Chapter Eleven
MARLEY
Five Days Later
The apartment smells like fresh paint and the possibility of a new, exciting life.
Or maybe that’s just my wishful thinking!
I step back from the accent wall I’ve just finished, a deep teal that makes the whole living room feel alive, and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, probably smearing paint across my face in the process. My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, and I grab it with my clean hand.
Nitro the Nice Uber Guy: How’s the progress, Small Town? Need me to bring lunch?
A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. We’ve been texting constantly over the past five days. Good morning texts that make my stomach flip. Random check-ins during my hellish workdays. Late-night conversations that stretch past midnight until one of us finally admits we need sleep.
The apartment has become my sanctuary. My escape from Derek’s passive-aggressive commentary and the way he parades his new girlfriend around the office as if she’s a trophy he won by dumping me.
Every night this week, I’ve come straight here after work, armed with paintbrushes and determination, transforming Nitro’s barely-lived-in space into something that feels like a home.
And Nitro? He’s been the bright spot in otherwise miserable days.
Me: Wall is done! Looks amazing. And yes to lunch. I’m starving.
Nitro the Nice Uber Guy: On my way. Don’t paint yourself into a corner.
Me: There you go with those dad jokes again, old man…
Nitro the Nice Uber Guy: Hey, I may be old, but the older you are, the better you are at… painting. *Smirking face Emoji*
The emoji makes me grin like an idiot. Three days ago, he started using emojis badly, like a dad who just discovered texting, and it’s possibly the most endearing thing I’ve ever witnessed.
I’m sliding my cell back into my pocket when there’s a knock at the door. My heart does that annoying flutter thing it’s been doing every time I think Nitro might be near, but when I check the time, I realize he couldn’t possibly be here yet unless he teleported.
And with the things I have learned about Nitro so far, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he added wizard into the mix at this point.
I make my way to the door, and as I pull it back, I’m greeted by a sight that makes me laugh out loud.
“Surprise!” Beck throws his arms wide, camera bag slung over one shoulder, overnight duffel over the other, and the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “Your favorite brother has arrived to save you from whatever disaster you’re currently creating.”
“Beck!” I launch myself at him, not caring that I’m covered in paint splatters. He catches me easily, spinning me around in the doorway as if we’re in some kind of rom-com reunion scene.
“Easy there, Picasso.” He sets me down, holding me at arm’s length to assess the damage. “You look like you got into a fight with a paint store and lost.”
“I’m redecorating.” I gesture at the apartment behind me, suddenly nervous about what he’ll think. Beck’s opinion has always mattered more than I like to admit.
He steps inside, and I watch his face as he takes in the transformation.
The teal accent wall. The throw pillows I found at a thrift store that somehow tie the whole room together.
The curtains that let in just the right amount of light.
The string lights I hung along the bookshelf that Nitro doesn’t even use, but I filled with books I found at a secondhand store.
“Holy shit, Marley.” Beck slowly sets his bags down, turning in circles. “This place is… wow. When you said you were decorating some guy’s apartment, I thought you meant buying a plant or something. This is a whole-ass makeover.”
“It needed it,” I say defensively. “The place was depressing. Barely any furniture, zero personality, like a sad bachelor pad meets witness protection program.”
“And whose apartment is this again?” Beck’s eyebrow arches in that way that means he already knows the answer and is just waiting for me to confirm it.
“Nitro’s.”
“Niiitrooo.” He draws out the name, grinning. “The fake boyfriend Nitro? The Uber driver Nitro? The guy whose name you mentioned approximately forty-seven times during our last phone call?”
“I did not—”
“ ‘Nitro thinks I should add more color.’ ‘Nitro brought me coffee.’ ‘Nitro said the funniest thing yesterday…’ ” Beck mimics my voice with alarming accuracy, adding on a mock giggle for effect. “Should I continue, or are you sufficiently embarrassed?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Okay, fine. We’ve been talking a lot. He’s been really supportive during this whole Derek nightmare.”
“Mm-hmm.” Beck moves to the wall, running his hand along the paint job. “And he just gave you free rein to redesign his entire apartment? Out of the goodness of his heart?”
“He barely uses this place. He stays at the clubhouse mostly—”
“Clubhouse?” Beck spins around so fast he nearly knocks over a lamp. “What clubhouse? Is he in a gang? A cult? A very aggressive book club?”
“He’s VP of a motorcycle club.” The words come out more defensive than I intended.
Beck’s eyes go wide. “You’re fake dating a biker?
Marley, that’s…” He pauses, his grin spreading wider.
“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
Tell me everything. And I mean everything.
Does he have tattoos? Obviously, he has tattoos!
How many? Where? Can I photograph them? O…
M… G… does he look like Charlie Hunnam? The Jax Teller kind, not the Ed Gein kind, eww! ”
“Beck!” I grab a throw pillow and chuck it at him. He dodges easily, laughing that adorable laugh he does.
“Come on. You can’t drop the biker bomb without giving me details. I’ve been in the car for six hours, thinking you were hanging out with some random Uber driver. This is significantly more interesting.”
Before I can respond, there’s another knock at the door. My pulse kicks up immediately because I know, without even checking, that it’s Nitro.
“That’s probably him,” I say, and even I can hear the way my voice softens.
Beck’s eyes narrow with interest. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” He grins widely, clapping his hands together just once for emphasis.
I shoot him a warning look before opening the door, and there he is…
Nitro, in all his six-foot-four, tattooed, devastatingly attractive glory.
He’s wearing dark jeans that hug his thighs in a way that should be illegal, a gray T-shirt that stretches across his chest, and a leather cut over the top.
His dusty blond hair, shot through with silver, is slightly messy as if he’s been running his hands through it.
The beard is perfectly trimmed. His green eyes lock on mine, and that smile, the one that’s just for me, spreads across his face.
“Hey, Small Town.” His voice is warm honey and gravel. “Brought Italian from—” He stops mid-sentence because Beck has appeared at my shoulder, making absolutely zero attempt to be subtle.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Beck’s whisper is loud enough to be heard in the next building. “Sis, where have you been hiding this man?”
Nitro’s eyebrows lift, amusement flickering across his features as he looks from me to Beck and back again. “Friend of yours?”
“Brother,” I correct, stepping back to let him in. “Beck, this is Nitro. Nitro, this is my brother, Beck, who apparently has no filter and no sense of appropriate boundaries.”
“None whatsoever,” Beck confirms cheerfully, extending his hand. “Beckett Wren. Photographer, occasional meddler, and currently questioning why my sister didn’t lead with ‘Hey Beck, I’m fake dating a literal Greek god.’ ”
Nitro shakes his hand, his lips twitching with barely suppressed laughter. “Nice to meet you. Marley’s told me a lot about you.”
“Funny, she mentioned you in passing like you were just some random.” Beck circles Nitro slowly, and I want to die of embarrassment. “But you’re not just some random, are you? You’re a whole situation. The beard alone is a situation.”
“Beck!” I hiss, but Nitro laughs, a real, full laugh that makes something warm bloom in my chest.
“I like him,” Nitro says, setting the food down on the kitchen counter. “He’s honest.”
“He’s annoying,” I counter, but I can’t help but smile.
Beck ignores us both, already moving toward his camera bag. “Okay, so here’s what’s happening. You two are fake dating to make your ex jealous at some work thing, right, Marls?”
“The gala,” I confirm. “Next Saturday.”
“Perfect.” Beck pulls out his camera, a professional-grade Nikon that probably costs more than my car. “You’re going to need proof. Photos for social media. Candid shots that sell the relationship. Lucky for you, I happen to be an extraordinary photographer and an even better wingman.”
Nitro crosses his arms, leaning against the counter in a way that flexes his biceps. “You’re gonna follow us around with a camera?”
“Correction… I’m going to document your completely fake relationship that doesn’t involve any real feelings whatsoever.” Beck’s tone is dripping with sarcasm. “Starting now. Act natural.”
He raises the camera, and I immediately feel self-conscious. “Beck, I’m covered in paint. I look terrible.”
“You look as if you’ve been working hard on something you care about,” Nitro says quietly, and the way he’s looking at me makes my breath catch. “You look beautiful.”
The camera shutter clicks rapidly.
“Perfect,” Beck murmurs behind the lens. “That’s exactly the energy we need. Nitro, keep looking at her like you adore her. Marley, keep looking at him like you’re trying to figure out if he’s real.”
“I’m not—” I start to protest, but Nitro has moved closer, reaching out to brush something off my cheek.
“You had paint,” he says softly, his thumb lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
Click. Click. Click.
“You two are terrible at this fake-dating thing,” Beck says cheerfully. “Like, alarmingly bad. Which is great for me because these photos are ‘chef’s kiss,’ ” he chimes, kissing the tips of his fingers dramatically.
I step back, needing space because Nitro’s proximity is making it hard to think. “Did you actually bring food, or was that just an excuse to torture me?”
“Both.” Nitro nods toward the bags. “Italian. Got your favorite.”
“How do you know my favorite?”
“You mentioned it. That night at Franco’s.”
He remembered. Of course, he remembered. Nitro remembers everything—how I take my coffee, my favorite movies, the fact that I hate tomatoes but love tomato soup. It’s one of the thousand little things that make this fake-dating arrangement feel increasingly less fake.
“Okay, stop being adorable for five seconds so we can eat,” Beck says, already unpacking the food. “Then we’re going dress shopping.”
I widen my eyes at him. “We’re what?”
“Dress shopping. For the gala. You need a dress that’s going to make this Derek, the asshole, weep with regret.” Beck turns to Nitro. “You’re coming too.”
“I am?”
“Obviously! She needs a male perspective, and since you’re the fake boyfriend, you get to help pick.” Beck pauses, grinning wickedly. “Unless you have somewhere else to be?”
Nitro looks at me, and I see the question in his eyes. Is this okay?
I should say no.
I should create boundaries.
I should remember that this is all pretend and that we’re just helping each other out.
But the thought of spending the afternoon with Nitro, of seeing his reaction when I try on dresses, of having his opinion on what I should wear… “If you’re not busy,” I hear myself say.
“I’m not busy,” he replies immediately, and the smile he gives me could power the entire Las Vegas strip.
“Great!” Beck claps his hands together. “Now let’s eat before Marley gnaws her own arm off. She gets hangry.”
“I do not get hangry.”
“You threw a shoe at Cal last Christmas because dinner was delayed twenty minutes.”
“That’s… that was different. He was being annoying.”
Nitro’s grin is enormous as he starts unpacking containers. “This is gonna be fun.”