Pretending He's Mine

by Mia Sosa

  With a hand on her chest, she scoffs at me. “That’s absurd. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Actually, I know exactly what I’m talking about. Sure, you pretend it’s about your years-old crush on me, but it’s more basic than that, isn’t it? You envy the way she lives her life. The way she makes friends so easily. Her decision to leave Harmon and immerse herself in different experiences. The way she refuses to tie herself down simply to check off a box based on other people’s definitions of success. You want that for yourself.”

  She scrunches her face, pretending there’s no basis for my observations. “I don’t envy Ashley in the least. I think your feelings for her are clouding your judgment.” After an exaggerated flip of her hair, she storms off.

  I chuckle as I watch her go. She’s growing older, sure, but she’s definitely not growing up. I’ll give Lydia this, though: She unwittingly stumbled on a fact I can no longer deny. My feelings for Ashley are clouding my judgment—and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.

  MY PRETEND GIRLFRIEND is asleep by the time I enter the bedroom. Only the top of her head and several long strands of her hair poke out of the cocoon she’s created with the comforter. Frankly, I’m relieved. The prospect of sharing a bed with her while suppressing our mutual attraction makes me consider sleeping in the tub. But I’m too tall for that, and now that she’s snoring lightly, I can slip under the covers without the awkwardness we’d experience if we both were awake.

  I grab my toiletry bag and dip into the bathroom. After a quick shower and edge trim, I brush my teeth and hit the light switch. I’m wearing a T-shirt and long pajama bottoms because anything less would be weird.

  Ashley’s snoring loudly now, and the vibration in her throat makes her sound like a dog growling at a perceived threat. And her body is draped over 80 percent of the mattress. Maybe I should sleep on the floor. But after I fail to find any sheets or blankets in the closet, I climb into bed and settle on the slice of surface area she hasn’t commandeered. Whispering her name, I nudge her over with my arm and left leg.

  Except she reacts wildly to my touch, and in the scramble to untangle herself from the comforter, she rolls over the edge of the mattress and hits the floor with a loud yelp.

  “Fuck, Ash.” I jackknife off the bed and lean over. “You okay?”

  She rubs her elbow. “Ow. What the hell happened?”

  “Something spooked you in your sleep. Not sure what.” I’m going to hell for this lie. “Bad dream, maybe?”

  She turns her head back and forth, trying to orient herself. Then she widens her eyes in horror. “Was I snoring?”

  “Hell yes.”

  She groans and lies back down on the floor. “This day needs a do-over.”

  I flip my legs around and climb out. Then I step over her, placing my feet hip-width apart around her body, and hold out my arms. “C’mon, Ash. No more feeling sorry for yourself.”

  She takes my proffered hands, and I haul her up.

  Still grasping my hands, she squints up at me and asks, “Did I miss anything?”

  “Nothing at all. It wasn’t the same without you.”

  I’m stunned by how much I mean this. When she left, my enthusiasm for being there went with her; it’s as if she’s slowly taking pieces of me I’ll never get back. I drop my hands and put space between us. “Let’s get to bed. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

  She nods absently, and then we both climb back into bed and settle under the covers.

  The mattress dips as she turns on her side to face me, and I roll over to meet her gaze. Her dark brown hair fans out on the pillow, begging for my touch, but I wedge both hands under my face to avoid doing something stupid.

  “Thanks for today,” she whispers.

  She’s so beautiful, her face cast in shadows in the dimly lit room, and I do nothing but stare at her for a few seconds, until I realize I might be giving off creeper vibes. “You’re welcome. But I’m not sure I did all that much. And given how Lydia tried to corner me in the hall, I think you’re doing me the bigger favor here.”

  She lifts her head off the pillow, her eyes narrowing on my face in an attempt to see my expression in the dark. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, really. She just wanted me to know she had a crush on me a long time ago. I’m chalking it up to a need for closure.”

  “For your sake, let’s hope so.” Without warning, she reaches out and traces a finger along one of my eyebrows. “I never noticed how defined your eyebrows are. Do you wax them?”

  I’m thrown by the change in subject. But also, does she expect me to put sentences together when she’s touching me? Needing an excuse to put space between us, I pretend to be offended and draw back. “That’s insulting. No, I don’t groom them. This is nature at its finest.”

  She smiles into the pillow, exposing the curve of her neck, and I draw on every ounce of my willpower to refrain from leaning over and kissing her there.

  “For years,” she says, “I wondered if you had a sense of humor. Now I know you do.”

  “Let’s keep that a secret between us. My rep as a no-nonsense agent would be ruined.”

  She snuggles into the pillow and rests her cheek against it, the playful glint in her eyes sobering. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

  If I wanted a reminder why a relationship with Ashley wouldn’t work, this is it. I can’t answer her truthfully, not without revealing my lack of enthusiasm for a career that directly affects her brother’s livelihood. Would she share my confidences with him? Inadvertently, even? Still, I’ll admit I’m tempted, for the simple reason that I’d like to talk to her about this. I can’t ask my father for advice. He’s permanently poised to tell me I told you so. And as much as I like Sooyin, she’s a colleague, too, so speaking with her about my discontent wouldn’t be wise.

  Ashley reaches out and guides my chin so that I’m forced to meet her gaze. “Hey. I’m a good listener, and nothing you say will go beyond this room.”

  There’s no judgment in her eyes, only affection, and her assurance is exactly what I need to hear. “Sometimes I wonder how I got to this point. One day, Carter asked me to look over his records because he was worried his agent was skimming him. The next thing I know, I’m interviewing for a position as an agent intern in LA. The rest, as they say, is history. I’m not sure I thought it through in the way I should have.”

  “What would you have done otherwise?”

  “Worked with my father. He’d been angling for me to help him run the business since I left home to attend Weston. That was the plan, and to this day, he has no problem reminding me that I didn’t follow it. We have a great relationship otherwise, but I hurt him when I chose to work with Carter.”

  “But what about the work? Apart from what you do for Carter? Is that fulfilling?”

  “To be honest, not all that much. I mean, I love it when my clients fulfill their dreams. Knowing they’ve found their passions is inspiring, but sometimes it reminds me that I’m lacking my own passion, a sense that I’m making a difference somehow. That’s when I can practically hear my father telling me I’d regret being an agent, that I need to focus on making my own dreams. Other times, I want to kick myself for being greedy, for wanting more than I already have. So what if I barely have a personal life to speak of? What does it matter that I work long hours? This is the path I chose, and for the most part I’ve been successful at it, so shouldn’t I just suck it up?”

  She places a hand on my cheek, stroking my skin, and I can’t help leaning into her touch. “Your career path isn’t etched in stone, though. You have time to adjust, time to figure out what makes you happy. That’s what I tell myself, at least.”

  I could tell her that figuring out what makes you happy is pointless if you don’t do anything about it, but I don’t want to make her defensive. Despite what she told everyone at dinner, I know Ashley has a dream, a goal potent enough to get her out of bed every morning. But she’s afraid to go
after it, scared that she’ll fail. That’s a discussion for another day, though, so I simply say, “Thanks for listening.”

  “Anytime.”

  She stares at me, her hand lingering on my face. I tilt my head, chasing the softness of her touch, and in a moment of weakness, I brush my lips against her fingers. Her small intake of breath roars like a strong gust of wind in the small room. We both nudge our bodies forward, until we’re less than an inch apart, sharing the same air and panting like there’s not enough of it to sustain us both.

  God, I want to just let go and give in so badly I’m investing all my energy in trying to suppress this feeling. I groan for the both of us. “We shouldn’t.”

  “I know,” she says, her body arching in frustration.

  “But I want to.”

  I’m not sure what’s possessing me to be honest. It doesn’t help the situation at all.

  She falls on her back and stares at the ceiling, while I remain on my side and stare at the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I envision myself covering her naked body with mine, rolling my hips against her soft thighs, digging my hands into her ass and sliding my cock inside her until the fullness makes her gasp.

  She squeezes her eyes shut, as though she’s in physical pain. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one feeling this way.”

  “You’re not, I assure you.”

  Again, Julian. What the fuck? Close your mouth and go to sleep.

  “Good night, Ash.”

  “Good night.”

  She turns on her side, leaving me staring at her back.

  And wanting her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ashley

  I DO BELIEVE that’s morning wood nestled against my backside.

  Batter, batter, batter, schwing.

  Julian’s arm is resting on my waist, and I can easily imagine starting each day like this. If I move, I’ll wake him, and that would be unnecessarily rude. Since I’m a considerate person, I’ll lie here and let him sleep. Such a chore.

  He was wearing a shirt when we went to bed last night. Now, though, his chest and my shoulders are making skin-to-skin contact, and the twisted T is draped over the footboard. Okay, maybe I’ll shift a bit. Just to get more comfortable.

  The hand on my waist slides to my hip—and freezes.

  Any minute now, he’ll spring away, and we’ll have a good laugh about his morning woodpecker.

  Any minute now . . .

  Any. Minute. Now.

  But he lightly squeezes my hip, and oh God, the urge to draw his hand between my thighs makes that empty space ache.

  I fake a light snore, and he snatches his hand away.

  “Shit,” he whispers as he rolls on his back.

  I don’t want Julian to beat himself up over this, so I yawn and stretch and generally pretend to be waking from a deep, uninterrupted slumber. The moment he shifts, I climb out of bed and escape to the bathroom.

  When I return minutes later, he’s resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his temples. The view of his smooth, broad back transfixes me. I’d love to kneel behind him and massage his muscles. I’d like to be the person who gets to do that for him. But I know his position, and as much as I wish this weren’t the case, I’m not the person he needs.

  I stride across the room and throw open my suitcase, hoping the sudden activity will change the tense energy in the air. My back is to him when I say good morning.

  “Mornin’,” he slurs.

  His rough voice scrapes against my skin, a worthy substitute for the five-o’clock shadow I wish he’d sweep across my breasts. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him slide his arms behind him, extending his torso, and then he raises his face to the ceiling.

  What a cruel, cruel man.

  To stop myself from staring, I focus instead on choosing my outfit for the day. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone zip-lining, but I remember the harness doesn’t do very nice things for your crotch. It’s like you’re signing up for a wedgie, or worse, a camel toe. I think I’ll go with leggings.”

  He straightens and massages the back of his head. “How many times have you done it?”

  “Four, five times maybe. Did it in Costa Rica once after my first international flight. There’s nothing like soaring above the treetops and seeing waterfalls and wildlife on your way down. It was so fast, too. Like flying through the air.”

  He stands abruptly and rushes to the restroom. Nature calls, I guess.

  When he reemerges minutes later, water droplets dot his forehead, as if he splashed his face, and his lips are set in a thin line. Maybe my assumption that he’s a morning person is wrong.

  Well, I’m not poking that bear, even if he poked me first. I gather my clothes and toiletries and whizz past him to the bathroom. Before I close the door, I say, “It’ll be yours in ten minutes.”

  “Take your time,” he says in that gruff voice that makes me wish we were having drowsy morning sex.

  As promised, I’m done quickly, and I leave the room in search of coffee. I find Tori and Eva sitting at the table in the small eat-in kitchen, chatting and each nursing a mug.

  “Well, good morning, sunshine,” Tori says.

  “Damn, you’re glowing,” Eva says. “Am I the only one not having sex on a regular basis?”

  For a few seconds, I do nothing but blink at her and shake my head. Oh, right. Eva doesn’t know Julian and I aren’t really dating. The question is, should I tell her? I don’t know her very well, but I’d like to. And I trust my future sister-in-law to surround herself with good people. After filling my mug with coffee, I join them at the table.

  I listen for sounds of Lydia.

  “She’s at the main house,” Tori says. “Carter’s gone, too. It’s just us.”

  I think this might be the first time a girlfriend has known what I was thinking without me saying so. My joy might be a bit out of proportion to the circumstances, but whatever, I love it.

  Leaning in, I say, “Julian and I aren’t really dating. It’s all a ruse.”

  Eva scrunches her face. “Why?”

  I sigh. Yeah, Ashley. Why? “Well, as you can probably tell, there are a few pains in the asses in my family, and I thought my time here would go more smoothly if they thought I was seriously dating someone. I have a reputation for being a bit of a rolling stone, and I thought Julian’s presence would deter them from asking questions about my life and future.”

  Eva sets down her mug and peers at me. “Sounds like you thought wrong.”

  “Seems that way, but now we’re stuck with the charade through Sunday.”

  “You’re a very convincing couple,” Eva says. “Are you saying there’s nothing there, there?”

  I chance a glance at Tori, who’s all ears while she sips her coffee. “Are we attracted to each other? Sure. Will we do anything about it? Nope.”

  “Why the hell not?” Eva asks, a touch of exasperation lacing her tone.

  I lift an eyebrow.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I think the sexual tension is getting to me. Y’all need to take care of it—for the sisterhood.”

  “It’s not that simple, I assure you.”

  “It never is,” she mumbles.

  I sigh into my cup. “I don’t want to compete with my brother for Julian’s time. And Julian’s always been uneasy about mixing his personal and business lives. Being Carter’s agent is his exception. Dating me would upset the order of things.”

  “Well, let me ask you this then,” Eva says. “Why do you think he agreed to the charade?”

  Now that’s an easy one. “Lydia. She’s been after him forever. This served his purposes, too.”

  “Wait. You say he’s not comfortable representing Carter because of their personal connection?”

  I nod. “That’s right.”

  “But he agrees to a fake relationship with his client’s sister so he can dodge a woman who has a crush on him?”

  Eva and Tori share a knowing look.

  “
Ding, ding, ding,” Tori says. “I’ll take Things That Are Obvious for six hundred, Alex.”

  I pinch my lips together, unsure what to say. I know he’s attracted to me, but could there be more to this for him than lust? As usual, I have no answers, so I groan instead. “This is a mess and—”

  The door to our bedroom opens, and Julian walks out in a pair of shorts that are no match for his powerful thighs. “Morning, ladies.”

  Tori and Eva both say, “Good morning, Charlie” and high-five each other.

  Eva waves her hands excitedly. “Oh, we could take Charlie’s Angels to the next level.” She stands and drops into a fighting pose. “I call dibs on the middle, though. I can rock a Farrah Fawcett wig like a boss.”

  “Who’d play Charlie?” Julian asks, grinning. “I can’t act at all.”

  “Not sure I agree with you there,” Eva says with a smug smile. “But to answer your question, I’d choose Chris Pine. No, what am I thinking? Idris Elba. Definitely. Could you imagine that British accent wishing you good morning?” She flutters her eyelashes. “I’d be like, ‘Good morning, Idris’ and drop my panties in the same breath.”

  Julian stares at her with a blank expression. “Okay, that’s my cue to leave. Where’s Carter?”

  “He’s with his mother,” Tori says. “And I need to say hello to my parents before Susan takes them to the flea market.” She rises from her chair. “We’ll meet outside at eleven thirty, okay? The zip-lining center is twenty minutes away.”

  Julian swallows hard and smiles. “Can’t wait.”

  But the sheen of perspiration on his face suggests he’s lying through his bright white teeth. Huh. What’s that about?

  “JULIAN, YOU DON’T look so great, man,” Carter says as he clips a part of the harness around his right thigh. “You okay?”

  Julian nods as he breathes out. “I’m fine.”

  We’re under a canopy of tall trees at Sunny Creek Adventure Park. Our instructor checks that each of our harnesses is secure and gives us a thumbs-up. After a ten-minute safety briefing, he leads us to the first set of trails and points to the color-coded flags at their entrances. “The flags will tell you the level of difficulty. Blue is a less-challenging trail. The climbing bridge is suspended at thirty feet. Green is at fifty.”