by Brill Harper
I’ve barely recovered from the devastation of his kiss, and now he is about to tell me all the things that are wrong with me. I look around my apartment and wonder what it is, exactly, that is supposed to be so faulty with my life?
Christopher continues as if I’m not about to explode. “You remind me of my parents—rash and impulsive. I can’t deal with that. I don’t like to be the talk of the town.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I have reasons. Things I’m not willing to talk about. But you and your impulsive nature put me right back where I most don’t want to be.”
Wait just a minute here.
“My impulsive nature?” I cross my arms in front of me and stare him dead on. “Did I grab you in front of a room full of people and kiss you? No, no, I didn’t. That was all you.”
Goddess, that kiss. One minute, I was being blasted by Devon for being unattractive and the next Christopher was kissing me the way no man so uptight should be doing. It was primal. I felt that kiss in every cell of my body. The slide of his tongue, his firm fingers on my hip. I did not imagine all that. And I did not instigate it either.
“You’re right. I...acted in a way I’m not proud of. I probably made things worse.” He is making them worse right now. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
Right.
Part of me wants to turtle-shell up. This night has been hell on my ego, and it shows no signs of getting better. The other part of me, the part he doesn’t like, is feeling a little more “impulsive.”
“So why did you?”
He messes up his own hair again, scraping his fingers through it. “I just...I don’t know. That guy shouldn’t have been talking to you that way. And I didn’t know what was going on, but I felt like you needed me.”
Pity kiss. That makes more sense, I guess, than the idea that Christopher Lockwood was just overcome by passion and had to stake his claim on me in a crowded pub.
This hurts more than I want to admit. Not exactly the answer a girl wants to hear when she learns why she’d been kissed. Even if she doesn’t really like the guy who is saying it. Because I don’t. I may have thoroughly enjoyed that kiss, but it’s only that it’s been a while since I’ve been kissed, and he is surprisingly good at it. That’s all it is.
But I don’t need him. I don’t need any man. They aren’t trustworthy. Men are for fun but not for necessity. Not in the Year of Stella.
“Well, I’m fine now. You can go.”
He stands slowly, watching me like I might jump him. Which is ridiculous. Again, he was the one who pounced on me tonight. I think I’ve been admirably in charge of my hormones.
He doesn’t make a break for the door. Just stands there looking at me. “If you would just think before you do things, we could have avoided all this trouble.”
Every muscle I own tenses up. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“You and my parents, you’re the kind of people that go off on your little daydream clouds or stars or whatever and leave the rest of us to deal with the practicalities of life.”
This is too much. Really. “I’m not impractical.”
“Look around you, Stella.”
So I do. I look around the apartment I love. The one I pay for every month. I look at the decor that welcomes me after a long day of dealing with sick and hurting animals and the families who love them. In this apartment, I’ve watched every single episode of Walking Dead with my best friend. I’ve made cookies with my sister. I’ve stayed up too late and slept in too long. I’ve played cards with my parents at that table.
My apartment is great.
I think about the office. How cheerful it is to people who are scared there might be something wrong with their beloved pet. How I try to make a difference in people’s lives every damn day. I want to help the people in my town. I want to help animals. I want to take care of Doc Anderson because she needs a keeper, but she also does amazing things, and if she’s well-fed and less stressed, she can do her job better. I am happy at my office.
My job is great.
Why should I defend my life to this man who doesn’t know how to live without something to protect his pocket from ink?
Instead, I decide to just let it go. I don’t need one more person in my life who thinks I’m not good enough. He can leave. I have nothing to prove to Mr. Retentive.
“I think it’s time you should be going. The town is already going to be talking enough.”
He doesn’t move, so I get up and go to the door. Maybe he forgot where it is. As I pass him, he palms my shoulder and turns me around. “If I go along with this, you need to do everything I tell you to do at the office.”
“What?” I try to track the conversation back to figure out what he’s even talking about. “Go along with what?”
“If I play along with this charade, you have to listen to me at work.”
Seriously? Even the way he pronounces charade, shar-odd, is pretentious.
Why would he go along with my “shar-odd”? Well, he went along with it well enough downstairs, didn’t he? The wheels are turning in my head. He doesn’t actually like me, does he? I mean like me like me? That kiss was amazing, but everything before and since points to a man totally not interested.
But that kiss. Lockwood doesn’t have the social skills to pull off pretending that kind of passion, I don’t think.
He looks dead serious. But then, when doesn’t he look serious? His hand on my shoulder squeezes. Just a little.
“Why would you play along with my little ‘charade?’ Also, who even pronounces it that way?”
“Look, I know you didn’t do anything malicious on purpose, but you are screwing with my life. All I’m asking is that you defer to me in the office, the way it’s supposed to be.”
I think maybe he like likes me. Interesting. Only one way to find out. I’m going to be the Stellaiest Stella I can be and force it out of him. I shrug, palms up. “I can’t make any promises. You know me, impulsive and rash.”
Oh...there it is. The muscle tic. He grimaces and takes a measured breath. “Then I’ll tell everyone you lied about me. That we were never dating.”
I cross my arms and send him my blandest look. He ought to like that. I also know that plumps up my boobies, and if I’m not mistaken, he likes that too. “How are you going to explain that kiss? Half the town saw it.”
“I’m offering you a chance to save face here. I just want a little bit of control of my life again. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll play my part if you play yours.”
This is an interesting turn of events to be sure. “You know when I met you, I thought you were mild-mannered and unassuming.”
“You thought you could steamroll over me.”
“No. I have no desire to be in control all the time.”
“Then it won’t bother you to let me be in control some of the time, will it?”
It’s go time. Let’s see how in control you are or aren’t, dear doctor. “Do you really think you have what it takes to control someone like me, doc?” I run my hand up his arm, squeezing the hard muscles. “I’m impulsive and rash and destined to make you crazy, remember?”
Something in his eyes changes. Something dark and wild. “You don’t think I can rein you in, Stella? Are you calling my bluff?” I didn’t realize I was moving backward until he flattens me to the door. “I choose nonconfrontational methods whenever possible because I like things calm and steady. But that doesn’t mean I’m a pushover.”
To prove his point, he pushes into me, the bulge beneath his zipper a sure sign that he isn’t indifferent to me. And damn it. According to the state of my panties, it turns out I’m not indifferent to him either. This man confuses me. I need to say or do something.
Were I a thinking, practical kind of girl, I bet I would soothe his ego with something like an acceptance of his terms or a nonconfrontational no, thank you. But we’ve established that I’m impulsive and rash. “I’m calling your bluff. You wouldn’t last three days as my boyfriend.
”
Christopher is changing in front of my eyes. I take a deep breath, allowing my chest to rise beneath his. There’s a bubble of tension around us. He is fighting to retain some kind of control, and I want him to lose it. The steely reserve in his eyes doesn’t falter. He pins me to the door, holding my wrists firmly in powerful hands. Wow. My pulse is skating figure eights, but I can’t show him I’m intimidated.
Because then he would stop.
I don’t want him to stop.
His eyes are hot and eager. Ruthless.
He lowers his head and breathes on that patch of skin below my ear but doesn’t kiss me. I fight the urge to squirm, to bring him into closer contact.
“Christopher...” I whisper.
He latches on to my neck, sucking, and I would melt into the floor if he wasn’t pinning me to this door with his hard body.
He kisses my jaw, my chin, and finally claims my mouth.
The kiss downstairs devastated me. This one...it consumes me. He takes and takes and takes, his tongue thrusting, mimicking raw sex. He isn’t thinking about my pleasure or even his own. He isn’t thinking at all. I’ve driven him to this hungry madness, and I haven’t even touched him yet.
And Goddess, do I ache to touch him. It’s all sparks and stars, and I’m sure the only way to put out the fire includes nakedness and my bed.
He rears back, breathing heavy like he’s just run up a couple flights of stairs. Okay, so we’re both wheezing a little. His glasses are foggy and that, for some damned reason, makes my thighs clench around the ache between my legs.
“Do we have a deal?” he asks.
I blink the world back into focus. “You seriously want to do this?”
“No. I don’t want to. But it’s in both our best interests. You save face, and I get some peace.”
If he thinks being my pretend boyfriend is going to net him any peace, he seriously underestimates living in a small town. “The reason my lie hasn’t spiraled out of control is because everyone thought you were shy and guarded. Kissing me downstairs—with tongue, I might add—will disabuse the townsfolk of that notion. It’s going to get pretty crazy now. Especially with the wedding next weekend.”
The wedding. I swallow hard. If I could keep him long enough to take to the wedding, so many of my problems would be solved. I really, really don’t want to be the thing everyone remembers most about Leo and Dixie’s big day. And I don’t want Megan to spend the rest of the week trying to convince me to bring Devon to save face.
He lifts my chin with one hand. “Where’d you go?”
We hold eye contact way longer than I’m comfortable with, so I duck under his arm and give myself some space. “This is crazy.”
He pulls a handkerchief from his jeans pocket—yes, a real handkerchief—and wipes off his glasses. “I’m aware that this is crazy. But we’re already in it, might as well try to get out without embarrassing ourselves further.”
“How long?” I ask.
“How long do you have to act like a good employee? As long as I pretend to be your boyfriend, I guess.”
“Oh, no, honeybuns. If I have to be a good employee, then you have to be a good boyfriend.”
“You don’t think I’ll be good to you?” He almost sounds hurt.
“I just want...all of it. You need to be...attentive. And people need to believe you like me. That you really like me. Not just put up with me.” I jut my chin out. “Including PDAs.”
“What is PDA?”
“Public Displays of Affection.”
Christopher presses his lips into a thin line. “I think I’ve proven this evening that I’m up to the task.”
I need to get this man out of my house. Just thinking about that kiss, and the other one a few minutes ago, and I’m kerfuffled. Nobody using the word kerfuffled can be expected to make good decisions. I grasp the doorknob and fling the door open, gesturing him out. “Fine. We start with brunch tomorrow. Brunch and the farmer’s market. Like a super real couple.”
That ought to scare him. Devon had serious issues with brunch. Devon had issues with a lot of things, though.
“Fine.” Christopher brushes past me then pivots, clasping my hand and bringing the inside of my wrist to his lips. Nobody has ever kissed me there. It’s unbearably romantic. “I can be an excellent boyfriend. You’ll see.”
I yank my hand back like his lips burn. “I’m already a good employee. But we’ll try it your way. For now.”
“Sweet dreams, Stella.”
Chapter Ten
Christopher
What Stella neglected to tell me about brunch was that it is an extended family weekly get-together in her parents’ home and not the simple meal in a bistro that would normally come to mind.
And Stella’s family is more extended than most.
She’s left me on a terrace at her parents’ house with a mimosa and a promise to be right back. I recognize some faces—family and friends who’ve been into the clinic recently—but there are too many to put names to. Nash from the bar is here.
Her parents’ spacious home is lovely. It’s weird to think that Stella grew up in this house. This normal house. There are books everywhere, and well-cared for, yet well-loved furniture. The wood floors shine beneath several fading throw rugs. My favorite part so far has been the photos on the mantel. Stella was a very cute little girl, but she was even more awkward than I was as a teenager. The braces with the headgear charmed me, as did the expression of horror on her face when I found that picture. She quickly replaced it with some pictures of her dad and Dr. Anderson from their ‘80s band. I can’t believe the guy who wanted to golf with me used to wear eyeliner. She promised to not show me the assless chaps picture if I never mentioned the headgear again. That was half an hour ago, and I lost track of her about ten minutes later.
I bring my attention back to the man in front of me. Brandon McKendrick is pretending to care about small talk with me, but he is practically salivating over the woman in a tight dress in the corner talking to Tru and Nash. If I recall, it’s his girlfriend in the dress, and Nash is his son. I catch a shooting star in my peripheral vision and know Stella is near. She joins my side and clasps my hand and it feels natural. Good. At the same time, strange. She’s smiling at me like she’s getting one over on me, like she thinks it’s a hardship to hold her hand. I give hers a gentle squeeze to keep her off balance. It’s only fair.
“I’m stealing him away, Brandon, before you get to any good stories about my childhood.”
“That’s a shame. You are the only fun one of your siblings. There are some good stories there.”
She kisses his cheek. “Don’t I know it.”
I grab my plate from the table, and we go back inside.
She steals a grape from my plate, and I pretend not to notice. “What makes you stay in such a small town? Don’t you feel like everyone is in your business?”
She takes more food off my plate, so I just hand the whole thing to her. She swallows her bite and is about to say something else when she ducks. “Oh, Goddess, my sister is here.”
At the door, Megan and her boyfriend are pushing their way into the room. Megan’s eyes get big when she sees me, and everyone hears her make a squeeing sound, though an octave higher and only my canine patients would have been able to hear it. “Megan appears to already have seen you,” I say blandly.
“Eff me,” my girlfriend laments, straightening up and downing her mimosa.
I brace for the worst as Megan strides across the room. “Christopher!” She hugs me in an overly familiar way. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She takes note of our clasped hands and squees again. “So glad.”
“I think we were just getting ready to leave,” Stella offers. “Farmer’s market.” She shoots me a look like I might not have understood what I was getting into. If she thinks a farmer’s market is going to scare me off more than a brunch with her extremely large family, she doesn’t know me very well. I’m a huge fan of both eggs Benedict a
nd farm-fresh produce. It’s my idea of a perfect Sunday.
Of course, that’s the truth of it, though. She doesn’t know me very well. I don’t know her very well. What we do know of each other isn’t well liked.
I’m still wondering why this was my idea.
“Let me take a few pictures before you go,” Megan says, pulling me along in her tide of dramatics to “better light.” “We are just so happy about you and Stella. She needs someone normal. I feel like I should warn you about her antics, but I’m afraid I’ll scare you off.”
I pull back and look at her. “Nothing you could say will scare me off Stella.”
“Well, you’ve only known her for a few months. I’ve known her for her whole life.”
The idea that I need to protect Stella from her sister is ludicrous. “Megan, I like her just the way she is. Your sister is wonderful.”
“Of course, she is. I’m just teasing.”
But if that is how she always is, I can see why Stella might think otherwise. Families tease, that’s a given. But if it never stops, if the pattern never changes, it would be hard to laugh it off after a while.
I find myself being arranged behind Stella. My arms tighten around her reflexively. It’s like the scent of cherries and maybe vanilla has become Pavlovian. Sniff. Grab. Reward. Sniff. Grab. Reward.
She angles her head to look at me. “What are you doing?” she asks through a fake smile.
I inhale deeply. Losing my mind. “I’m being the perfect boyfriend.” I nuzzle her neck. “You want them to believe this, right?”
“Oh, this is for them, is it?” She arches just enough to brush against my growing erection. “You certainly go all out.” She turns in my arms. Maybe she’s forgotten the camera. Maybe she hasn’t. “I guess I shouldn’t let you do all the heavy lifting.” Her arms go around my neck and she cups the back of my head.
“What are you doing, Stella?”
“Being the perfect girlfriend.” She kisses me. It’s not a sensual kiss. It’s not like last night at all. It’s soft and sweet and my heart pitches uncomfortably like it’s forgotten its rhythm. Like it’s forgotten that it has one job.