Sweet obsession, p.10
Sweet Obsession, page 10
“Things pretty crazy at work?” Noah asks him.
A few beats of silence pass while Carson ignores Noah for his phone until his pale brows lift. “Me? Oh, no. This is fantasy baseball.”
I didn’t even know fantasy baseball existed.
Victoria’s jaw ticks. Her gaze leaves the menu in front of her only to shoot daggers at Carson. “I’m pretty sure your fantasy baseball team can wait until after dinner.”
Carson’s mouth sours. “You literally put a dead bird on our table in the middle of dinner last night and left to call your brother. Pretty sure my fantasy baseball team isn’t bothering anybody.”
“Because it wasn’t dead.” Victoria is seething now, and I thank whatever force in the universe is sparing me from her wrath. “It was injured, and I called Noah to come look at it. You were sitting in front of the TV anyway.”
“I wasn’t going to sit at the table with a dying bird.” Carson somehow manages to keep typing on his phone while arguing with his fiancée. “Animals belong outside. Especially dead or dying ones.”
Are Victoria and Carson usually this combative with each other, or did we catch them on a bad night? They must’ve had an argument before arriving. That’s why they’re both being so insufferable.
I catch Noah’s eye, who shrugs and flashes me a thin, apologetic smile. I hate that these two grown adults can’t put aside their petty grievances for an hour to avoid making us uncomfortable. Worse, I hate that look on Noah’s face. The tension in his jaw, his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his eyes dart around the restaurant in search of an escape route.
They’re making him miserable, and I won’t stand for it.
“Did you manage to save the bird?” I force a bright smile. My gaze darts between Victoria and Noah, who grimaces.
I’ll salvage this evening, even if it means offering myself up to Victoria on a silver platter. I’m going to be the best girlfriend—fake girlfriend—Noah has ever had, damn it.
“No.” Victoria’s glare makes me want to melt into a puddle. An invisible puddle so she doesn’t stomp on me too. “It died.”
Carson snorts before grumbling, “Guess it shouldn’t have been on the table.”
Victoria looks like she wants to strangle him right in the middle of this restaurant, witnesses be damned. Honestly, I’d let her if I thought it would improve the mood for the rest of our meal.
“I heard you delivered a baby! What was that like?” I sound like a kindergarten teacher, but I don’t care. I have to say something to diffuse the tension or I’ll run screaming out the door and Noah will never speak to me again.
“Loud. Bloody.”
At last, a server arrives with glasses of water and a bread basket, and relief rushes through me. I’ve never had this much trouble winning over a client’s relatives or friends before. I reflect their personalities and interests back to them because everyone loves a mirror, but if I did that with Victoria, I’m pretty sure she’d chase me out of the restaurant with her butter knife.
Victoria declares we’re ready to order our entrees as well, and I scramble to choose something. Salad won’t be substantial enough, but will steak make me seem high-maintenance? Is Victoria vegan? What if she hates me even more if I order meat? Why the hell didn’t Noah tell me her dietary preferences?
A heavy palm lands on my knee, and that’s when I realize I’ve been bouncing my leg.
Instantly, every muscle in my body freezes. My brain only able to concentrate on the connection between my bare knee and Noah’s hand. Noah’s massive hand. A hand with hard knuckles and prominent veins.
What the hell is wrong with me? Veins should not be arousing.
He leans close while Carson bemoans that the restaurant doesn’t have his favorite fish, the server lists off every other entree on the menu in an attempt to placate him, and Victoria glares up at the ceiling while—I swear to god—muttering some sort of incantation to curse her fiancé. Tomorrow, I fully expect him to be transformed into a toad.
“This okay?” Noah murmurs, squeezing my knee just a little.
Enough to make my thighs tremble.
All I manage to squeak out is a barely audible, “Mhmm.”
“You can touch me too.” His hushed voice comes out as almost a growl, and I nearly combust. “If you think it’ll help.”
“Good idea. I’m sure it will.” Maybe it’s unprofessional of me—okay, it definitely is—but I’m going to take full advantage of that offer.
Intertwined hands are always a safe bet. Grabbing his bicep and admiring the hard muscle there is certainly something a real girlfriend would do. Even a quick smack on the ass might be expected from a new couple in the honeymoon phase that just can’t keep their hands off each other, and I have been dying to—
“And for you, miss?” The server turns his wary eyes on me, silently pleading that taking my order will be a less painful experience.
“Um.” I stare at the menu, all of the words blurring together with the hot pressure from all eyes on me. Minus Carson’s, of course. Even after tonight’s dinner, I don’t think he’d be able to spot me in a lineup. “I’ll take what she’s having.”
Victoria’s mouth purses, and I can’t quite make out her expression. Something between confusion and amusement. But she schools her features back to cool disinterest as we hand our server the menus and he scurries off, grateful to get the hell away from us.
Without a menu to glare at, Victoria’s gaze travels around the dimly lit, cozy restaurant. Her choice, according to Noah. Carson has already returned his attention to his fantasy baseball.
The palpable tension between them makes me shift in my seat and fiddle with my empty straw wrapper. Now I get why kids of divorced parents draw attention to themselves during another argument. I’m suddenly compelled to burst into song and dance.
But as soon as Victoria turns her attention to me, I instantly realize how wrong I was.
Please go back to verbally eviscerating your fiancé. Please stop staring daggers at me. Please forget I exist.
“So you two met at the clinic?”
I blurt, “We did!” with entirely too much enthusiasm.
“Yep,” Noah jumps in. “Already met her pet hedgehog, so you could say it’s getting pretty serious.”
We both laugh while Carson continues to ignore us and Victoria’s expression doesn’t change.
“It can’t be that serious, can it? You haven’t been dating for long, right?”
“What’s it been, sweets?” Noah asks me. “A month?”
“Yes. Exactly.” I nod like a bobblehead.
Victoria isn’t buying our act anywhere near as easily as the rest of their family. “You met at the clinic, but you didn’t meet Naomi? That’s surprising.”
“She wasn’t there.” Noah squeezes my knee again. He means it to be reassuring, but it’s more arousing than anything.
God, how would I react if his hand slid a little higher? I’d spontaneously combust.
“Of course she wasn’t. Why would she be at her own clinic?” Victoria brings her straw to her lips. Miraculously, she seems to hold more disdain for Noah’s ex-girlfriend than she does even for me or her own fiancé. To me, she adds, “Count yourself lucky that you never had to meet her. She was a nightmare.”
“That’s what I said when Noah told me about her.” Not exactly true, but the truth is close enough, and I’m desperate for anything to bond over with Victoria, even if that is a mutual disdain for a woman who mistreated someone we both care about.
Because I do care about Noah. In the short time we’ve known each other, he’s become a friend. A friend I find undeniably, unbelievably, ridiculously attractive. A friend who is also a paying client and just got out of a toxic relationship and hired me to get his family off his back so he can be single in peace.
Maybe after all of this is over, after we stage a breakup for our pretend relationship and the fake dust settles, we can still be friends.
When he leans back in his chair and his hand casually slips further up my thigh, I nearly curse under my breath.
Who am I kidding? I do not want to be friends with this man. I want to be a hell of a lot more than that.
“How’s the school?” Victoria rips off a chunk of bread and dips it in olive oil but doesn’t eat it.
Her question is directed at me. Didn’t I tell their parents that I’m an artist? Shit. Now I can’t remember. Did I tell them I work at a school? I must have if that’s what Victoria believes.
“Great, thanks.” I stuff a slice of bread past my lips for something to keep my mouth and hands busy.
Noah’s palm still hasn’t left my thigh, and I hope it never does. I’m pretty sure my skin will be seared with the imprint.
“Huh, that’s strange.” Victoria’s eyes narrow. “I thought you told my parents you were an artist.”
I stiffen mid-chew. Victoria is blatantly trying to catch me in a lie, in real time. A brief glance at Noah tells me he’s sensed the trap too, and by the way his jaw ticks, he’s not happy about it.
I scramble for some believable excuse. “Right. Yes, I work at a school to supplement my income. Art teacher.”
This does nothing to quell Victoria’s suspicions. She finally chews her bread while her gaze stays trained on me, like she’s waiting for me to blurt out every secret I’ve ever kept.
“What about you, Vee?” Noah blessedly interjects. “How’s work? Still yelling at kids to floss every day?”
“They never fucking floss. How many times do I have to tell them?” Victoria snatches her water and grips the glass like she’s holding it hostage. Her rage would almost be comical—the grump in a grumpy-sunshine romance—if she weren’t directing most of that rage at me.
“Remind me: how often are you supposed to brush your tongue?” Noah winks at me while Victoria sputters into her water and rants about the proper teeth-cleaning routine.
Floss, brush teeth, scrape tongue, then rinse with mouthwash, apparently. I won’t tell Victoria I’ve been doing it wrong my whole life, that I’ve never once scraped my tongue, or that I floss maybe once a week.
My hand slides to Noah’s on my thigh, and I thread our fingers together. The only way I can think to silently thank him for diverting Victoria’s attention to him.
I have to remind myself to try to breathe normally.
If I can figure out how to get Victoria to like me, I actually think she’d be a good friend to have in my corner. Loyal, protective, assertive, unintentionally funny. Plus, I’d be too terrified of her wrath to ever skip flossing again.
I need to step it up as a fake girlfriend if I want to convince her that my relationship with Noah is real and that he really has moved on from his ex. That was the deal, after all.
At last, a different server arrives with our food—we probably scared away the first, poor thing—and Noah keeps Victoria talking about her job as a dental hygienist and her garden that she’s apparently already prepping even though it’s only April. He chats about the cats, dogs, and guinea pig he’s been taking care of, and I make a mental note to learn everything I can about gardening.
After Victoria asks for the check and waves Noah off when he insists that we can split it, Carson stretches his arms above his head and lets out a resounding belch. I’m relieved the server took our utensils because Victoria would definitely be stabbing him right now.
What does she see in this guy? Sure, she’s a bit hostile and petrifying, but even in the hour I’ve known them both, I’m certain she could do better.
Carson slaps both hands on the table. “Right. Who wants to get the hell out of here and grab some drinks?”
For the love of god, please no.
“We can’t,” I blurt before Noah can take Carson up on the invitation. If I’m forced to spend another second with the future divorcees, I’ll set myself on fire. “Thank you so much for inviting us. But we’re . . . going for a run. Training for a marathon. Can’t skip a day. You know how it is.”
I don’t think Carson has any idea how it is. Like me, he doesn’t exactly look like the type to run or hit the gym, but unlike me, he’s also the type who would rather people believe he can run five miles and benchpress double his bodyweight than admit the truth.
“You’re going for a run?” Victoria raises an unimpressed, perfectly plucked brow at me. “Right after eating?”
I jump to my feet and nod at Noah, who follows suit with an amused grin he’s failing to hide.
“A walk first to help with digestion.” I’m pretty sure that’s a thing. “Then a run. We’re both very into running.”
I’m completely bombing this. Victoria can sniff out the deception on me like a bloodhound. Anyone could take one look at my scrawny limbs and soft edges and pin me as the couch potato I am. I’ve never run for fun a day in my life, and Victoria knows it.
“Apparently.” Impossibly, a corner of Victoria’s mouth lifts in the tiniest smile.
Twelve
NOAH
Summer does not own a sports bra. That much is apparent by the way her breasts bounce with every step as she huffs beside me, arms swaying and cheeks flushed.
I can’t stop staring. Ogling, more accurately. She’s never going to run with me again after this. Not after she catches me drooling over her. Plus, I’m sure the new sneakers aren’t helping her feet, and she winces with every step, attempting to discreetly hold her tits in place.
“We don’t need to keep running,” I remind her for the tenth time, despite my better judgment. If I were a smart man, I’d keep my damn mouth shut and let the show go on, but I can’t stand to see her in pain. “I’d be happy with a casual walk too. Way more romantic.”
“We need to . . . convince Victoria . . . that we’re a real couple,” Summer pants. “So we’re going to run by her house . . . every morning . . . until she’s convinced. That was our deal.”
Her nose is scrunched adorably in determination, and I’m reminded of the knife-wielding woman I met. She’s been putting on a convincing show, but I know she’s got a darker side she’s hiding, and I can’t wait for the day that she finally reveals herself to me. All of her.
“Our deal wasn’t to convince my sister you’re a runner; our deal was to convince my family I’m over my ex.” We’re less than half a mile in. I haven’t broken a sweat, and my heart rate still hasn’t reached one hundred BPM.
Summer shakes her head, breaths verging on hyperventilation now. “You said running . . . is your favorite hobby. A good fake girlfriend . . . should be interested in your hobbies.”
I’ve never had any girlfriend show interest in my hobbies, real or fake. Kind of sad that the best girlfriend I’ve ever had is a fake one. But how could she not be the best? She’s Summer.
I doubt she goes to these lengths for her other clients. She said herself that most of her clients hire her once, maybe twice. They go to a wedding or an office party, make somebody jealous, and that’s the end of it. She’s going above and beyond for me, I’m sure of it.
“How about we walk until Vee’s house is in sight?” I suggest. “Then we can run past for show until she can’t see us anymore.”
Summer comes to an instant halt, and she bends at the waist, heaving. “That’s a much better idea.”
“We should keep moving, though.” I wince even as the words leave my mouth and nudge the small of her back, her shirt sticking to her skin. “It’s harder to start again when you stop moving.”
“Don’t touch me. I’m disgusting right now.” She shrugs away from my hand as she forces her feet to shuffle forward, and I bite my tongue.
She has no idea what the image of her flushed and sweaty on top of me does to my blood pressure.
“Does this mean I should be interested in your hobbies too? Maybe you can teach me how to draw. I’ll warn you now: I have no artistic talent, and I’m a terrible student.”
Summer snorts. “I don’t think I’m much of a teacher.”
“I still want to see your art sometime.” I nudge her with my elbow.
She hesitates, shoulders stiffening. “I don’t—Shit. Is that Victoria?”
Beside me on the sidewalk, Summer crouches, though there’s nothing hiding us from my sister’s view.
“Yep. That’s her house.”
In her yard, Vee spreads mulch. By June, her front yard will be a canvas of colorful flowers. Summer would love it. If she’s still around by then.
“I didn’t picture her as a gardener,” Summer whispers, as if Vee can hear us from thirty feet away. “Maybe someone who sprays plants with herbicides for sport.”
I chuckle. “I promise she’s not as standoffish as she seems. She was against my last relationship from the beginning when she found out Naomi was my boss, she hated the way I was treated, and now she’s suspicious of you. It’s not fair to you, but she’ll come around.”
Summer nods, not entirely convinced. Then she groans. “Guess we'd better start running.”
Her tits go back to that lovely bouncing rhythm, and she hisses and groans with every stride.
I keep my pace slow for her. “If it wasn’t for Carson, Vee would probably be friendlier to you by now.”
“Why?” Summer’s eyes go round with a mixture of worry and exasperation. “What did Carson say about me?”
“Nothing. He doesn’t say much about anybody. Really just talks about work and baseball. But he makes her mood a thousand times worse.”
“Yeah, he’s kind of an ass, isn’t he?” Summer huffs, gaze darting to Vee as we approach her mailbox.
“He’s an ass,” I confirm. “We’ve been trying to convince Vee to end things with him since day one, but she won’t. Just stays miserable.”
“Aren’t they . . . engaged?”
I grimace. “Unfortunately.”
“Shit!” Summer’s foot catches and she trips, hurdling right for the concrete.
I jump in front of her, and she topples into me, a stone colliding with my gut.
Her arms wrap around me as she tries to right herself, the sweet nutmeg scent of her shampoo wafting up my nose as I nearly bury my face in her hair.
