Don't Walk Away: A Second Chance Fake Fiance Romance

by Eva Luxe

  “That’s not what I think. But Jensen. I’ve been working on the more behind-the-scenes aspect of your technical legal defense,” I tell him. “I understand that you don’t want to go with the PTSD defense—”

  “Right. But it’s not because I think that people who have PTSD are bad, or crazy or anything,” he interrupts me to say. “In fact, I think my older brother Ramsey might have PTSD and he’s the best guy I know.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.

  “I just think that for me, personally, it’s not a good defense,” he continues.

  “Okay, Jensen, I get it,” I assure him. “But right now, I just need to understand more about what happened factually. Why were you at the house where the incident occurred?”

  “I knew someone else who lived there,” says Jensen. “Not him though.”

  His entire appearance is stiff and tense.

  “Okay. Who did you know there?”

  “It’s my turn to ask you a question now,” he says, leaning in close to me.

  I blink, my heart speeding up. “Okay.”

  “Can I kiss you?”

  I inhale, surprised yet excited. This makes no sense. Even if I wasn’t his lawyer, he’s not my type.

  But I nod my head, at the same time I ask myself what the hell I’m doing.

  His lips are already touching mine, or more like tearing mine apart. His tongue explores my lips and then my tongue, which eagerly reaches out to meet his.

  He smells like a mix of wind and steel, and he tastes like salt. This is… delicious. This is much better than any kind of kiss I’ve ever gotten from Charles, or anyone at all. This is…

  …unethical.

  “Wait!” I push him back, and he complies, but looks deeply into my eyes as if he’s more hurt than mad.

  “What, Riley?”

  Stop saying my name, I want to say. It drives me crazy.

  But instead I say, “I can’t do this.”

  Jensen raises his eyebrows at me, as if I’d given him a challenge.

  “Ethically, I mean,” I explain quickly. “It’s forbidden for lawyers and their clients to…”

  “Fuck?” he correctly guesses, raising an eyebrow at me yet again.

  “Well. Yes.”

  I fiddle with my hands in my lap, feeling too straight-laced.

  I love the way he said “fuck.” I want to feel him do that word to me, instead of just say it to me.

  But I just lost my job for being too ethical and it would make no sense to do the opposite now, on some whim. Nothing about this whole situation with Jensen makes any sense, though.

  “So, there’s nothing saying they can’t make out?” he asks, and his tongue is back in my mouth, exactly where I want it.

  I hold onto his hair while he puts a hand on my waist, bringing me closer to him while he kisses me. I don’t think they’re supposed to be involved romantically at all, I think to myself, but my head’s a mess. I can’t think straight.

  “Jensen,” I say, gently pushing him away once again. “That feels… amazing. But if I’m going to be able to help you at your hearing next week, we have to talk about your case. And you have to give me more information than vague answers followed by a kiss.”

  “An amazing kiss,” he says, and winks.

  “Jensen.”

  “Riley. We have a week. You’re all work and no play. And how can I trust you with my innermost secrets when I don’t even know you? Why don’t you loosen up and stop thinking about work all the time? Perhaps by hanging out with me, you’ll actually be better at your job.”

  I tilt my head at his “logic.” But I can tell that for some reason he’s holding back on me. And he’s right that I’m all work and no play.

  “When was the last time you did something you really wanted to do?” he asks me. “Something that wasn’t expected of you or something that would even be frowned upon?”

  “Just now when I let you kiss me,” is my quick answer.

  “You definitely are a lawyer,” he says with a laugh. “Good answer. But why stop there? Come have a drink with me. I’ll show you a good time. Just as a… client.”

  Sure, clients and lawyers do have drinks together, I think to myself. At my old firm, it was more of a requirement than a fun thing to do. But it wasn’t exactly in this situation.

  “I… um…”

  Usually I would think about all the things I had to do, the huge pile of work at my office and then more to catch up on when I got home. But I’m no longer at Holt. Jensen’s my only client and he wants to go get a drink with me.

  And all I want to do is anything that he wants to do, with me, together. As ridiculous and ill-advised as that might be.

  I hear Brynn’s voice in my head. Live a little. Be daring.

  “All right,” I tell Jensen, casually, as if I do this all the time. Go for drinks with my attractive clients on a whim. “I know a place near here.”

  “Can’t wait to see where lawyers hang out,” he says with a sarcastic tone and an evil grin, as he reaches out to help me up.

  He holds the door open for me and swats my ass while I go through it.

  “Hey now,” I say, turning back to him.

  He grabs me and holds me tight.

  “I can’t help myself.”

  And as I turn around to look at him, he kisses me.

  I’m thinking, “Maybe just one more time before we’re out in public…” and I’m also thinking it’s clear that I can’t help myself when I’m around him, either.

  Chapter 21 – Jensen

  I’ve never felt more out of place than I feel in this swanky bar full of suits and ties. Everyone looks me up and down. But I don’t care. I just want to keep the heat on Riley. She does something to me that no one else ever has. I want her badly enough that I’ll stay in this snot-nosed bar with her.

  I’m not even sure why I told her that Ramsey may have PTSD. I’m sure he wouldn’t be too happy with me for airing his dirty laundry to practical strangers.

  But I guess I just feel comfortable with Riley in a way that surprises me. And maybe Ramsey might need her help, because I know there’s a lot of discrimination against military members who have PTSD.

  She’d said she “gets” that I don’t want to use PTSD as a defense myself, and once again I wasn’t sure if she was being genuine or just blowing smoke up my ass. I want to believe that I can trust her, but Dylan always gave me the same song and dance, just to turn around and do the opposite. And she always seems to brush over that part of my case, just like Dylan did.

  She chooses a table in the corner and I choose the chair beside her. I immediately put my foot on top of hers under the table, and she doesn’t take hers away. I forget all about my case now, and just bask in the warmth of being next to her.

  “So, what’ll it be, Ms. Riley?” I ask, looking at the fancy-sounding and expensive drinks on the menu. “No wait, let me guess. An Appletini?”

  “Ha.” She laughs that laugh I love, the one that made me crack that joke just so I could hear her laugh in response. “Close but no cigar. I’d like a Manhattan.”

  “Oooh. Good choice. Strong drink.”

  “Drink big or go home, right?”

  She flashes me a grin.

  “Or maybe both, if I’m lucky.”

  “Very funny,” she says, her leg hitting mine under the table. “You know we can’t do that.”

  “A guy can dream.”

  I’m about to stand up to get our drinks from the bar but a bored-looking waiter approaches us and takes our order.

  “A Manhattan for my girlfriend here, and a whiskey and Coke for me,” I tell him, and squeeze her leg under the table.

  “Jensen!” She hisses in a disapproving tone, but she puts her hand on top of mine and squeezes it.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ve never wanted a girlfriend. It’s clear from what happened with my mom and dad that there’s no such thing as love, and that a man would be a fool to commit to being
with a woman. And I’ve never joked around with a girl about being my girlfriend because then she might think I’m serious when all I wanted was a one-night stand.

  There’s nothing more annoying than a clingy girl who’s hard to get rid of after the fact. But here I am encouraging Riley, and I don’t think it’s just because of the hands-off-I’m-your-lawyer challenge she’s presented me with.

  I decide to turn the conversation to a more serious topic, because I think I may be getting in a little bit over my head. I need to stay in charge and balanced.

  “So, what’s the story with that temporary rat hole— I mean, office, you have there?” I ask Riley. “And why are you suddenly representing washed-up and disgraced Navy SEALs and other former service members, instead of Fortune 500 firms?”

  She sighs, and looks down at the table. I didn’t know the question would cause her so much hesitation, and I begin to feel bad that I asked it. Luckily the waiter arrives with our drinks.

  “Cheers,” I say, in an attempt to change the subject yet again. “To having drinks with your favorite client ever.”

  “Cheers,” she says, and leans in close to clink our glasses together.

  I lean in even closer for a peck on her cheek and then a quick bite of her lips.

  “Jensen!” she says again, and then downs more of the Manhattan than I thought she would be able to handle at once.

  “Very nice,” I compliment her as I hurry to catch up with her by taking a few swigs of my own drink, and motioning to the waiter to bring us another round.

  “My leave of absence wasn’t exactly voluntary,” she says, and I realize she’s actually answering the question I had asked.

  “Oh,” I say, trying not to sound too interested.

  “I was handling a big trial and my boss wanted me to do something unethical,” she continued. “I just… couldn’t. I didn’t. And so he put me on a leave of absence to get my priorities straight.”

  “I see. So… you might go back?”

  I want to ask her why she’d want to work for a firm like that but she’s so damn hot while she licks up her drink on the rim of her fancy glass that I don’t want to ruin the moment too much.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll like working for my new client too much.”

  There’s that laugh again.

  “So why the Veterans’ Legal Alliance?” I ask. “You don’t strike me as a very military-minded type of gal.”

  “I didn’t strike my boss as being that either,” she says. “Everyone at the firm had a military background or connection except for me. I started looking into volunteering at the VLA before any of this happened.”

  “And then you decided to jump on it to impress your old boss?”

  “Something like that.”

  She sighs into her drink, and I can’t help but admire her vulnerability. I’m touched that she chose to share this information with me when she didn’t have to.

  “So, about the person I allegedly assaulted…” I begin, inspired to trade some of my own secrets.

  “Yes?” she asks, perking up and looking around as if she needs her always-present yellow legal pad.

  Just then the waiter brings us two more drinks.

  “Wow Jensen, I never really drink this much,” she says, but she picks up the second drink anyway.

  You don’t say, I think, but I keep it to myself.

  “He was assaulting a woman,” I tell her. “Pounding into her, beating her up. So, I just stepped in to…”

  “Protect her?” Her eyes are looking at me as if there’s hope for my case, and also as if she thinks what I did was admirable.

  I can’t tell her the rest. It’s just too embarrassing. I never talk to anyone about my family or my past, and I’m certainly not going to spill my guts to this hot girl I want to date.

  I mean fuck. I just want to fuck her, I remind myself.

  “Yes. I had to get him off of her. It was the right thing to do.”

  “Definitely. And it helps your case. I don’t know why you didn’t mention this earlier, Jensen.”

  Because there’s more to the story and I’d rather go to jail than air my family’s soiled laundry to the world… and especially to you, I think.

  But I just shrug and say, “A man’s gotta keep a little mystery about him, or else how does he get a pretty lawyer lady to kiss him?”

  I put my hand on her inner thigh and squeeze tightly. She doesn’t shake me off. And when I lean in to kiss her, she meets me halfway.

  I chew on those delicious lips of hers, gently sucking on them. And then I grab her ass with my other hand while I plunge my tongue deep inside her inviting mouth.

  I’m so fucking lucky. I never knew my ridiculous criminal charge would bring me face to face— and tongue to tongue— with the most beautiful, smart, and successful woman I’ve ever met.

  Chapter 22 – Riley

  When Jensen kisses me, it’s like I’m swimming in pleasure. I’m just letting myself float, with my head laying back looking straight up at the shining sun with no thoughts except for summertime lemonade and suntan lotion…

  And then he grabs my ass. And I jump. Not because I don’t like it. But because I like it a little too much. I want his hands there, and all over me, right here, right now, and I can’t do that.

  “Jensen.”

  I gently push him off me and compose myself. I look around the bar and see that a couple people had been looking at us but more out of curiosity than disgust.

  Why did I bring him to a local lawyer hang-out?

  It’s bad enough that I’m aiding and abetting him in breaking one of his conditions of release. As soon as he’s mentioned grabbing a drink I had thought “we can’t— you’re not allowed in establishments that serve liquor,” but for once in my life I told my “moral self” to shut up.

  I’m not the one with conditions of release, I remind myself. I’m just hanging out with someone who happens to be breaking them, as apparently he breaks a lot of rules.

  And I like that about him. It makes me feel more rebellious just to be near him. And by bringing him here, of all places, it’s as if I wanted to flaunt my new rebellion to the entire world. No one in here looks like him, dresses like him, talks like him, acts like him.

  No one else in here would grab my ass and stick his tongue down my throat so skillfully. As if I was already his. As if it didn’t matter that he’s an outlaw ex-military type and I’m an up and coming successful lawyer type— or at least I was. What am I now? I don’t even know. Who do I want to be?

  I have to admit, I’m much happier representing Jensen— and hanging out with Jensen— than I ever was while I was working at Holt and dating Charles. I think this is one of those times in life when it becomes clear that I was never doing what I really wanted to do, without ever realizing it.

  I take a sip of my drink and then mentally chide myself. I’ve let the alcohol flow too freely, and I’ve probably said too much to Jensen about my recent past. I’ve definitely done too much with Jensen. But then again, he’s opened up to me too, and now I have some good information that’s helpful to his defense.

  His hand begins wandering back down to my leg and I shake it off nervously. I need some cooling off time before I do something that I will really regret— in public, no less.

  “Excuse me, I have to go to the restroom,” I tell him, trying my best to stand up straight and proper without looking tipsy.

  “Hurry back,” he says, with one of his trademark handsome winks.

  I blush as I head to the bathroom. I don’t really have to pee, so I take a small brush from my purse and try to calm my disheveled hair.

  All I can think about is how Jensen pulled on it, and combed his fingers through it. I want him to do that to me in bed. I want him to run his hands all over my body.

  I want to lose my virginity to him. I want him to give me my first ever real orgasm. Even better, I’m sure, than what I’ve been able to give myself with the magic bullet.

 
Stop it, I tell myself, as shivers run down my spine. I run a fresh coat of lip gloss over my lips and stare at my abnormally rouge complexion.

  This isn’t like me at all. I don’t look like me. I don’t feel like me.

  But then, I have to admit: I look better. I feel better. I like the new me. The Me With Jensen.

  I wash my hands with cold water simply because they feel hot. Hot from Jensen’s touch. Hot from desire and attraction and excitement. All things that I’ve never really experienced with a guy before.

  I finally leave the bathroom, determined to stop any and all hanky-panky with Jensen for the moment. At least until we leave this bar. No, at least until his case is over and he’s no longer a client.

  At that time, I just might give in and let him take me. I want to live on the wild side for just a little bit, and it seems he’s been doing that his whole life. I want to try it out with him.

  And then as I walk resolutely, yet a bit dizzily back to my table, I see something incredible and stop in my tracks.

  It’s Charles. And Kristen Taggert, that tart from Coleman and Williams, the opposing law firm in the Marks Capital case. They’re standing at the bar and he’s ordering drinks. What are they doing here?

  This is the local lawyer hangout, I tell myself, to try to calm myself down. Maybe they just got done with the trial and they’re trying to patch up any wounds, or they’re discussing settlement.

  But then I notice that his arm is wrapped around her waist, right before he moves it to retrieve the drinks the bartender is handing him. He hands one to her and then they kiss, deeply and passionately, in a way that Charles had never, ever kissed me during our entire relationship.

  And I make another bad decision to top off the series of bad decisions I’ve been making lately.

  “Charles!” I screech, and then cover my hand with my mouth, not even recognizing the shrill sound that came out as my own voice.

  The old me would have run away and hid. But the new me is two strong Manhattans in and realizes that all hope of decency is gone. I just want him to know that I know. I’m not the dummy he thinks I am.