Page 21 of Keep Me Close

Since I don’t actually give a damn about the egg roll, I let her have it. She wipes her fingers on a napkin and leans against the cushions, one leg brushing mine. The movement isn’t intentional. She barely seems aware of me, which is kind of hilarious.

The contact shouldn’t matter.

It’s hardly a graze.

But my body reacts as if she climbed right into my lap, and every muscle goes whipcord tight. Heat rushes through my veins, and all at once, I’m aware of her beside me. And her scent? I can’t seem to get away from it. The way she touches me without realizing how much I’m affected by it might be the worst part of all.

If she stared at me with a calculated gleam in her eyes and flirted, I could handle this situation a hell of a lot better. But this casual, thoughtless, domestic kind of intimacy?

I have no idea how to deal with it.

I ease my leg away before I do something embarrassing, like groan out loud. Or pounce on her.

Can you even imagine her reaction?

She’d probably scream and beat me away with a pillow.

“So,” I say, forcing my brain to safer terrain. “Do you have a dress for Saturday?”

Her gaze slices to mine. “You mean the event I literally just found out about?”

“Yup, that would be the one.”

She shrugs. “I’ll pick something up tomorrow while you’re at practice.”

I shake my head. “Think again, Hollywood.”

Her brows lift. “Excuse me?”

“Haven’t we already been through this? Your friend, Idaho, obviously knows you’re here in town.”

She side-eyes me. “It’s Dakota.”

I wave off the correction. “Whatever.”

“You’re very bossy for a fake boyfriend. Do you know that?”

My gaze drops to her mouth before I can stop myself. Her lips are slightly glossed. The million-dollar question is, are they as soft and plush as they look?

I hate how tempting it is to find out.

The teasing glint fades from her eyes as her breath hitches. Her fingers tighten around the carton in her lap before she sets it aside, as if she suddenly needs both hands free. It’s one of those moments that feels like we both know something is shifting between us but neither is exactly sure what to do about it.

If I leaned in just a bit and angled my head⁠—

I drag my gaze away and straighten, shaking myself out of whatever the hell that was.

Nope.

That can absolutely not be allowed to happen.

I’m not about to kiss the woman I’m fake dating while she’s living under my roof because I’m too wound up to handle dinner on a couch. It’s only the first night, for Christ’s sake.

“Get your shoes,” I say roughly.

“What?”

“I want to introduce you to someone.”