Chapter 13 #3
"We should probably practice." His voice is teasing, but there's a heat behind it that makes my pulse jump.
"That won't be necessary. We've already..." I trail off, not wanting to bring up our night together.
"Already what, Charlie?" His smile is downright wicked now.
I narrow my eyes. "You know exactly what."
"I have a pretty good memory, yes." He leans forward, lowering his voice. "But my point stands. If we're supposed to be a couple, we should be comfortable with casual affection. People who've been together for months shouldn't get flustered by a simple touch."
As if to prove his point, he reaches across the table and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The brief contact sends a shiver down my spine.
"See? You tensed up. Dead giveaway."
"I did not."
"Your pupils dilated."
"That's just the wine."
He grins. "If you say so."
I sit back and cross my arms. "Fine. You may have a point. But we're not 'practicing' anything in public."
"Whatever you say, boss." He signals for the check. "So, we leave for Colorado in...?"
"Three days, on the 15th."
"Perfect. That gives me time to brush up on my skiing lingo."
"I thought you were a snowboarder."
"I am. But my fake girlfriend prefers skiing, so I should probably be prepared to join her."
The simple declaration shouldn't make my heartbeat faster, but it does.
I blame the wine.
"I'm not sure this is going to work," I admit as he pays the bill despite my protests of me paying for mine. "My family is pretty perceptive."
"It'll work." His confidence is irritating and comforting in equal measure. "I'm excellent at reading rooms, and you're stubborn enough to pull anything off if you set your mind to it."
"Was that a compliment or an insult?"
"Definitely a compliment." He stands, offering me his hand. "Ready?"
I hesitate, then place my hand in his. It's warm and solid, and his fingers curl around mine with easy familiarity.
As we walk out, my hand still in his, I can't help thinking that, for a fake boyfriend, it feels dangerously real.
The night air instantly cools my heated skin as we step outside the restaurant.
Sebastian drops my hand as soon as we hit the pavement, since there are no more witnesses, and I shiver slightly pulling my coat tighter around myself.
Instead of putting distance between us, Sebastian’s hand now guides me toward the parking lot with gentle pressure at the small of my back.
The pressure of his palm sends a surge of energy through me even through my thick coat.
"Where are you parked?" he asks, scanning the lot.
"Back corner—the silver Audi," I reply, keeping my tone even, even though my brain is still ricocheting from the way he’s standing so damn close.
The woodsy bite of his cologne threatens to unravel me, but I force my expression into neutrality and fall into step beside him, matching his steady pace toward my car.
For a few steps, we walk in a silence that seems comfortable for him but it’s barely-contained chaos for me. Our footfalls sync on the pavement as the soft yellow glow from the vintage-style lamps stretches our shadows long across the asphalt.
Then my composure slips. My brain finally catches up with what’s actually happening, and I stop dead in my tracks. I whirl around. Straight into his chest. My hands fly up instinctively, hovering just inches from the soft fabric of his coat.
"Oh my god. I didn't even think about travel accommodations." My hand smacks my forehead and I rub my skin, trying to think. "It's a fourteen-plus hour drive to Aspen, but buying a plane ticket on three day's notice and this close to the holidays is going to cost a fortune."
His eyebrows lift as I continue spiraling, his gaze tracking my increasingly frantic gestures with amusement.
"I can't ask you to drive that far, and buying a last-minute flight?
We're talking at least a thousand dollars.
" I shake my head frantically, my thoughts racing ahead to all the logistical nightmares.
"This whole damn thing is a terrible idea.
We're not going. Emily can just give my ticket to a friend or something. "
"Charlie." He places his hands on my shoulders, steadying me with a gentle but firm grip that instantly halts my verbal landslide. "Take a breath."
I inhale sharply, trying to calm the panic rising in my chest. The cool air fills my lungs, and I'm mortified to realize I've been practically hyperventilating in front of him.
"The flight isn't an issue," he says, his voice level and assured, a stark contrast to my wild rambling. "I can buy a ticket anytime I want. Money isn't a problem."
I blink at him, processing this information against the backdrop of his annoyingly calm expression. "But—"
"Actually, I'll probably upgrade to first class." His thumbs make small, soothing circles on my shoulders, a gesture so distracting I almost miss what he's saying. "I always do."
The tension in my body eases slightly at his calm demeanor, though my mind still races with a million practical concerns. "Are you sure? Because—"
"I'm positive." A smile tugs at his lips, creating that damn dimple I've come to enjoy seeing.
"If I'm being honest, the only reason I really like first class is because I can sit in those fancy airport lounges and people-watch.
It's fascinating really, all those stressed executives trying to look important while they stuff free cookies in their briefcases. "
Even though I’m spiraling, I laugh, the sound bursting out unexpectedly. "You do not people-watch in airport lounges."
"I absolutely do." His grin widens, making the dimple even more pronounced.
"Last time I was in Chicago, I watched this guy try to sneak an entire cheese platter into his carry-on.
The staff just pretended not to notice. He had these tiny cocktail napkins he was using as wrapping paper. Very committed to the heist."
The knot in my chest loosens. "Okay… if you're sure"
"I'm sure." He drops his hands from my shoulders, and I feel their absence immediately. "The only travel issue you need to worry about is whether I should pack my ugly Christmas sweater now or buy one when we get there. I'm thinking something with a 3D reindeer nose that lights up."
We both laugh and he starts walking again.
I fall into step beside him. His stride is longer than mine, but he seems to have adjusted and slowed down without even thinking about it.
For the first time, I wonder about his financial situation.
If dropping at least a grand on a last-minute first-class ticket isn't a concern, he must be doing well.
But then again, I remind myself, he was a professional athlete before his marketing career.
Sponsorships, endorsements, that world operates on a different financial plane than my comfortable but decidedly middle-class existence.
Even with this realization it doesn't change anything about how I see him.
Money has never been a factor in who I choose to spend time with, and his casual attitude about it, treating it as a practical matter rather than something to flaunt, only reinforces that he's not trying to impress me with his wealth.
He mentioned it only to ease my concerns, not to showcase his status.
We reach my car and as I unlock it, he steps forward to open the driver's side door for me. The gesture is small and thoughtful.
"Thank you for dinner," I say, feeling suddenly awkward, fiddling with my keys. "And for... all of this. Agreeing to the trip."
"Thank you for giving me a second chance," he replies, his voice low. In the dim lighting, his face is half in shadow, making his expression harder to read. "Even if it's just for show."
I stand there, caught between getting in my car and lingering in his presence a moment longer. The night seems to have wrapped around us in a bubble of privacy. He seems to be debating something himself, a tiny furrow appearing between his brows.
"Charlie."
My name hangs in the air between us, soft and intimate. He takes a half-step closer, closing the already narrow gap. My breath catches. Time stretches, elastic and uncertain. I'm looking up at him and my gaze drops to his mouth for just a fraction of a second.
Is he going to kiss me? Right here in the parking lot?
My heart hammers against my ribs. A kiss would complicate everything. Blur the already fuzzy line between our fake arrangement and whatever this pull between us really is. I should step back. I should get in my car and drive away. I should...
He exhales slowly, then steps back, creating space between us again.
"Get home safe. I'll see you tomorrow at work."
The moment breaks like a soap bubble, leaving me blinking in confusion. Disappointment floods my chest, followed immediately by relief. At least, I think it's relief.
"Right," I manage. "Tomorrow. The Adrenaline Athletics presentation."
"We'll nail it," he says with that easy confidence of his, like success is the only possible outcome when we work together.
I nod, still trying to process the swirl of emotions competing for dominance. Would I have kissed him back if he'd tried? After everything, would I have let myself be that vulnerable again?
The terrifying part is I don't know the answer.
"Goodnight, Charlie." he says.
"Goodnight, Bash."
He watches as I slide into the driver's seat, making sure I'm safely inside before he gently closes my door.
I start the engine, the car humming to life around me, but I don't immediately drive away. Through the rear-view mirror, I watch him walk across the parking lot toward the valet stand. There's an easy confidence in his stride, shoulders squared, hands tucked casually into his coat pockets.
He hands his ticket to the valet, exchanging what looks like a friendly word and a laugh.
Even from this distance, I can see how the young valet brightens at whatever he said—probably some joke or compliment that makes the kid feel seen.
That seems to be Sebastian's gift. Making people feel special with seemingly little effort.
The valet runs off to retrieve his car, and Sebastian stands alone, rocking slightly on his heels.
For just a moment, he turns back toward my direction, as if checking whether I'm still there.
I duck my head quickly, pretending to adjust something on the dashboard, but when I glance up again, he's still looking.
Even across the distance, I feel the weight of his gaze.
He raises a hand in a small wave, and I return it automatically, feeling oddly caught.
"Get it together," I mutter to myself, putting the car in reverse.
As I pull out of the parking spot, my phone buzzes with a text. I wait until I'm stopped at the traffic light to check it.
Well?? How'd the planning go? Did you strangle him or snog him?
Lily
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The question hits uncomfortably close to the turmoil in my head.
Neither. We planned. We ate. It was fine
"Fine" is code for "I still want to jump his bones but I'm too stubborn to admit it"
Em
I roll my eyes, dropping my phone into the cup holder without responding. The traffic light turns green, and I accelerate perhaps a bit too aggressively onto the main road.
The problem with Emily's teasing is that it contains an uncomfortable grain of truth. Yes, I'm attracted to Sebastian. Yes, I still feel the pull of whatever chemistry sparked between us that night at The Velvet Room. But attraction isn't trust, and chemistry isn't compatible.
I'm not going to make the same mistake twice. Letting someone in only to be left wondering what I did wrong. This arrangement is strictly business: I get to save face in front of Ethan, and Sebastian gets to... what, exactly? Assuage his guilt for ghosting me?
Whatever his motivation, I need to keep my head clear and my heart guarded. Colorado is about showing everyone I've moved on. Nothing more, nothing less.
Even if my traitorous mind keeps replaying that moment in the parking lot, wondering what might have happened if he had leaned in just a little closer.