Page 39 of Faking It
“You’re supposed to be with me, remember? Not that asshole Miles Finlay.”
“Miles Finlay?”
“The prick you were more than chatty with.”
Mr. Forward?
“It’s none of your business who I’m chatting with—”
“Like hell it isn’t—”
“And I’m well aware of what I’m supposed to be doing.” I move to abate my sudden restlessness. “And from where I was standing, you seemed to be doing a pretty damn good job of working the room—ahem, women—yourself. You know, the tight bodied, short-dressed women who I’m sure would be more than happy to screw your ‘girlfriend’ over if you’d have invited them back to your place. Too bad your place is our place and it’s a skank free zone.” My hands are on my hips, and my eyebrows are arched in challenge.
“Like that would stop me.”
I’m not sure why his comment catches me off guard with mental whiplash, but it does. I can’t figure the man out and I need to stop trying to for my own sake.
“You know what? This doesn’t work for me.”
“What doesn’t?” he asks and dismisses it with a laugh.
“Your Jekyll and Hyde crap. The whole be nice in public and then be a jerk in private. It’s total bullshit on your part so decide who you’re going to be so I can figure out how to deal with you.”
The slow smirk that curls up one corner of his lips says he’s enjoying this and fuck if I don’t hate a man who plays games. I’ve been with enough of them to know they leave your heart broken, your pride wounded, and you constantly questioning yourself. “Who would you prefer me to be?”
He takes a step toward me.
“Yourself. Whoever that is.”
Another step.
I won’t move. I won’t be intimidated. I won’t back down to him.
“Be careful what you wish for, Harlow.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
We stand in the garden with the night all around us, our minds trying to figure each other out, and our bodies inches apart.
“Nothing.” He murmurs a chuckle and angles his head to the side as he stares at me. The green of his eyes says things I can’t read and am not sure I want to just yet. “Just make sure you don’t confuse our act with reality is all.”
“Our act?”
“That we’re a couple.”
“I’m not.”
“I can already see it on your face.”
“See what?”
“And your body.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
His tongue darts out to lick his lips and he falls silent a moment before he speaks. “Women fall in love with words, Harlow. Men fall in love with bodies.”
“Would you mind cluing me in on what the ever loving hell you are talking about because I’m confused and you’re overstepping.”
