Pretending He's Mine

by Mia Sosa

  “Hungry?” he asks.

  Dammit, Julian. You were just about to tweak my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut and then open one eye, hoping and praying that I didn’t say that out loud. “Uh, yeah. I’m famished.”

  He places the bags on the kitchen counter and removes the recyclable containers inside.

  There’s enough to feed a football team. “Wow. That’s a lot of food. I’m not that hungry.”

  He licks his lips, and his gaze darts around the room. “I forgot to mention that a colleague of mine is coming over. To discuss some work stuff. I don’t know what she likes, so I decided to get a sampling.” He clears his throat and fumbles with the task of opening the containers. “Should be something in here that’ll work.”

  My hands slow as I pick up a rice bowl. Julian’s nervous. Does this mean he’s interested in this woman?

  Oof. A besotted Julian would take some getting used to. But I’m strapping on the Spanx—big girl panties won’t cut it—and giving him my support. “That’s really thoughtful of you. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

  He pauses in his preparations, and with his head tilted to the side, he stares at me for a few beats. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  I nudge him with my shoulder. “So you like this woman?”

  He snaps his brows together. “I wouldn’t say that exactly. We’re colleagues . . . and friends.”

  “The same way you and I are friends?”

  He gives me a rueful smile. “No, it’s different.”

  I grasp onto the only subtext that makes sense. She’s different because being with her doesn’t present the same problems being with me would. Worse, he’s hoping to do something about it but feeling sheepish about throwing it in my face. I fake an encouraging nod. “Well, there you go, then. Do you know how she feels about you?”

  He thinks about my question for a moment, his gaze zipping around the room. But before he can respond, the intercom buzzes, and he rushes across the room to answer it. “Yeah, Benny,” he says into the speaker.

  “It’s Frank, Mr. Hart. Benny’s gone for the day. I have Sooyin Liú here for you.”

  Julian smiles at the speaker. “Great. Send her up, Frank. And thank you.”

  Witnessing Julian’s excitement firsthand deflates me, so I burrow into my humongous sweatshirt for much-needed comfort. I’ll say hello to his friend and make myself scarce.

  Minutes later, she rings the doorbell and Julian throws open the door with a flourish, bowing to her and inviting her inside.

  She crosses the threshold carefully, amusement in her smile and a question in her gaze. “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

  Wearing a fitted black pantsuit and peep-toe stilettos, Sooyin spins around as she takes in Julian’s living space. Her graceful turn confirms she’s lovely at every angle. Drat. Seriously, her hair is sleek and sharp, and I’m questioning whether she has pores. Is that even possible, not to have any pores? She startles when she sees me and looks to Julian for an explanation.

  He smooths the tops of his thighs and leads her to me. “Right. Sorry. Sooyin, this is my temporary roommate, Ashley. A friend of the family.”

  I give her a broad smile, tamping down the green-eyed monster growling in my ear. Julian likes Sooyin, and my disappointment over that fact should have no bearing on how I treat her. “It’s great to meet you.”

  Up close, her attractiveness hits megalevels. But what nearly does me in are her eyes. Her friendly gaze shimmers, as if the brightness within her finds its outlet there. But as she looks between Julian and me, her eyes narrow, giving me a glimpse of what she’s like when she focuses on something—or someone. “Great to meet you, too, Ashley.”

  Julian strides to the counter. “I have food. Wasn’t sure what you wanted.” He looks at me, making an admirable effort to include us both in the conversation. “Do you have what you need, Ash?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” The rasp in my voice is such an inconvenience in times like these.

  Sooyin peeks into the bags. “Just to clarify. I’m Chinese American.”

  Julian looks at her askance and blows out a slow breath. “I know this. Is there a rule prohibiting you from eating Japanese food?”

  Sooyin shakes her head and winks at me. “Just wanted to be sure we’re on the same page.”

  He smirks at her. “The page that says you’re ridiculous? Yeah, we’re both on it.”

  With a laugh, she shoves him to the side and lifts the lid off a container. “Let’s eat. My time is valuable.”

  Aaaand I’m done. I can’t watch anymore of their banter. “Hey, guys, I’m beat, so I’m going to grab my bowl and eat in my room. I’ll probably fall asleep with my face in it. Nice to meet you, Sooyin.”

  Julian whips his head in my direction and scans my face and body, a pensive expression suggesting he’s looking for signs of my exhaustion. “You’re welcome to stay, Ash. We’re just going to stuff our faces and work.”

  “Well, I’m going to stuff my face and sleep.” I pick up my bowl and utensils and vanish like a magician. If I could disappear from the unit without getting dressed I would. But tonight, I draw the line at putting on outside clothes.

  Inside my room, I lean back against the door and take a deep breath. That wasn’t so bad. Yes, it’s hard seeing your lifelong crush share chemistry with someone else, but Julian and I agreed we wouldn’t act on our attraction, and if Sooyin makes him happy, then I’m happy for him.

  Sarcasm alert: Yay.

  GRRR. I CAN’T sleep, and I’m thirsty. The superagents in the next room are interspersing their chatter with an occasional chuckle (him) or a laugh (her), and it sounds like they’re getting along well. They won’t appreciate my reappearance, but dehydration isn’t cute, so I trudge out of my room and down the hall, stomping the last few steps near the entryway to broadcast my arrival.

  Julian, who’s sitting across from Sooyin at the dining table, snaps his head up when I cross the threshold. He’s changed into jeans and a dark blue T-shirt that emphasizes his muscular biceps. “Hey, you. Can’t sleep?”

  I make a big show of yawning. “Thirstiness beat out grogginess.”

  Sooyin lifts her head from the pages in front of her and smiles at me. Then a phone buzzes between them. I’m not sure if it’s hers or Julian’s, but the answer becomes clear when he leans over and reads the screen, blowing out a frustrated breath after the ringing stops and starts again. “I need to take this.” He swipes up the phone and brings it to his ear as he strides down the hall, presumably to his bedroom.

  I chance a glance at Sooyin and pad across the floor to grab a glass from the cabinet.

  “He’s a great guy,” she says. The hesitation in her voice suggests she’s feeling me out, trying to get a read on whether I have my own designs on her love interest.

  “He is,” I agree. “And a catch, too.”

  She removes the eyeglasses perched low on her nose. “A bit grumpy, though, no?”

  I smile at that description. “Serious is a better word, I think. But he’s smart and loyal, and he makes the people around him feel protected.”

  “Including you.”

  I turn to her then. “Including me. But I’m not a threat if that’s your concern.”

  She grins at me. “I’m not a threat, either.”

  My heart thrums in my chest. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? “You and he aren’t . . . you mean . . . you’re not—”

  “Interested in him romantically?” She shakes her head. “No.”

  My gaze flies to her face as her meaning sinks in. “Oh.” Now I’m feeling protective of Julian’s feelings. “Does he know?”

  She nods and leans back in her chair. “He most certainly does.”

  I slump against the refrigerator. Apparently, I’m terrible at reading a situation. “I assumed you and he were interested in each other, or at least he was interested in you. I asked him outright, and my assumptions were fairly obvious, but he didn’t correct them.”

&nbs
p; She tips her head up and ponders that bit of information. “Very interesting. He told me you’re Carter Stone’s sister.”

  “I am.”

  “What’s that like?”

  I point an index finger in her general direction. “Just like that.”

  Her eyebrows snap together. “Sorry?”

  “People think of me as Carter Stone’s sister rather than Ashley, a woman whose brother happens to be Carter Stone.”

  She nods. “That’s a big difference, and I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  I put up a hand. “Forget it.”

  “Julian’s guilty of it, too, am I right?”

  I collapse onto a counter stool. “God yes.”

  “I might be out of line for saying this, but being out of line is my thing, so I’ll say it anyway. I don’t think he does it to discount you. It’s for a different reason, I suspect.”

  “Meaning?”

  “In the last few minutes, I learned that you’re a flight attendant, that you’re here only temporarily because you got into it with your roommate, although he doesn’t know exactly what happened, and that you’ve written over a hundred songs.”

  “He told you all that?”

  “He did. And if he failed to disabuse you of the notion that he’s interested in me, consider what he might gain from that. If he doesn’t trust himself around you, he might be inclined to manufacture reasons for you to stay away.” She sits up and shakes her head. “Goodness, who invaded my body and made me your therapist? I’ll shut up now.”

  Julian breezes into the room and stuffs his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

  I jump up, rush to the sink, and focus on filling my glass.

  Maybe Sooyin’s right that he wants to create a barrier between us because he’s not confident in his own ability to fight our connection. But I can’t forget that Julian himself made it clear we’re never ever going to happen.

  I can no longer ignore the truth. I’m wasting my energy here, and it’s time to move on.

  Chapter Ten

  Julian

  IT’S FRIDAY AT last, and tomorrow is a unicorn: a Saturday without any commitments. Sure, that could change at any moment, but I’m at least looking forward to the possibility of enjoying a rare day off.

  The unit is dark when I enter it. To make sure I’m alone, I sweep through each room, ending my house check at Ashley’s open door. I poke my head inside and find a mess. Clothes strewn everywhere. Makeup brushes and lids peppering the dresser. And a bright white bath towel on the floor. Someone was in a hurry this evening, but where did she go?

  We haven’t seen much of each other this week, and I have no idea whether she’s due to travel for work soon. She should have left a note or texted me to let me know where she would be. There’s no need for us to keep tabs on each other, of course, but she doesn’t know LA well, and I’d hate for her to be out alone at night. Dammit, my mother has invaded my body, and it’s not cool. Get a grip, Julian. She’s a grown woman, and she can take care of herself.

  After showering and reheating leftovers, I sink into the couch with my plate in my hands and a beer on the side table. I’m five minutes into the local news when Ash gets home—and my jaw drops.

  Ashley’s like a little sister to me.

  Ashley’s like a little sister to me.

  Ashley’s like a little sister to me.

  Nope. She’s not. At all.

  That explains why the curvy outline of her body taunts me. Why I’m entranced by the way her flowery skirt swishes around her firm thighs as she walks. Why I want to be the silk tank top skimming her body and softly draping over her full breasts. I want. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the feeling. Pure, unadulterated want.

  “Hey, there!” she says in a cheery tone. “Looks like you’re in full relaxation mode.”

  My gaze travels with her to the fridge, where she pulls out a beer bottle. She grabs the opener off the counter and makes quick work of the cap.

  “Fun night?” I ask.

  She drops her shoulders and pouts. “It sucked.” Then she tosses her head back and takes a long sip. When she’s done, she says, “The guy couldn’t stop talking about himself. I don’t even think he asked me a single question. And he wore yellow socks with naked boobs on them, the Neanderthal. Let’s mark this day as the last time I let a coworker set me up.” She plods across the room and plonks down next to me. “Why is dating so hard?”

  Ever experience a moment when you wonder whether you’ve awoken from a monthlong cryogenic sleep? Yeah. That. Because . . . Ashley’s dating? Since Tuesday? And I’m supposed to act like this is an expected turn of events?

  But it is, my inner rational person says. She can do whatever she wants, and apparently what she wants is to date. So why the fuck am I unhappy about it? No, I should just be supportive here. “It’s like going trick-or-treating, that’s why.”

  She shifts sideways and frowns at me. “Trick-or-treating? Explain.”

  I turn my body to face her and wedge a pillow between us—for comfort. “Okay, do you remember when you went trick-or-treating as a kid? You were excited about it. Talked about it for days. Planned your costume, your walking route. Got so excited about the candy you’d get to eat.”

  She waves her hands around in frustration. “Yeah, yeah. I remember all that. But how does that relate to dating?”

  “Well, when you went out, you didn’t know what you’d get. Some neighbors gave you crappy treats. Tons of Whoppers or Tootsie Rolls. The stuff no one would trade other candy for. That’s your Neanderthal with the boob socks, right there. And you learned not to go to those houses in later years, right? But first you have to get the Whoppers or Tootsie Rolls or whatever before you scratch that house off your list.”

  She puts a hand over her mouth and laughs, and then she wiggles her butt into the sofa cushion, settling into a more comfortable position. “This is fascinating. Do go on.”

  “Okay, then there were the sickening neighbors who didn’t even give you treats. They gave you a fucking trick. I mean, what the hell? Yeah, you know it’s a possibility, a risk of jumping in the trick-or-treating pool, you might say, but no kid wants a trick rather than a treat. A trick and a treat, yes, but a trick instead of a treat, hell no. So those folks, those are your cheaters, and they’re the worst of the worst, but yeah, they’re out there, and all they want to do is steal your joy.”

  Her gaze clouds. “I hate those fuckers so much.”

  “And then there are those neighbors who lure you in. They give you treats every year, but one year, after they’ve lulled you into a false sense of security, you turn around to walk down the front steps and they trick you. You feel so betrayed, right?”

  She nods enthusiastically. “Right, right. It’s like a sucker punch.”

  “But then there are the houses that give you the primo candy. The Kit Kats, the M&M’s, the Twizzlers.”

  She leans over and slaps the pillow between us. “I love Twizzlers.”

  “You might even get lucky and get the king-sized versions of your favorite candies.”

  She wriggles her eyebrows. “Oooh, I love the king-sized versions.”

  Of course Ash would go there. I draw back and wag my finger at her. “I think you’re distorting my analogy. Anyway, the thing about those primo houses is that everyone knows they’re a sure thing, so everyone rushes to those houses, and they end up running out of candy. So the key is to get to them first. Otherwise you might never get the candy you crave. Instead, you’ll be stuck with a jar of candy corn or worse, a granola bar.”

  She pretends to shudder in disgust. “Granola bars make me sad.”

  “So yeah. It’s not easy to date, but if you approach it with the right strategy and rely on what you learn from your experiences, you’ll eventually get the Twizzlers you want.”

  She stares at me, her eyes unblinking. “Wow. Just wow. That actually makes sense, in a warped, not-everything-lines-up-logically kind of way.” She nudges my shoulder. “
You’re a witty guy, Mr. Hart.”

  Jesus. Did she think I had no sense of humor? I lean my forearms on my thighs and study my bare feet. I can be witty. When I’m around the right people. And apparently, she’s one of them. “Yes, well, I’ve probably maxed out my charm credits, so I’m going to be dry and humorless for the remainder of the year.”

  She reaches over and sets her hand on my wrist. From this vantage, her whiskey-colored eyes dominate my mental picture frame. My heart pounds, a steady drum in my chest.

  “Thank you,” she says softly.

  “For what?”

  “For helping me put that terrible date in perspective.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  My voice is low and gruff, too many days’ worth of want and frustration packed into my consonants and vowels. I shake out my hands and stretch my neck to ease the tightness in my muscles.

  She throws her head back against the sofa and puffs her cheeks out. “I just want to enjoy someone’s company, you know? Go to a nice restaurant from time to time. The movies. Have decent conversation.”

  “You could do all that with me.”

  With the back of her head still resting against the couch, she turns her head toward me. “Sex, Julian. I’d like to have sex, too.” It comes out as a growl, as though she’s rabid with the injustice of it all. “And not in fifteen-minute increments, either, because you’re too busy to fit me into your schedule.”

  Ouch. I’m not a fifteen-minute man under any circumstances. To me, thirty minutes is a quickie. But pleading my case would be crude and pointless. “Can’t help you there.”

  “Won’t.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She raises her head, and we stare at each other. “There’s no physical impediment to us having sex.” Her gaze dips to the area between my thighs. “That I know of.”

  I swallow hard. She wants me. I want her. But taking that irreversible step is far from simple. “No physical barrier, at least.”