Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
T oday is the day.
For the last week, I’ve spoken to KC on the phone multiple times a day, getting our stories straight for the big dupe coming up. I’m surprised by how much I enjoy our conversations, how easy they feel, and how many times he’s made me laugh with that deep, rumbly voice of his. I can’t deny the chemistry between us. At least, I feel it. We haven’t talked about it, but I can’t ignore the way I feel around him. We’d prepared for today, going as far as to send each other couple quizzes we’d found on the internet and playing more than one corporate type of ice breaker game. I know all of his favorite things. Color. Food. Animal. All the things. We played Would You Rather late into the night. After every phone call, I felt more confident about my role in all of this.
Now, as we walk up to the restaurant inside of the fancy hotel we’re meeting KC’s mom, my stomach does this ridiculous little flip. My confidence is faltering.
I’m not nervous.
Nope.
Not at all.
I shoot a side-eye glance at KC, who’s completely at ease, his broad shoulders squared, his stride confident. He looks sexy as hell in his khaki dress pants and button up black shirt that seems to cling tightly to his toned body. Meanwhile, I’m regretting my choice of heels, my knee-length dress and possibly my entire existence. He must sense it because his hand presses lightly against my lower back, guiding me forward.
Damn him.
He’s done it all. From his hand on the small of my back, to opening doors, and putting my seatbelt on me in his truck. These are the little things I write about in my novels. The actions of a protective alpha male. I notice them, because honestly, I didn’t think any man actually did all of these things. Only made up book boyfriends were this attentive. As we walk on the sidewalk towards the large double doors of the looming hotel, he drops his hand from my back and smoothly switches places with me, guiding my body to his other side. I don’t miss how he puts himself between me and the road. Then, his hand returns. Right there. Right on the small of my back, fitting into the curve like we are made to be together.
His touch is subtle but firm, the warmth of his palm bleeding through the fabric of my dress, sending a shiver up my spine. My nipples tighten under my bra, and I glance down, praying they can’t be seen. Phew. No headlights visible. I swear my body has no self-preservation instincts around this man. I’ve never been putty in a man’s hands before. But with KC? I’m constantly having to check to make sure I’m not a melted puddle laying at his feet. Once through the doors, I hesitate and take a deep breath.
“You’re not backing out on me now, are you?” KC murmurs, leaning down just enough so that his breath tickles my ear. He smells delicious. A mixture of cologne and masculinity. Pure male. Every inch of him.
I huff. “Of course not. I’m just mentally preparing for my performance.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says. “Don’t overdo it. Stick to what we’ve talked about. It’s only one night. Don’t try to win an Emmy, okay?”
I roll my eyes at him. “We’ve talked about this.”
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s rude,” he scolds.
I let his comment slide because we’ve reached our table, and suddenly, I’m face-to-face with Margaret Campbell. There she sat, the woman that I need to convince I’m madly in love with her son.
Margaret is… adorable. I’m not expecting her to be cute. In my head, I’ve built her up to look something akin to Cruella Deville. Instead, she looks approachable. Petite but polished, with silver-streaked dark hair swept into an elegant twist. She’s wearing pearls, over a soft pink blouse, and the kind of expression that tells me she sees straight through bullshit. KC did mention his mom’s ability to read him and his brothers and know they were lying before they even opened their mouths.
Fantastic.
No pressure. No pressure at all.
“There’s my boy!” she says, beaming as KC leans down to kiss her cheek. Then, she turns to me, and I swear I see a flicker of assessment before her warm smile settles in place. “And you must be Rebecca! I’ve heard so much about you!”
“Everyone calls me RJ,” I correct automatically. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Campbell.”
“Please, call me Margaret.” She gestures for us to sit. KC, ever the gentleman, pulls out my chair and again, that damn warm hand finds my lower back as he helps guide me into the chair. He drops a kiss on my forehead before sitting next to me. Once in his seat, he reaches over and covers my hand with his and squeezes it reassuringly. It feels natural and I have to convince myself that I’m merely acting. Playing a part.
It’s nothing.
It’s fake.
And yet my entire body registers his presence like a slow burn.
After drinks are ordered and the waiter walks away, I raise the menu higher than I normally would to cover my face and try to catch my breath. On the outside, I look calm, cool and collected when in reality, deep inside, I’m struggling to slow my racing heart. We’d practiced for this moment and yet, I hadn’t prepared for the nerves that would come when the day finally came. I can do this. I can pretend to be his girlfriend for a weekend. I mean, how hard could it be?
“So,” Margaret says, her sharp gaze bouncing between us. “How did you two meet?”
I slowly lower the menu and look at KC. Wow. She wasted no time at all. He meets my gaze, a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Oh, he’s enjoying this.
I clear my throat, set the menu on the table, and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I am sure by now, KC’s told you that we are neighbors?”
Margaret’s lips tighten briefly into a frown before she replaces it with a smile and nod. I wonder briefly about the look… what’s that about?
She nods and I continue. “It was a cold, winter day when KC moved in. As he was coming up our shared sidewalk, I was going down to check the mail. I was excited about what I’d hoped was waiting for me and not paying a lot of attention. As I stepped aside to let him pass, I, um… slipped on a patch of ice.”
Margaret’s brows rise, her lips twitching. “Slipped?”
I nod. “Slipped. Nearly face-planted, actually. Would’ve broken my tailbone if KC hadn’t caught me. I am a bit accident prone, and I promise you, I do not fall gracefully.”
KC, the absolute menace, chuckles. “That’s an understatement. RJ has a habit of not paying attention to where she’s walking. She brought me cookies the next day to say thanks and we got to know each other better.”
It’s mostly true. I had brought him cookies and we’d spoken from time to time but not in the way he was suggesting. I wonder briefly if we would have hit it off back then…
Margaret’s expression softens. “Bringing him cookies was sweet of you. He has quite the sweet tooth.”
“Cookies I bought from a bakery and put in a Tupperware container,” I add, because honesty is important and adding some believable details might help out. KC doesn’t know that detail and looks at me with raised eyebrows. I’m sure he’s wondering if I am embellishing or telling the truth.
Margaret laughs, delighted. “Resourceful. I like that.”
KC shakes his head. “She’s full of surprises.”
“Well, that’s a wonderful story. And I’m thrilled to finally meet the woman who’s stolen my son’s heart. It sure has taken him long enough to find one.”
I smile, willing myself not to react to that little exaggeration. “I’m so glad we got to finally meet; KC has told me much about his family. He has some hilarious stories about growing up. I don’t know how you did it outnumbered by a house full of boys.”
Just keep up the act, RJ. You’ve got this. Ask questions about KC’s childhood. Play the doting girlfriend.
As the conversation flows, KC's arm drapes casually over the back of my chair, his thumb brushing the bare skin where my neck meets my shoulder. It's nothing, really, but somehow, it's everything—the kind of touch that speaks volumes without a word being said. The chemistry between us is real, at least for me, and I wonder if he feels it too.
“I hear you are an author,” Margaret is saying. “What kind of books do you write?”
Here we go. Will she judge me for writing romance? Look down her nose and snub me? Is this a situation where I’ll need to defend myself and my genre? It is the biggest revenue generating genre in the entire world.
“RJ writes romance,” KC answers, pride lacing his voice in a way that sounds too real for comfort. He needs to get a side gig acting at our local community theater. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe every word he was saying. “She's got quite the fanbase. Her readers adore her.”
“Romance, you say?” Margaret leans across the table. “I love a good romance. Back in my day, I read a few too many bodice rippers myself, if you know what I mean. Are your books the type with the half naked men on the covers? Do you have Fabio on your covers?”
I feel the tension draining from my shoulders with her validation. She’s not going to judge what I write.
“Something like that,” I say, deflecting with a shrug. “But enough about me. KC tells me you're the queen of community events back home. I heard your annual block party is legendary.”
Margaret beams, happy to divert the spotlight, and as she regales us with tales of neighborhood shenanigans, KC’s hand squeezes my shoulder and we exchange a glance. So far, so good.
The rest of dinner goes shockingly well. Margaret is sharp, funny, and a little nosy, but I like her. KC, damn him, is effortlessly charming, playing the perfect doting boyfriend with casual touches— fingers brushing mine, rubbing my back, and little gestures that feel way too natural. I swear he’s doing it just to mess with me. He’s literally the type of man I write romance novels about. The number of green flags mixed with the edge of danger has me squirming in my seat.
And then, after the check comes and I think we’re in the clear, Margaret drops the bomb.
“I’ve decided to extend my stay,” she announces as the waiter clears our plates.
KC straightens slightly. “Extend?”
She nods, taking a sip of her wine. “I was only planning on staying the weekend but as you know, your Aunt Monica moved here recently and lives about twenty minutes away from you. Of course, I want to spend more time with my baby boy and spend time getting to know Rebecca better.” She pats his cheek, and I bite back a laugh at the way his jaw clenches. “After all, the way you talk, she could be my future daughter-in-law. Two weeks is all the time your dad will allow me to be away. Don’t worry, I’ve booked an adorable place in your town. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Two. Weeks.
I nearly choke on my drink. KC, to his credit, barely flinches, though I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
Two weeks of fake dating. Two weeks of keeping up this charade.
Two weeks of KC’s hand on my back, his teasing smirks, his lingering glances.
I’m so screwed.
The drive home is quiet at first, the city lights flashing past as I stare out the window, processing. Then KC clears his throat.
“So… still in?”
I exhale a laugh. “Two weeks, huh?”
“You can back out,” he says, but there’s something in his tone—something unreadable.
I turn to him, studying his profile. The strong jaw, the slight furrow in his brow. He looks… tired.
“After the award winning performance I just gave?” I shake my head. “Nah. I’m in.”
His grip loosens on the steering wheel, just slightly. “Good. I’ll double your shopping spree at the bookstore.”
We pull into the driveway, and as I reach for the door handle, his voice stops me.
“RJ.”
I glance over at him.
“Thanks,” he says. And for once, there’s no teasing, no smirk. Just quiet, sincere gratitude.
I nod, swallowing the strange warmth in my chest. “Of course. It’s no big deal. Earning some extra books is all. I can do this as long as you need.”
Lies.
Because two weeks with KC?
I might not survive it.