The Relationship Pact(9)

“Why? Wasn’t I a good fake boyfriend?”

She laughs. “You were the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I blow out a breath, hoping that the extra oxygen cools my blood a bit. “Who was Sebastian, anyway? An old boyfriend?”

She nods. “He doesn’t even like me, really. He’s just a dick.”

“I have to agree with that opinion. At least the part about him being a dick.”

Our gazes linger together, searching each other for the next step.

Do we just part ways?

Do I buy her a drink?

Do I even get her last name?

“Thanks again, Hollis. I appreciate it.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“So, what? That’s it?”

The questions come too quickly to be able to play it off smoothly. Even if she’s not going home with me, that doesn’t mean we have to end things now.

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“You don’t want a drink or something?”

“It’s been five minutes. Your job here is done.”

I balk. “But isn’t that what women don’t want from men? Every time it’s only five minutes, all you hear are complaints.”

She swats at me again, her laughter washing over me. The slight contact is enough to make my blood run hot again.

“You are a handful,” she tells me.

“You could find out …”

She bites her lip and laughs. She’s even prettier now than she was just a few minutes ago.

I clear my throat. “All joking aside, I’ll be in town for a week or so. If you want my number, I could give it to you in case you run into any more scenarios where you need a fake boyfriend. Or … whatever …”

She wrinkles her nose. “It couldn’t hurt, right?”

“I don’t see how.”

She tilts her head to the side as she mulls something over. Finally, she shrugs. “Pass me your phone.”

I unlock it and hand it to her.

She looks at me suspiciously but takes it anyway.

Her fingers fly over the screen in a flurry. Soon, she’s handing it back to me with a relieved smile.

“I put my name in and texted myself, so I have your number too,” she says. “Just in case.”

“Of course.”

“Of course.” She laughs softly. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you around. Maybe.”

“Sounds good.”

And with that, I watch her walk across the room and disappear through a set of French doors.

Before I can think twice, I pivot on my heel and exit onto the street. My phone still in my hand, I open my texting app.



Me: Blonde. Crew wins.





Four





Larissa





“You don’t have to scream at me,” I say, wincing.

“I’m not screaming,” my mother insists.

Her voice screeches through my car’s speakers. I wince as my ears threaten to bleed.

“It might help if you held the phone to your ear and didn’t put it on speakerphone while you do … whatever it is you’re doing,” I tell her.

She groans. The sound mixes with crumpled cellophane.

“You have me on speakerphone,” she says. “What’s the difference?”

“I’m driving. I’m being responsible. You’re supposed to use the speakerphone in this situation.”

The loudest static sounds through the car again as my mother makes a show of picking up the phone. I can’t make out a series of muted protests and mumbles—which is probably a good thing for both of us.

“There,” she says, her voice clearer and, thankfully, quieter. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I imagine the smile I hear in her voice and the way it touches both of her ears when she’s happy. It’s a look I don’t often see on her. Sure, she grins, and with her chipper voice, she can sell the idea she’s having a great time in life.

Mom is a gifted actress.

She’s exchanged the exuberance of life for an overbooked calendar. The sparkle in her eyes that I saw when I was a little girl has been replaced with … something else.

Jack, my stepfather, provides well for her. He’s a co-owner of the Savannah Seahawks, a minor league baseball team, and treats my mother to a lifestyle that most women only dream about. It’s not like she’s stressing about making ends meet. But she can’t slow down long enough to enjoy the life she has, and that bothers me. I truly believe she adds more to her plate when I suggest she ease up.

“What are you doing, anyway?” I ask.

“Hang on a second.”

I blow out a breath.

My head still hurts a little from the wine I drank last night in a futile attempt to sleep. My mind, and body, raced until the sun came up, thanks to my fake boyfriend.

The mixture of greens and golds in Hollis’s eyes is unforgettable. I can’t stop thinking about his smile either and how it sent a zap of electricity up my spine. The way his voice wrapped itself around my name and the way his hands did the same to my waist—it was too much to forget that quickly.