear then,” Reeve said through tight lips. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  “Wait. There is one thing you could do that would bother me. It would bother me if you blew the deal. So don’t do anything with Jill or anyone until we finalize things, okay? Then you’re free to go.”

  He scoffed at her, then held his hands out wide. “That is very good to know. Very good to know, indeed.”

  “Anyway, let’s go over tomorrow night’s dinner and how you need to behave,” she said as they reached the crosswalk and stopped to wait for the light. She pointed one finger at The Artful Dodger and he sat instantly. The dog was well-trained, and that’s what Sutton was all about. Training Reeve. That’s what she wanted. That’s who she was. Bright and shiny on the outside, cool and calculating on the inside.

  They walked for several more blocks and she reviewed the ins and outs, the expectations, the potential questions, until their fake relationship was airtight and hermetically sealed. She was the instructor and he was the pupil and she wasn’t going to let him forget it. As they turned back toward her apartment she issued her final directive. “And of course, you should feel free to touch me. Hand on the leg, hand on the arm. Holding hands, kiss on the cheek. All of that is totally acceptable,” she said, then shot him that smile he’d come to recognize as her “thank you very much, we’ll be in touch” smile.

  Then there was a scuffle of paws. The rattle of a chain collar. Out of nowhere a big, brown German Shepherd barreled down the sidewalk and was snarling at the little Artful Dodger. His teeth were bared, and his nostrils were flaring, and he was off the leash. The German Shepherd’s mouth was open and he was ready to take a bite. He had one thing in mind. Evening snack. As the German She
pherd opened his snout, Sutton shrieked her dog’s name.

  Instantly, Reeve lunged through wiry fur and snapping teeth for the bigger dog, grabbing the prong collar as hard as he could and yanking the German Shepherd away from The Artful Dodger. The big dog growled and whipped his head around, unveiling sharp teeth that looked as if they could sink holes into skin. But Reeve held on tight to the chain on the dog’s neck, even as the German Shepherd scraped his jaw against Reeve’s wrist from the motion. Then with his free hand, Reeve scooped up the tiny pup, tucking him under his arm, like a football being cradled by a running back. The horse-sized dog yanked and tugged, and for a second Reeve thought his arm was about to be tattooed with a set of dog bitemarks, when he heard a voice call out.

  “Henry! Henry! You bad dog!”

  The shepherd cocked his ears and wagged his tail and was suddenly a sweet, doting animal searching for his person. A dude in loose jeans, ballcap and sweatshirt, rounded the corner, a look of surprise on his face. In one hand, he held a nylon leash. He ran to the German Shepherd and stopped.

  “I’m so sorry. We just got him, and he has some issues, but we’re trying to train him.”

  “Some issues? He almost killed our dog,” Reeve said, tucking the shivering dog more tightly in his arms.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “You have to be more careful. There are kids and other dogs and people everywhere, okay? He was about to bite our dog.”

  “Okay, I said I was sorry.”

  Reeve relaxed a bit. Still, he was pissed. “Yeah. So good luck with the training.”

  The guy clipped the leash back onto Henry and pulled him the other way. Reeve turned to Sutton, whose mouth was agape. “You saved my dog.”

  Reeve handed the little dog to Sutton’s outstretched arms.

  “He’d have been fine. He’s a tough little guy.”

  Sutton shook her head. “I can’t believe you did that. You were so fast,” she said, in a breathless way. “You just reached your hand in there. He bit you. That dog bit you.”

  “It’s nothing. I swear it’s nothing.”

  “Let me see.” Sutton reached for Reeve’s wrist, touching tenderly around the red indentation from a canine.

  “There isn’t even any blood. I’m totally fine.”

  “We should get this cleaned up.”

  “Sut, it’s nothing. I swear I’m totally fine.”

  “Please.” She looked so pleading, so warm again. This was what he had wanted. Not to be bitten, because the mark she was so concerned about was barely a graze. But he wanted this Sutton. The one beneath the veneer.

  “How about this? I’ll let you buy me a drink.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sutton ordered a beer for Reeve and a white wine for herself, then steered them toward a quiet table in the back. They were at a neighborhood bar called Dahlia’s. It wasn’t quite a dive nor was it a too-trendy club. It was a standard order bar, and she liked it because it reminded her of England. The Artful Dodger was safe and sound at home, snoozing in the middle of the king-size bed, surrounded by extra blankets.

  She was still shaken from what happened and the way her darling dog had nearly been a snack for that German Shepherd. But she was more impressed with Reeve and his reflexes, especially the way he didn’t even think twice. He just dived into the melee and saved her most favorite mammal in the entire universe.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” she said again.

  “I’m just glad he’s fine. And hey, look on the bright side. Now we have another story to tell tomorrow night that’ll make this—“ he gestured from himself to her—“seem all the more real.”

  Real. There was that word again. This wasn’t real, but it had felt so real during the dog walk. She’d felt real jealousy over Jill. And she’d felt real admiration for Reeve when he saved her dog. And then there was the way she felt right now.

  Real like. She was in real like for him.

  Damn.

  She wanted to berate herself. To remind her idiotic heart that this was a first-class mistake. Because this was the thing she’d most wanted to avoid. She’d never intended to let him into her heart. He was acting, only acting. Somehow, the act had worked on her, and now she had fallen into real like. Because of that, she asked the question that had been gnawing her. “Is there something with you and this Jill?”

  He tilted his head back and laughed, showing off those brilliant straight white teeth.

  “Why are you laughing at me?”

  He moved closer and pressed one strong hand on top of both of hers. “Because you are a conundrum.”

  “Me? How could I possibly be a conundrum?”

  “Why do you want to know about Jill? You already told me how I had to act, and I’ll do that.”

  She huffed out a sigh. “I’ll take that as a yes. That you’re involved with her,” Sutton said, then felt a flash of anger toward him when she thought of the library and the theater. He was cheating on his girlfriend with her. “You’re cheating on her.”

  He laughed again, and gripped her hand tighter. “No. I’m not. I’ve never done that. Never cheated on anyone. I never would. When I’m with someone I’m only with that someone.”

  “So she’s not your girlfriend?” Sutton pressed as the waiter appeared with the drinks. Reeve took a long drink from his beer bottle, while Sutton ran her index finger along the rim of her wine glass. She was edgy, waiting. “Reeve, just tell me.”

  He grinned. “No. She’s a great, great friend. We like each other, as buddies. So don’t worry. I’ve never done the things to her that I’ve done to you.”

  Heat flared in her belly. “What do you mean by that?”

  He moved closer and draped an arm around her shoulders. She loved the warm, protective feel of his arm around her. “I mean, I’ve never gotten her off in a theater. Or anywhere. I’ve never kissed her on the steps of the library. And she’s never gone down on me in the stacks. Incidentally, you give a fucking awesome blow job.”

  He traced a finger lazily across her top lip and Sutton was speechless. She wasn’t sure if he was playing the role again, the part he’d been hired for. Because he’d been pissy and irritated on the walk, but now we was flirty and sexy again. She didn’t know what to make of it. But she knew she wanted to take his finger and suck on it. Then he pulled his hand away.

  “But you never answered my text.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, trying to play it cool, but inside she was burning. “I replied to it.”

  “Yeah, about a book. But you didn’t answer the question. Encore? Do you want an encore?”

  “For real?”

  “Yes.”

  Somewhere inside her, she let a piece of her heart free for a moment, and it felt fabulous. Did this mean he liked her too? As in real like? She didn’t have time to ponder an answer because his lips were on hers again, and he explored her mouth, tenderly at first, then rougher as if he wanted to consume her. She responded in kind, grappling at his hair, silky smooth between her fingers, pressing one hand against his firm chest and bringing his mouth closer and deeper as if every life and breath depended on this kiss. She wanted him to devour her.

  He broke the kiss and looked at her.

  “Damn, woman. You like being kissed, don’t you?”

  She blushed and looked away, embarrassed. She hated that she was this way with him. So easy. One touch and she was ready to go. One quick kiss and she was about to spread her legs right here.

  “Hey,” he said, softly. He pressed a palm on her cheek and turned her face back to him. “I like kissing you. I like being the one you want to have kissing you. I mean it.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I want to kiss you in other places too.”

  “You do?” she asked, vaguely aware that she was a broken record, but barely able to form words. The way he looked at her with those deep brown eyes, the way he talked to her, the way he touched her. She was liquid heat with barely a word, with m
erely a touch.

  “I want to kiss your neck,” he said, then leaned in to plant a soft, sweet kiss on her neck.

  “And your earlobe looks pretty tasty.” He nibbled lightly on her earlobe, then swept his tongue up her ear. She shivered.

  “And this spot,” he said, touching the hollow of her throat. “I bet you’d like being kissed there too.”

  “I would,” she whispered, and he brushed his lips gently there. She breathed deeply, her breasts rising and falling, and he stole the chance to cup them quickly.

  Then he pulled back. “There too. Your breasts. I would very much like to take them in my mouth. Well, you know, not at the same time,” he said, playfully and she laughed. “But if I could, I would. Because I want to taste your nipples and swirl my tongue across the flesh of your breasts. First one, flicking my tongue over your nipple, then bringing as much of your delicious flesh into my mouth as I could. Then the other.”

  Her breasts ached with the need to be touched. She glanced quickly around the bar, noticing other patrons and other tables. But there was a part of her that simply didn’t care. That wanted touch more than she wanted to be prim and proper in public.

  “Please touch my breasts again, Reeve.”

  He did as asked. She closed her eyes and sighed. He pulled her closer, cupping her through her thin gray sweater, feeling the points on her nipples grow hard. He moved his mouth to her ear, and whispered. “But there are so many other places to kiss you, Sutton.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You need to be kissed on your belly. From your ribs, down to your belly button, and over to your hips. And you need to be kissed on your legs. On the back of your calves, and inside your thighs.”

  “I do need to be kissed there.”

  “By me,” he added.

  “Yes, by you. Definitely by you.”

  “Do you want me to kiss you there?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me. Tell me where you want my lips.”

  “Between my legs,” she said with a moan.