Off Limits: A Brother's Best Friend Fake Relationship Romance (Fake It Book 1)

by Vanessa Winters

  His eyes hold mine and it tells me everything I need to know. I turn forward to gaze out the window as I watch people walk by. Women pushing their children in strollers. Men holding the hands of the ones they love. An elderly couple walk in front of the coffee shop window and I see the way they look at one another. With sparkling eyes and all the love in the world as the man pulls his wife in for a small kiss.

  The scene warms my heart.

  Until Chris’ voice pierces my trance.

  “I know you want that, Libby. And I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you.”

  I snicker. “I’ll find someone better. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  He sighs. “But, if that’s what you’re really looking for? You won’t find it with Ian.”

  “You know nothing about him.”

  “Oh, really? How long have you two been seeing one another now?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I heard some things floating around the party. I give it maybe a month or so? You met him while you were in Paris, right?”

  I shake my head. “Ian was Darren’s best friend back in college. I’ve known him a while.”

  “But, you’ve only really known him since Paris. Which wasn’t that long ago, right?”

  My eyes whip over to him. “Get to the point so I can leave, please.”

  “My point is, do you feel like it’s serious?”

  I blink. “What?”

  He scoots his chair closer to me. “I saw the way you looked at him last night. At the party. You’re crazy about the guy. And I’m happy for you. Really. But, he doesn’t look at you the same way. His eyes are empty. His smiles are fake. You might be with him, but he’s certainly not with you.”

  “Well, things can change.”

  “I promise you they don’t change with someone like him.”

  “You mean someone like you.”

  He doesn’t answer me and I snicker.

  “I feel bad for the woman on your arm last night. She has no idea what she’s getting into, and she deserves to know the kind of man she’s shacking up with.”

  His back straightens. “Well, if you don’t want me giving you advice on your stuff, then you can keep yours to yourself.”

  “Except you bestowed me with it anyway. Because that’s what you do, Chris. That’s what you always do. You wear someone down with these sneaky little tactics until they give in because they’re tired of hearing your bullshit. Well, I want you to know that this is the last time I ever plan on seeing you. Or talking to you. Or even remembering that you exist.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  I stand from my chair. “You’re an asshole, and you’re the one that will never change.”

  “Men don’t change for women, Libs. Men only--.”

  I walk away from him. “It’s Libby, damn it!”

  I feel the coffee shop looking at me, but I don’t care. All I want to do is get away from this man and never see him again. I shove my way out of the coffee shop, abandoning my food and drink. But, as I turn the corner to talk down the sidewalk, I slam right into someone.

  Who feels, and smells, familiar.

  “Well, well, well. Look what the gods handed me on a platter this afternoon.”

  My eyes slowly case him until I’m staring up into his face.

  Ian’s face.

  “H—hey there.”

  He grins. “You don’t sound too happy to see me.”

  I shake my head. “No, no. It’s not that.”

  “Nice to see you again, Ernie.”

  Chris’s voice raises behind me and I want to wring his neck. Ian’s face darkens with a cloud as his eyes slowly sip away from mine. I feel Ian’s possessive arm reach around me, pulling me close to him. As if he were ripping me out of the pathway of a fire-breathing dragon.

  “Chris,” Ian says.

  Chris’s eyes find mine. “Remember what I told you. I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  I snicker. “Goodbye, Chris. And don’t you dare use my number again.”

  He gives us one last look before he turns and walks away. I close my eyes, breathing deeply as I try to restore the strength in my knees. The second Chris is out of sight, Ian’s arm falls from around me. And suddenly, I feel more exposed than ever.

  “What the hell was that about?” he asks.

  I clear my throat. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Your number? How the hell did he get--?”

  “He did what he always does and he wore my mother down.”

  “Your mother gave him your number? What the fuck, Libby?”

  I throw my hands in the air. “What am I supposed to do about it, all right!?”

  I fee people staring at us on the sidewalk as Ian’s face reddens. Why in the world is he so mad about this? He’s a free man, for crying out loud. I half-expected to see him out and about with another girl. Not standing on the sidewalk fighting with me.

  Alone.

  Why is he fighting with me? Why does he care?

  Ian sighs. “Look, I don’t know what happened. And it’s none of my business in the first place. But, if you want my advice?”

  I hold up my hand. “I’m full-up on advice, but thanks. I can handle my own, and the only thing we did was meet so that Chris could apologize face to face.”

  “And did he?”

  I shoot him a piercing look. “Do you care?”

  He sighs. “Of course I care, Libby. I care about--.”

  He stops his sentence in its tracks, and everything inside me wants to know how it was supposed to finish. But, I don’t push it. The last thing I need is for more people to be upset with me. Including Ian.

  Especially Ian.

  I swallow hard. “I have to go. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  Ian nods. “Did he pester you that much last night?”

  I shake my head. “I really don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go home, block his number, and get one with my life.”

  “Sure I can’t interest you in--?”

  “No, Ian.”

  His back stiffens. “All right, then. Call me if you need anything.”

  And as he brushes past me, guilt fills my gut. I turn around, watching him walk into the coffee shop without another glance given to me. I feel like shit. I want this day to be over, and it’s not even one o’clock in the afternoon yet. I groan as my head falls back, feeling the sun batter against my face.

  Then, I put one foot in front of the other.

  Just like I always do.

  Libby

  I draw in a deep breath as I stand at Ian’s door.

  It’s Saturday and the last we’d spoken—at least when we were on good terms—we’d agreed to have dinner tonight. I didn’t hear from him since our run-in at the coffee shop. So, for all I know, he doesn’t even want me here. But he’d never cancelled on me, so I still came. After all, it was the polite thing to do.

  Don’t kid yourself, Libby. You know why you’re here.

  I missed him. That’s the truth, and I don’t want to ruin the chance of having him in my life in some form. Besides, the smells already wafting through the closed door draw my hand up. It pushes me onward, hoping that Ian isn’t upset with me.

  Why do I care if he’s upset with me?

  I knock on the door and hold my breath. Because if I have to turn around and go get takeout, it’s going to be very unsatisfying after smelling the goodness behind the door. I close my eyes and try to center myself. There’s nothing wrong. It’s just a nice dinner between two friends. We both agreed to it. We both want it to happen. There’s nothing wrong with this.

  Then, the door opens.

  “Come on in,” Ian said.

  My eyes open as the smell of dinner bombards my senses. I can’t describe how quickly my mouth waters, but I have to swallow as I step through the threshold of his place. My eyes dance around the familiar setting. I hang my coat and my purse up on the rack by the door as I peek into
the kitchen. I see the refrigerator and it makes me grin, but only for a second.

  Because when Ian returns, he has a glass of wine in his hand.

  “Here,” he says.

  I take it from him. “Thank you.”

  He closes the door behind me as I sip the decadent wine. I hum over its juiciness as the sweetness hangs from the tip of my tongue. I walk over to the couch and turn to face him. He’s got his own glass of wine in his hand and half an apron wrapped around his hips. Even with the stone-cold look on his face, he looks astounding. His muscles, trim against his clothes. His eyes, piercing and dancing along my face. His hair, neatly disheveled, as if he meant for it to lay that way with painstaking work.

  There was an elephant in the room, though.

  And I wonder when we need to address is.

  “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s in the oven, so it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  His calm tone of his voice catches me off-guard. “Thank you. That’s very nice of you.”

  He snickers. “No need to get fancy on me, cutie.”

  I blush. “You look pretty nice yourself.”

  He plucked his shirt with his fingers. “Ah, this old thing? Had it forever.”

  I take his invitation to sit down and I feel a bit more relieved. The smells from his kitchen quickly mount, filling the living room and all of its corners with the gracious smell. I continue to sip my wine as I stare at a blank television. Unsure of what to say, or what to do, or how to act. He clearly cooked dinner for us, as planned. But, does he really want me here? Is he just doing this to be nice?

  Why does it matter? It’s not like you’re together.

  Why does that realization hurt so much?

  Ian clears his throat. “So, what have you been--?”

  “You know it was just a casual talk, right?”

  I blurt the words out so quickly I’m not sure they register with him. It isn’t until I hear him sigh that he comes to sit down next to me. My eyes drop to my wine glass, hooking onto the swirling liquid as the glass twirls in my hand. And as the cushions of his couch depress, I feel his comforting warmth next to me.

  “Libby, look at me.”

  My eyes slowly pan up to his. “Yeah?”

  “You owe me nothing. Our arrangement is over, and what you do in your spare time is your decision.”

  I don’t know how to take his answer.

  “I just don’t want to hurt you,” I say.

  He chuckles. “Pretty sure meeting up with Chris hurts you more than it hurts me.”

  “Actually, it didn’t really hurt. Frustrating, sure. But, not painful.”

  He holds up his glass. “Cheers to that, then.”

  I clink my glass against his and he offers me a kind smile. But, it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He isn’t satisfied with my answer. That much is for certain. Why, though? He said it himself. Our arrangement is over. We are no longer putting on an act for people. Well, except to break up. But, that’s the easy part of this.

  Right?

  “I promise, it was nothing more than a talk.”

  Ian lays his hand against my knee. “You don’t owe me any of that, Libby. Seriously.”

  “I feel like I do, though.”

  His eye twitches. “Why?”

  His questions gives me pause. “I… don’t know.”

  Something almost akin to disappointment rushes behind his eyes. He turns them forward quickly as his back stiffens, and he drains the rest of his wine. He holds his hand out for my glass, plucking it from me before I have a chance to offer it to him. He gets up and walks into the kitchen, seemingly occupied with refilling our glasses. Which I am thankful for, because I’m going to need alcohol to get through this evening.

  We still have yet to talk about how we’re going to break up, after all.

  Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean you can’t lay down the law.

  Just because he’s a good cook doesn’t mean this mean means anything.

  Just because he seems upset doesn’t mean he has feelings for you.

  My mind starts going a million miles a second as he turns back to me. He has the softest grin on his cheeks, as if he’s trying to make our interaction more pleasant for me. It makes me wonder what he’d really look like if he were by himself with this information. He hands me the very full glass of wine and I thank him. Watching, as he eases himself back down onto the couch.

  Then, he takes a very long pull from his drink.

  One I mock, in kind.

  The spicy and savory notes in the air keep growing and stacking, until my stomach is protesting the fact that it isn’t full yet. Ian chuckles when the sound fills the space between us, and I feel my cheeks heat with a blush. I continue sipping on my wine, feeling it rush through my veins. My muscles relax as I lean against the couch, my head rolling to look at Ian.

  The most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on.

  Lay down the law. Tell him how this is going to go. Thank him for his time, and get on with it.

  “Are you upset with me?”

  Or not.

  He snickers. “Well, I was going to say I hope you’re hungry. But, if you want to take this route of conversation, we can.”

  “I don’t want you to feel hurt. Or like your efforts didn’t mean anything. Because they did. They do. And I need you to know that.”

  He reaches for my hand. “You owe me nothing.”

  I pull it away. “Actually, I do.”

  “Libby.”

  “No, really Ian. You did me a gigantic favor. And then, you run into me talking with Chris at a coffee shop. I know how that looks.”

  “How it looks doesn’t matter. We aren’t together. Not really, anyway.”

  His tone sounds almost defeated, and it makes me wonder.

  “Do you wish we weren’t, or something?” I ask.

  He tries to take my hand again, but I swat it away. He keeps fighting me until he leans up and sets his wine glass on the coffee table. He scoots closer to me as I sit up. He wraps his hand around my forearm. Then, he tugs me closer to him. Cupping my face with one hand as he leans in to kiss me.

  And it’s euphoria all over again when our lips meet.

  It’s a chaste kiss, considering some of the kisses we’ve had, and I moan softly into it, pressing closer, all of my earlier resolve going right out the window because he’s just so damn tempting. Our mouths crash and move together, and I bite down on his bottom lip, drawing a growl in response. I can’t help myself. I can’t help this magnetism I feel toward him. The way our bodies draw together. The way his tongue beckons to mine. The way his hands command me as they venture along my body, seeking out whatever it is they wish.

  I moan softly down his throat as he presses harder against me.

  His hands slide down to my hips, and he’s yanking me against him, rubbing so I can feel the beginnings of his erection and know that I’m the reason for it.

  My blood sings through my body, and my heart races, urging me to rub against him in return, gripping and grabbing at his arms and back while we kiss heatedly.

  And then the oven timer goes off, and Ian’s swearing under his breath and stepping back.

  “I need to go check that before the whole apartment burns down,” he says. “Or worse, we don’t have any dinner.”

  I swallow hard and nod, licking my lips and trying to pull myself together. I don’t know how the hell he does it, but he drives me to distraction every time.

  “Okay,” I say, calling after him as he walks off to the kitchen. “And then we should probably talk.”

  “Uh oh,” he calls back. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  I shrug because I don’t know if it’s going to be good or bad, honestly. I try to think of the least sexy things I can while I wait for him, like a teenage boy trying to will down an inopportune boner.

  If we’re going to get anywhere with a conversation, I have to have my wits about me.

  He comes
back with a kitchen towel slung over one shoulder, hair a bit mussed, and I raise an eyebrow.

  “Did you save the meal?”

  “I did,” he says. “The pork was trying to run away, but I corralled that bitch back where she belongs.”

  “You deserve a medal,” I tease, and my smile comes easily, like it always does with him.

  “So,” he says, coming into the room and plopping down in a chair. “You wanted to talk. I can guess what it’s about.”

  “Can you?”

  “Yeah. I mean. Party’s over and done with, right? I guess it’s time for us to stage our break up.” He’s not looking at me when he says it, and there’s something almost defeated in his tone for the second time tonight.

  I sigh. “Ian, Chris and I didn’t--.”

  “It’s none of my business, Libby.”

  I take his hand. “But, it is. It is, Ian, and I want you to look at me while I talk with you. Can you do that for me?”

  He chuckles. “You’re talking to me like I’m a child.”

  “Maybe not a child. But, a man who’s a bit hurt? Sure.”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  “Then, what are you? Because I know you’re at least curious.”

  His eyes find mine. “Maybe a tad.”

  I grin. “The night of the party, Chris messaged me.”

  “Yeah, because he wore your mother down. Right?”

  I nod. “Right. And he was insistent on apologizing to me in person. To apologize for being such an ass and such an outstanding dickhead.”

  “Did he do that?”

  “For the most part.”

  He turns to face me. “For the most part?”

  “I ended up going to meet him for coffee because I wanted to hear his apology. I mean, I’ve been waiting so long for that asshole to acknowledge what he did to me. For him to finally grovel and apologize for being the legitimate jerk-off he had eventually become. I longed for those words, Ian. Not because I wanted to rub it in his face, but because I deserve them. You know?”

  He threads our fingers together. “You do deserve them, Libby. Did he give them to you?”

  “Yes. But, there were other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “Promise me you won’t get upset.”