by Lili Valente
I need to maintain firm boundaries and make sure we keep this fake engagement as professional as possible. I’m not just Zoey’s friend, I’m her boss, and that’s something I need to remember tonight, no matter how far we decide to take our practice.
But the possibility that I might get to kiss Zoey again is way more exciting than it should be, ensuring her lips are never far from my thoughts. Even the half hour I spend chasing ferrets that hate taking their medicine around the playroom isn’t enough to banish the fizzy feeling of anticipation.
I’m in trouble—no doubt about it—and should absolutely postpone practice until a later date, when I’ve got my head on straight. But I don’t.
They say the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
But in my case, neither my spirit nor my flesh has any interest in staying away from Zoey Childers. So, I’ll just have to trust my mind to keep the other two in line and try not to let my partner in faking it realize how much I real-life love the taste of her lips.
Chapter 5
Zoey
Holding hands.
Some light cheek kissing.
Maybe a walk through the square arm-in-arm if things are going well and Tristan and I feel ready to take our coupledom for a test run—I’ve totally got this.
Sure, it’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship, but it’s not like I’m a complete newbie to the world of romance. I’ve been part of a couple. I’ve done all of these things before, and at the time they came quite naturally.
But you weren’t pretending back then.
And you didn’t do those things while trying to walk the line between being convincing, but not too convincing, lest your boss realize there’s nothing pretend about how much you want to jump his bones.
I pause, knuckles hovering above Tristan’s door, seriously debating running back to my car and calling in sick to Couple Practice, when it swings open and Tristan appears in the doorway. “Hey. You made it.”
“I did,” I say, unable to think of anything more clever as I drink in the sight of Tristan fresh from the shower. His dark hair is still damp, and his long-sleeved gray tee clings lightly to his chest. A pair of well-worn jeans complete the casual look, but the way my heart responds to the sight of him is anything but casual.
My pulse picks up, beating faster as I imagine what it would be like to lean in and kiss away the drop of water beaded on his neck, to let my hands slip beneath his shirt and discover the firm muscles beneath. I’ve seen Tristan without a shirt on exactly twice—once at a beach party fundraiser for the shelter and once while he was mucking out the horse stalls during a heat wave—and both instances are tattooed into my memory bank for all eternity.
Magnificent isn’t too strong a word.
Neither is glorious, resplendent, or jaw-dropping.
Just thinking about how beautiful he is half-naked is enough to make me blush. But thankfully, Tristan doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve gone awkwardly mute—or if he does, he’s too nice to let on—and motions for me to come in.
“I just stuck dinner in the oven.” He leads the way through a small, but cozy, living room furnished in bright blues and white and muted grays, and into the kitchen. “Hope you like roasted root vegetable lasagna.”
“Love it,” I say as he fetches two bottles of water from the fridge, doing my best not to fidget or do anything else to betray how nervous I am. I was hoping Luke would help break the ice, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “Where’s the rascal?”
“He’s in his kennel downstairs, watching the U.S. Open for the tenth time.”
I grin. “Well, then, he should be a happy boy. He loves his tennis.”
“He does. I figured that was the only way to keep him out of our hair. If Luke had his way, there would be no hand-holding without a paw also involved.” Tristan nods over his shoulder, a crooked grin curving his lips. “I thought we could hang out in the sunroom. It’s nice this time of day.”
“Sounds good.” I follow him down a hallway, past a closed door, a bathroom, a study, and the open door to his bedroom, where a king-size bed draped in a luxurious-looking, creamy white comforter dominates the space.
The sight of it makes me blush again—because apparently I am thirteen again—and I silently warn my face to get it together. If I keep blushing like a schoolgirl, Tristan is going to realize this is more than a case of fake-relationship jitters.
I step into the sunroom, a gorgeous open space with glass on three sides and all of the windows open wide to let in the autumn breeze. There’s a comfy-looking brown couch, two over-stuffed white armchairs, a wide wooden coffee table covered in magazines, and enough potted plants to make it feel like we’re settling in for happy hour in the jungle.
Except we’re drinking water, of course…
I know that’s for the best—I have to learn to be comfortable without the inhibition-lowering effects of alcohol—but I can’t help wishing for a glass of wine. Or a shot of whiskey. Or maybe a blow to the head—anything to quiet the panicky voices chattering away in my skull.
I’m about to confess that I’m still a nervous wreck and beg Tristan to pour me a shot of something to take the edge off, when he plucks a remote from the table, clicks a button, and the first sultry chords of one of my favorite songs twangs from the speakers.
“Crimson and Clover?” I ask, smiling as Tristan turns back to me.
“I know you’re a Joan Jett fan.” He holds out a hand as Joan moans “ahhhh” over the pulsing guitar, making my throat go tight. “And what better way to get in the couple groove than a slow dance?” He curls his fingers, beckoning me closer. “Come here, Childers. Dance with me.”
Pulse pounding and every nerve ending in my body humming in a mixture of terror and anticipation, I slide my hand into his as his arm wraps around my waist. Immediately, he takes control, spinning me in a half circle as he moves away from the coffee table and into the open area near the door to the backyard. I cling to his shoulder, holding on as we sway slowly back and forth.
I’ve done my share of slow dancing at college parties and fundraisers for Sonoma County charities affiliated with the shelter, but I’ve never danced like this. Tristan doesn’t shuffle side to side, leaving respectable distance for the Holy Spirit the way we did in middle school. He urges me close, molding our bodies together, making me keenly aware of every place we touch.
His muscled chest against my breasts, his firm thighs shifting against mine, his warm hand at the small of my back—it’s all so much more intimate than holding hands or his lips brushing my cheek.
It’s…overwhelming, so much so that I have no choice but to give in and let him lead, let him spin me left, then right. Let him urge me closer as his palm slides up my back to mold to my ribs, pressing my chest even tighter to his.
My breath rushes out as I sneak a peek at him through my lashes to find him watching me with an inscrutable expression.
“What?” I ask, lips tingling as I realize how close his mouth is to mine.
“Nothing,” he murmurs. “You’re a good dancer.”
“No, you’re a good dancer,” I correct. “I’m a good follower.”
“That’s a skill all on its own,” he says, his fingertips pressing lightly into my back, sending sparks of awareness skittering up and down my spine. “So how is this? Okay?”
I nod loosely, beginning to feel as tipsy as I did last night. Except this time, I’m drunk on Tristan’s touch, Tristan’s scent, Tristan’s body shifting against mine, making me feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get another shot of him.
And another.
And another…
“So, you’re ready to take practice to the next level?” he asks as “Crimson and Clover” ends and the sweet, sultry notes of Etta James’ “At Last” fill the air.
I nod again, tilting my head back, silently asking for what I want, what I need.
I can’t help myself. I need to feel his lips on mine, need to know if last night was
a freak occurrence or if kissing him will always feel like fireworks exploding in my chest, like lightning streaking through my head, and a four-alarm fire burning beneath my skin, all at once.
Tristan leans closer, closer, until the warmth of him heats my mouth, but he’s still not close enough. “Can I kiss you, Zoey?” he finally asks, his voice husky.
I answer him with a soft moan as I press up on tiptoe. The moment our lips connect, the fireworks display ignites behind my closed eyes, even bigger and brighter than the night before. Because this time we’re alone, with nothing to distract me from the feel of Tristan’s arms holding me close, the taste of him filling my mouth as his tongue parts my lips. Nothing to impede my awareness of Tristan’s heart beating in time with mine—faster, harder—as the kiss grows deeper and his hands smooth down my back to cup my bottom through my jeans.
I arch into him, needing to get even closer, gasping against his lips as my belly comes into contact with where he’s hard.
Oh my God…
I almost can’t believe it, but it’s true. Tristan is hard and thick behind the fly of his jeans…because of me. Because he really wants me—not because we’re pretending to be attracted to each other.
I’m still soaring from the realization when suddenly all the heat and sizzle is ripped away, leaving me gasping again—this time from a sudden rush of cold air.
“I’m so sorry.” Tristan’s gaze drops to the floor as he rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what happened. I mean, I know, I just…” He exhales sharply. “I guess some parts of me don’t understand the difference between pretend and not pretend. I apologize. Deeply.”
“It’s okay.” I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, fingers tangling together to keep myself from reaching for him. “Really, I understand. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m your boss, Zoey,” he says, his voice rough. “This entire situation is borderline inappropriate to begin with, but I thought I could walk the line… Keep it at least mostly professional.”
I pull in a breath, on the verge of admitting that he’s not the only one feeling unprofessional things. But before I can make any unwise confessions, a familiar voice booms my name. “Zoey?”
I frown, Tristan frowns harder, and we both turn slowly to look out the back window. I catch a glimpse of a furry face partially hidden beneath the limbs of an overloaded orange tree before the voice comes again, “Hey, Zoey! That is you!”
“Bear?” I ask, skin crawling despite the friendly smile on my ex-boyfriend’s face. Yes, Bear is one of the nicest people I know, but even a nice guy peeping through your back window is a little skeevy. “What are you doing?”
“I’m picking oranges. You guys want some?” He leans over the fence, holding out an enormous fruit that nearly overflows his large hand. “Sorry about interrupting. I was about to crawl back down the ladder, but then I saw your face, Zoey, and…” His cheeks flush above his thick brown beard. “This is weird, right? I’m sorry. It’s just been so long since I’ve seen you, and it was such a nice surprise that I got excited and wanted to say hi. But, dudes, I sincerely apologize for interrupting.”
“No, it’s fine, Bear,” I lie. “I’ll be out to say hi in just a second.” I turn back to Tristan, adding for his ears only, “Am I crazy, or does it seem like he had no idea he might see me around the neighborhood? Let alone that you and I are allegedly engaged?”
Tristan nods, casting a quick glance over my shoulder at Bear. “You’re not crazy. But why would Kim keep that a secret from her live-in boyfriend? Especially considering that you and Bear used to be together?”
I chew my lip as I shrug. “I have no idea, but Kim’s choices rarely make any sense to me. Like dumping you,” I add as I move toward the door leading into the backyard. “I mean, what woman in her right mind does something like that?”
His dark eyes flash, and the hint of a smile curves his lips. “Thanks. I’m going to go check on the lasagna. Tell Bear hi for me, but be sure to pass on the orange. That tree stopped giving good fruit years ago.”
“Will do.” I give Tristan a thumbs-up and head out into the yard, heart dancing behind my ribs despite the fact that I’m about to chat with my ex for the first time since he dumped me three years ago. But there was something in Tristan’s eyes just then, something that makes me feel…hopeful.
“Wow, Zoey, you look great,” Bear says as I approach, his friendly face lighting up with another guileless grin. “How have you been? What have you been up to, woman? It’s so great to see you looking so happy and awesome.”
“Thanks, Bear. You, too,” I say with a smile, no doubt in my mind that’s he’s being sincere. I don’t know what spell Kim has cast over him, but one look into his warm brown eyes is all it takes to convince me he’s the same lovable teddy bear of a person he’s always been.
We chat for a few minutes about work—mine at the shelter and his as an adventure travel writer who jet sets all over the world—and I’m about to excuse myself when Bear’s eyes widen and he points to my left hand. “Oh, wow! So it’s serious, then? You and the dude. I mean, you guys are obviously serious, I could tell that even from this side of the fence, but engaged…” His brows creep higher on his forehead. “That’s a big step.”
“It is.” I nod slowly even as my thoughts begin to race.
So Kim definitely didn’t tell him about Tristan and me. Strange… But it’s too late to back away from the pretense now.
“It is absolutely a big step,” I continue. “But Tristan’s a wonderful guy. The whole package. I’m a lucky girl.”
“Nah, he’s a lucky guy. You’re the whole package and a bag of chips, Zo,” Bear says, reminding me why I loved him.
He might not be the most sophisticated or complex person, but he’s kind to a fault, and he never shies away from making another human being feel good about themselves. Even if that human being is his ex-girlfriend. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of him with Kim, but I know better than to try to change a man’s mind about the woman in his life. And Bear knows the way Kim treated me, so it’s not like he’s going in blind.
The warm feeling in my chest cools.
Yes, Bear is a good guy, but he’s dating a woman who used to call me a “Food Stamp Tramp” because I was so poor and who spread rumors about me giving frat boys blowjobs in exchange for beer. And all of this because I accidentally caught her doing it in the shower with two guys the first week of our sophomore year. If only I hadn’t eaten bad sushi and been forced to race to the dorm bathroom at three a.m., my entire college experience might have been blissfully bully free.
I might never have learned that Kim was cheating on her long-distance boyfriend and she wouldn’t have decided I needed to be stomped on like a bug and ground into the dirt for good measure.
Of course, I had no idea at the time that the boyfriend in question was Tristan…
“Well, thanks, Bear. It was good to catch up,” I say, backing across the grass. “See you around the neighborhood.”
“See you around,” he says, adding in a softer voice before I can turn around, “And Zo… Just FYI, Kim is here, too. At the condo. With me. We’re kind of…living together. Because we’re kind of…together now.”
I nod, keeping my expression neutral. “Okay.”
“We ran into each other at these Australian caves I was exploring for a blogging gig,” he says, clearly feeling guilty about his choice of paramour. “It was wild, bumping into someone from college all the way on the other side of the world, so we went out for beers to catch up. Her dad was sick, and she was pretty bummed, so we made a date for dinner the next night to talk more about family stuff and things just kind of…happened.”
“It’s fine. Honestly, I don’t care. I just…” I hesitate, but can’t help but add, “I hope it works out. I hope she treats you the way you deserve to be treated.”
“She’s changed,” Bear says, his eyes all heart and faith. “She truly, honestly has. If she hadn’
t, I wouldn’t be with her. You know that. You know me.”
I force a tight smile. “Then best of luck, Bear. Enjoy the oranges.”
I hurry across the lawn and let myself into the house without looking back. Yes, I used to know Bear, or at least I thought I did. But it’s been four years since we were joined at the hip, and three since we gave up on the long-distance relationship and finally called it quits. He could be a different person now.
So could, Kim, I suppose, though, looking into her eyes last night, she certainly didn’t seem any different. She still has that bright, hard…sharpness about her.
Kim is like a cursed diamond or a samurai sword—shiny and beautiful to look at, but sooner or later you’re going to regret reaching out to touch her. Tristan certainly did. He was a wreck for months after she left him.
Though, looking at him now, standing over a pan of delicious-smelling roasted veggie lasagna, humming something sexy-sounding beneath his breath as he cuts two large slices, he doesn’t seem any worse for wear. In fact, he looks happy. Maybe even really happy. And when he glances up at me, there’s a huge smile on his face, “I’ve figured out a solution to our problem.”
“What’s that?” I ask, unable to keep from beaming back at him. A Tristan smile turned up to full wattage is my Kryptonite. I’m completely helpless against it.
He’s still grinning that thousand-watt grin as he points the lasagna-cutting knife at me and says, “You’re fired. Effective immediately.”
Chapter 6
From the texts of Violet Boden
and Zoey Childers
Zoey: Hey Violet, would you mind staying late on Wednesday as well? I’m trying to do a bit of schedule juggling so Tristan and I can both leave at five.
Violet: Of course, no problem. Adriana has cross-country until six-thirty again, so there’s no rush for me to get home.
So how’s the fake fiancé thing going, by the way?!
