Page 35 of Keep Me Close

Without thinking, I reach up and brush a loose strand of hair away from her face. My knuckles graze her jawline before sliding along the curve of her cheek. She stills, and her breath catches. That tiny sound lands low in my gut as her gaze stays fastened to mine. For one careless moment, I’m tempted to turn my hand and cup her cheek. All I’d have to do is tilt her face toward me and⁠—

I drop my arm.

Control.

I’ve always prided myself on having it in spades. On being the guy who walks away first. On not getting tangled up in something that can’t be undone or will only lead to future problems.

This woman has been here for less than forty-eight hours and she’s already setting fire to every ounce of my self-control.

I almost kissed her. Another second and I would’ve actually done it.

“I’m, ah, going to take a shower.”

Her brow furrows, confusion flickering across her expression. “Don’t you guys do that at the arena before you leave?”

Well, hell.

“Yeah, but I need another,” I mutter.

As I head down the hall, I can practically feel the heat of her gaze burning a hole through my back. If I stay here another minute, I’m going to forget every self-imposed rule. And that can’t be allowed to happen. Not when I’m supposed to be helping her out of a bad situation with an ex.

There’s no need to complicate matters any further than they already are.

I shut the bathroom door behind me and brace my hands on the marble counter before staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Get it together, McNichols.

All you are is a fake boyfriend. She’s here for a week. Maybe two. Then it’s over. She’ll go back to her life in LA, and you’ll go back to yours.

I repeat the words like a mantra, hoping that if I think them enough times, they’ll finally sink in.

Temporary.

That’s all this is.

Then I turn on the shower and let the water pound down on me, attempting to wash away something that has absolutely nothing to do with practice.

13

Cheyenne

We’re halfway through the movie when it occurs to me that I have no idea what’s happening on screen. There’s an explosion of some sort, and one of the characters is crying. Dramatic music plays in the background, but I couldn’t tell you why. I’ve completely lost track of the plot.

The only thing I’m aware of is Knox sitting beside me and the solid warmth of his thigh as it brushes against mine every time one of us shifts. Or the way his arm is stretched along the back of the couch. Even though he’s not quite touching me, it’s close enough to feel the heat of him near my shoulder.

It’s ridiculous.

No, I’m being ridiculous.

We’ve been sitting here for over an hour, and it feels like you could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

One minute, the couple on the screen is arguing, and the next, they’re locking lips. The kiss is intense and messy. My breath catches, and Knox stills before carefully shifting. Now all I can think about is what it would feel like to have Knox’s mouth sliding over mine. Holy crap, I can’t believe that just popped into my head. Unfortunately, once it’s there, dislodging it becomes impossible.

I stare at the television a second too long before clearing my throat. “Do you, um, think we’ll have to kiss?”

His head snaps toward me. “What?”

My cheeks heat as I push out the question. “Do you think we’ll need to kiss on Saturday? You know… so it looks like a real relationship.”