The Pretending Plot

by Lauren Blakely

  He preened, puffing out his chest. “That’s me. Saving small pooches in a single bound.” He tipped back his beer bottle, took a swallow, then set it down.

  “All the Fidos in New York will sing your praises. They’ll build rawhide monuments and bark your name with reverence for years to come.”

  “What more can a guy ask for? I’ve always wanted to be adored by mutts.”

  “There is nothing better to aspire to,” I said, enjoying this casual conversation, the shift in our chatter, the way we could easily segue to different topics and have fun with each other.

  “And hey,” he added, “look on the bright side. Now we have another story to tell tomorrow night that’ll make this”—he gestured from himself to me—“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. I’d felt real jealousy over Jill. And I’d felt real admiration for Reeve when he saved my dog.

  And then there was the way I felt right now.

  Real feelings.

  Damn.

  I wanted to berate myself. To remind my idiotic heart that we teetered on the edge of a first-class mistake. Because this was the thing I’d most wanted to avoid. I’d never intended to let him into my heart. He was acting, only acting. Somehow, the act had worked on me, and now I had fallen into feelings.

  Because of that, because I don’t do things by half-measures, I came out and asked the question that had been gnawing at me most of the afternoon. “Is there something with you and this Jill?”

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

  I did not appreciate being laughed at. My shoulders tensed and squared up. I reached for my glass again just to give my hands something to do. “You don’t have to laugh at me. It’s a natural question, considering how much you talk about her.”

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

  He was the pot calling the kettle black, but I couldn’t quite let on, so I acted shocked. Because, well, I was a little shocked. Was I not an open book to him?

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

  His eyes narrowed, not mad, but speculative. “Why do you want to know about Jill? You already told me how I had to act, and I’ll do that.”

  All right, maybe a little mad.

  But so was I. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I said in a clipped voice. “That you’re involved with her.” I felt a flash of anger toward him when I thought of the library and the theater.

  “You’re cheating on her,” I said through gritted teeth. “Cheating on your girlfriend with me.”

  He laughed again and I tightened my fist. “No. I’m not. I’ve never cheated on anyone. I never would. When I’m with someone, I’m only with that someone.” He didn’t lose his smile, but he did catch my gaze and hold it, so I saw his sincerity. “That includes when I’m with her because of a business-adjacent agreement.”

  I should comment on “business-adjacent.” How could it be “adjacent” when we were both doing our actual businesses? But what came out was a question, both petulant and hopeful. “So she’s not your girlfriend?”

  Reeve picked up his beer bottle, took a long drink, and set it back down, all while I ran my index finger along the rim of my wineglass. I was edgy, waiting. I waited until I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Reeve, just tell me.”

  He grinned like he’d won a prize, like this was where he’d been headed all along with his teasing. “No, Sutton. 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 my belly, and my skin warmed. I liked the sound of that. I wanted more of that. “What do you mean?”

  He moved closer and draped an arm around my shoulders. I loved the warm, protective feel of his arm around me. The possessive way he looked at me. “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 my top lip, and I was speechless. I 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 he was flirty and sexy again. I didn’t know what to make of it. But I knew I wanted to take his finger and suck on it. Then he pulled his hand away.

  “But you never answered my text,” he said, now annoyed.

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

  He stared at me, hardness in his eyes. “Yeah, about a book. But you didn’t answer the question. Encore? Do you want an encore?”

  My God, of course I did. I wanted him so much. In so many ways. In ways that went well beyond the physical. “For real?”

  “Yes. And I’ll show you.”

  Somewhere inside me, I let a piece of my heart free for a moment, and it felt fabulous. Did this mean he was catching feelings too? I didn’t have time to ponder the question because his lips were on mine again. He explored my mouth, tenderly at first, then rougher as if he wanted to consume me. I responded in kind, grabbing at his hair, silky smooth between my 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. I wanted him to devour me.

  He broke the kiss and looked at me.

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

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

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

  “You do?”

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

  “Where else . . .?” I whispered. The way he looked at me with those deep brown eyes, the way he talked to me, the way he touched me—I was liquid heat with barely a word, with merely a touch.

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

  “And your earlobe looks pretty tasty.” He nibbled lightly on my earlobe, then swept his tongue up my ear. I shivered as he went.

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

  “I would,” I whispered, and he brushed his lips gently there. I breathed deeply, my 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 I 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.”

  My breasts ached with the need to be touched. “Please,” I whispered.

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

  “Yes,” I said on a moan, as a haze spread over me from his touch.

  “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.” His voice was gravelly and so damn sexy, his hands eagerly mapping where he’d kiss me.

  “I want all that.”

  He dusted his lips across my neck. “Do you want me to kiss you all over your gorgeous body?”

  I
trembled with desire. “Yes,” I whispered, feeling bare, telling him my truth.

  He kissed the other side of my neck, turning me liquid. I was melting with this man, and helpless to stop it. His voice rumbled against my skin. “Tell me. Tell me where you want my lips.”

  Everywhere.

  I didn’t tell him. Instead, I showed him, taking his hand and pressing his palm against the fabric of my jeans. I was sure he could feel the heat radiating from my core. I was molten. I was a volcano for him. I felt as if I would shatter any second. All he had to do was talk to me, tell me all the things he’d do and I’d break in ecstasy.

  He groaned as he cupped me through my jeans. “You do want me everywhere,” he said, rough and sexy.

  I whispered a yes.

  My face was red with heat. My mouth was dry. I could barely speak. He was doing it again. He was stripping me of all pretensions, he was tearing down all the ways I’d tried to protect myself. He was a chemical reaction to me, the thing I couldn’t resist.

  He laid me back on the couch. His eyes locked with mine. “You want me to take off your jeans?”

  “Yes,” I murmured, wanting to speed up time.

  He unzipped my jeans and pulled them off.

  His lips curved in a crooked grin, as he held up my jeans in one hand. “And throw them on the floor of your apartment?”

  I smiled, loving his naughty and funny side in this moment. "By all means.”

  He tossed my jeans.

  Dirty deeds flashed across his eyes as he returned to me, his gaze roaming up and down my body, landing on my knickers. He ran a finger across the fabric, and I arched, then moaned.

  “And pull off your panties?”

  “Please, yes, now,” I said in a broken whisper.

  He slid them off me, a rumble coming from his chest as he stared at me. “Fuck, Sutton. You’re gorgeous,” he said as he stared.

  When he finally touched me, I cried out so loudly I worried my faithful pooch would come trotting out to see what was wrong.

  But he was a good boy, and I was not a good girl at all.

  I was anything but, relishing this moment as Reeve placed his hands on my thighs and spread my legs.

  He dropped his mouth to my wetness, and I lifted my hips, gasping and moaning and giving myself to him.

  As he licked and kissed and sucked, desire pounded through my body. I was pulsing with the need for him, the need to be tasted, to be touched, to be devoured.

  He murmured as he worked his magic tongue on me, kissing, licking, flicking as he drove me wild. My pitch rose, my cries reverberated across the apartment, and my hands speared deep into his hair. His name was on my lips as I unraveled, falling apart as I rocked shamelessly against his face.

  When I came down from the utter bliss, I was struck with the intensity of what I felt for him, with a wave of unexpected emotions.

  He looked at me hungrily, but with something new in his eyes too. Something new and . . . maybe something more.

  My heart stuttered then skipped.

  Bloody hell.

  Maybe this was only wishful thinking. Was I imagining the look in his eyes, hoping it mirrored mine?

  And more—was I a fool to think it might be there?

  I didn’t know, had no clue, so I asked him a question where I was certain I knew the answer. “Can I do that to you?”

  His grin was filthy, and I loved it.

  Almost as much as I loved giving him the same treatment, hearing his sounds, hearing him call my name.

  And the absolutely insane thing was, I was sure, I was hearing it in a new way.

  With reverence. With something like adoration.

  That was silly. So silly.

  I couldn’t let myself imagine such things were happening.

  So I yawned, claimed I was exhausted, and told him I needed to go to bed.

  He left, pressing a kiss to my forehead that felt a little bit like a goodbye.

  It couldn’t be, because we still had the dinner tomorrow.

  Or maybe it was.

  The only thing to do now was talk to a friend, so I texted McKenna.

  * * *

  Sutton: I’m simply going to say it for you and save you the trouble. You told me so.

  * * *

  McKenna: I’ve told you a lot of things. What was it this time?

  * * *

  Sutton: I think I’m falling for my fake fiancé.

  * * *

  McKenna: That should be the title of your next movie.

  * * *

  Sutton: Not funny. I mean, it kind of is, but I’m obliged not to laugh.

  * * *

  McKenna: It is funny. And I’ll remind you of that when it’s a big hit. You heard it here first . . .

  19

  Reeve

  I was nervous about tonight’s dinner, but I wasn’t sure why.

  I always got a little nervous before I went on stage, and I supposed this counted. When I was acting, I used that nervous energy to fuel my performance. Nerves made me sharp, they made me go deeper into the character. The more nerves I felt, the easier it was to let go of myself when I stepped on stage and the more easily I immersed myself in the role I was playing.

  I headed over to Jill’s place in Chelsea, needing to talk to someone who understood those feelings, and because spending time with friends always centered me, and that’s what I needed. Centering. Balance. Calm.

  Jill buzzed me in, and I bounded up the steps to the second-floor apartment, the soles of my combat boots smacking the concrete in the stairwell. I’d barely reached her door when Jill flung it open for me.

  “How’s my favorite boy toy?” she asked with a knowing grin.

  I held out my hands in a what-can-I-say shrug, putting a satisfied smile on my face. And I was satisfied, but I was kind of a wreck too. Those emotions I was burying deep, though, because they weren’t normal nerves before a performance, and because I needed to get in character. I had a part to play, and I didn’t want to let Sutton down.

  After last night, I wasn’t sure where things stood with us. While I’d been with Sutton in her apartment, I’d have answered it easily -- said great, terrific, amazing. I did to her everything I promised, and then some, plus gotten plenty in return. Oh hell, did she ever give back.

  For a moment there last night, maybe many, it had felt like we were on the cusp of something more. Now, I was simply holding tight to the memory of her coming apart for me to use it as a touchstone for what I wanted things to be. Because we weren’t there now. As I'd walked home last night, I hadn’t felt at all like a man who’d just had fantastic sex.

  That was the trouble.

  That was still the trouble.

  I'd felt like a man who’d wanted to stay but had been kicked out.

  Huh. Maybe this was, actually, what an escort felt like. Being intimate—feeling intimate—and then getting hustled out the door.

  Though, Sutton had shut her door before she’d shown me out. After I’d sent her into the stratosphere, something shifted. She flipped the switch and her walls came back up with me on the outside. And it sucked.

  Jill waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Reeve.”

  “Oh.” I blinked. “Sorry. I was . . .”

  “Drifting off and imagining how fabulous your special assignment is?”

  I sighed heavily. Because this had become more than an assignment. More than I’d expected or prepared for. More than I had braced for.

  When the utterly unforeseen happens, only one thing is good for that. I needed carbs and sugar. Fine, two things. But they came in one perfect form. “Let’s go get some pancakes,” I said.

  Jill stared at me, joking put aside. “This is a Code Pancake? You should have said that right away.”

  I scrubbed a hand across my jaw. “I’m not sure I realized it right away. But I sure as hell do now.”

  She squeezed my arm gently. “Maybe you need to catch me up on what’s happened.”

  “Can I
tell you while we walk to the diner?” I asked, eager for my carb fix now. And my friend fix.

  “Code Pancake indeed. I’ll grab my jacket,” Jill said, and we were out the door in seconds in hot pursuit.

  As we made our way to a cheap nearby diner, I filled Jill in on the basics of the night before. I didn’t go into elaborate detail, but she got the gist, and I finished about the time we settled into a booth. “So first date she sent me home in a taxi, this time I got kicked to the curb while she got a good night’s sleep. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, or which Sutton I’ll be getting—the sweet and sassy one or the casting director.” I shrugged out of my jacket, tossing it next to me. “Maybe she’s the player. Maybe she’s just playing me for sex.”

  Jill wiggled her brows. “And that bothers you because . . .?”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” I insisted, but I barely got the words out before I trailed off.

  Jill’s eyes went wide and she covered her mouth with her hand in exaggerated shock. Probably exaggerated. Maybe exaggerated. “You have fallen for Sutton Brenner.”

  Hearing her say it grounded me. Anchored me. Reminded me of what I’d realized on the way over. As the waitress took Jill’s order, then mine, my mind wandered to the woman I was desperate to understand.

  Food ordered, Jill stared expectantly at me. “So life as a man for hire isn’t all peaches and sunshine?”

  Briefly, I considered the perfectly valid tactic of denial. I could pull off the act. Being an actor and all. I could say no, it’s great, and I love it.

  But I’d gone to Jill for a reason, more than just a Code Pancake partner.

  I was on edge, and I knew then it wasn’t just nerves about tonight.

  It was because, holy hell, Jill had called it—I was falling for Sutton Brenner.