Page 7 of Keep Me Close

Huh. Interesting.

He jams his hands into his pants pockets and glares. “He won’t do it either. He’s busy.”

I arch a brow. “And you know this how?”

“Siblings group chat.”

I search my brain for an alternative. When nothing comes to mind, I jerk my shoulders. “Then I’ll find someone else. Clearly, you’re busy. I’ll see myself out and let you get on with your evening.”

Before I take a step, he blurts, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Why? I thought you didn’t care?”

A muscle tics in his jaw in the most fascinating way. “I don’t. Call it curiosity.”

I pause, silently weighing just how much to reveal. “I ended things with someone, and he’s having a hard time accepting it’s over. What I need is for him to see that I’ve moved on so he’ll do the same.”

Emotion flashes across his expression before quickly being shuttered away. “Is this guy bothering you?”

For a second, I consider telling him the truth. Instead, I downplay the situation. “No. It’s more annoying than anything else.”

That is, if breaking into my place, filling it with a hundred bouquets of red roses, and waiting in a bubble bath can be classified as merely annoying.

We’re not even going to talk about the hundreds of voice messages and texts he’s been flooding my phone with. Last week, I finally blocked his number. It’s starting to get creepy. I considered taking out a restraining order, but that seems a little over the top. It’s not like he threatened me.

Knox remains silent for the longest time, and that only makes everything worse. He just stands there, his face unreadable, his body still.

“Want me to have a conversation with him?”

A gurgle of laughter escapes from me, mostly because the image of Knox marching over to handle my ex like some kind of blond avenging angel is ridiculous.

And a little hot.

All right, maybe a lot hot.

I shake my head. “No, that’s not necessary. I just want him to see that I’ve moved on. That’s it. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

His gaze sharpens, as if he’s not buying my breezy tone for a second, before he drags a hand through his thick hair and stares out the window at the lit-up skyline. The atmosphere turns awkward as I do my best not to fidget. It’s even harder not to notice how broad his shoulders look beneath his dress shirt or wonder what’s going on behind those striking blue eyes.

Coming here and asking for his help was a huge mistake.

A terrible, embarrassing, ill-conceived mistake.

Just when the quiet reaches a breaking point, I clear my throat. “Look, forget I even⁠—”

“It would only be for a week, right?”

I blink in surprise, not expecting his capitulation. “Two or three, tops.”

He turns back to me, his expression still tight. It feels less like reluctance and more like resignation, as if he already knows he’s going to say yes and hates himself for it.

“Obviously we’ll need to be photographed together,” he mutters, lips tugging down at the corners, as if he hates the very idea.

All I can say is that this guy is doing irreparable harm to my ego.

“Yeah, that would be part of it.”

A reluctant shiver slides through me at the thought of spending time with Knox McNichols and pretending he’s my boyfriend.