3. Cheyenne
Cheyenne
His forehead furrows as he stares at me like I just offered him a glass of poison. I’ve known Knox for a while, and this is always the kind of guarded expression I get from him.
Honestly?
I’m pretty sure this guy doesn’t even like me.
If there were anyone else I could turn to, I’d do it in a heartbeat. The problem is that I’m desperate and out of options.
“Exactly what kind of favor are we talking about?” The caution in his tone is almost laughable.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I stare at him. Why does this guy have to be so damn handsome?
It’s disconcerting.
Actually, it’s way more than that.
Up close, Knox McNichols is all hard angles and controlled intensity.
He’s the kind of man who looks like he’s holding himself back even when he’s standing perfectly still, and I never know what to do with that.
Most men are easy to read. Especially the ones in my orbit.
They smile, flirt, and perform like show ponies.
Knox just observes, silently assessing the situation.
I open my mouth, prepared to say something smooth and halfway dignified, but nothing comes out. That’s all it takes for my pulse to kick harder.
Why is holding a simple conversation with this man so difficult?
“Chey?” he snaps.
With a blink, I realize I’ve been stalling. I can only imagine he wants to get rid of me as quickly as possible. For all I know, some booty call is on her way over as we speak.
“I need a boyfriend,” I blurt.
His eyes widen.
“A fake one,” I rush to add.
Well, hell.
I’d really hoped to ease into this conversation. Maybe lay a little groundwork before springing it on him.
An uncomfortable hush falls over the room.
His expression remains blank for a moment or two, as if there’s been some kind of processing error, before understanding dawns.
“Wait a minute. Me?” His hand flies to his chest. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”
A dull heat crawls up my cheeks.
For one wild second, I consider backtracking and pretending he misheard me. That I need a fake landscaper. Or an accountant. Honestly, just about anything would be better than the stunned way he’s staring at me.
Instead, I take a small step in retreat before forcing myself to straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “Yes, I do.”
Laughter tumbles from his lips as they tilt upward for the first time since he walked in. “Why do you need a fake boyfriend?” He gives his head a slight shake before holding up a hand. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I can’t do it. Sorry, sweetheart.”
Well, I knew it was going to be a long shot.
This man is barely able to tolerate my presence for ten minutes before finding the nearest exit.
Of course he’s not going to help me. Asking him was a miscalculation on my part.
I need to get out of here while I still have a few scraps of my dignity intact.
I force a shrug. “Okay. I’ll check with your brother.”
He snorts. “Colby isn’t going to pretend to be your boyfriend. For fuck’s sake, he’s married to your sister.”
I roll my eyes. “I meant your other brother. Brooks.”
His eyes go flat in a way that makes me wonder if I just hit a nerve.
Huh. Interesting.
He jams his hands into his pants pockets and glares. “He won’t do it either. He’s busy.”
I arch a brow. “And you know this how?”
“Siblings group chat.”
I search my brain for an alternative. When nothing comes to mind, I jerk my shoulders. “Then I’ll find someone else. Clearly, you’re busy. I’ll see myself out and let you get on with your evening.”
Before I take a step, he blurts, “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Why? I thought you didn’t care?”
A muscle tics in his jaw in the most fascinating way. “I don’t. Call it curiosity.”
I pause, silently weighing just how much to reveal. “I ended things with someone, and he’s having a hard time accepting it’s over. What I need is for him to see that I’ve moved on so he’ll do the same.”
Emotion flashes across his expression before quickly being shuttered away. “Is this guy bothering you?”
For a second, I consider telling him the truth. Instead, I downplay the situation. “No. It’s more annoying than anything else.”
That is, if breaking into my place, filling it with a hundred bouquets of red roses, and waiting in a bubble bath can be classified as merely annoying.
We’re not even going to talk about the hundreds of voice messages and texts he’s been flooding my phone with. Last week, I finally blocked his number. It’s starting to get creepy. I considered taking out a restraining order, but that seems a little over the top. It’s not like he threatened me.
Knox remains silent for the longest time, and that only makes everything worse. He just stands there, his face unreadable, his body still.
“Want me to have a conversation with him?”
A gurgle of laughter escapes from me, mostly because the image of Knox marching over to handle my ex like some kind of blond avenging angel is ridiculous.
And a little hot.
All right, maybe a lot hot.
I shake my head. “No, that’s not necessary. I just want him to see that I’ve moved on. That’s it. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
His gaze sharpens, as if he’s not buying my breezy tone for a second, before he drags a hand through his thick hair and stares out the window at the lit-up skyline.
The atmosphere turns awkward as I do my best not to fidget.
It’s even harder not to notice how broad his shoulders look beneath his dress shirt or wonder what’s going on behind those striking blue eyes.
Coming here and asking for his help was a huge mistake.
A terrible, embarrassing, ill-conceived mistake.
Just when the quiet reaches a breaking point, I clear my throat. “Look, forget I even—”
“It would only be for a week, right?”
I blink in surprise, not expecting his capitulation. “Two or three, tops.”
He turns back to me, his expression still tight. It feels less like reluctance and more like resignation, as if he already knows he’s going to say yes and hates himself for it.
“Obviously we’ll need to be photographed together,” he mutters, lips tugging down at the corners, as if he hates the very idea.
All I can say is that this guy is doing irreparable harm to my ego.
“Yeah, that would be part of it.”
A reluctant shiver slides through me at the thought of spending time with Knox McNichols and pretending he’s my boyfriend.
Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.
Maybe I should have given more consideration to Brooks. Sure, he’s two years younger than Knox, but he’s no less handsome, and he’s an upcoming hockey player who’s already making a splash in the league. The guy is a hot commodity.
More importantly, my pulse doesn’t race whenever we’re together. Certainly not the way it does when I’m with his older brother. The problem is that Knox is staring at me with an intensity that makes me feel pinned in place like a butterfly to a Styrofoam board.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” he grumbles.
The relief that rushes through me is almost enough to buckle my knees. Right on its heels is something far less welcome.
A burst of nerves.
Asking Knox for this favor had felt like an act of desperation but still theoretical in nature. Him actually agreeing makes it real. Pretending to date a man I can barely think straight around suddenly feels riskier than dealing with a crazy ex.
Before I can thank him or consider backtracking, he says, “If we’re actually going to do this, we need to establish a few rules first.”