4. Knox
Knox
She stares at me for a few beats before a laugh bursts from her. “Rules? You can’t be serious.”
I’m one hundred percent serious. I don’t need this woman slipping any further beneath my skin or into my thoughts than she already has.
Although, I keep that part to myself.
“Oh, I’m serious, sweetheart. It’s important we set clear boundaries so no one gets confused.”
She snorts before pressing a hand against her chest as her green eyes widen.
“Hold on a second… You actually think if we spend a little bit of time together, I won’t be able to stop myself from falling in love with you?
” She shakes her head before more laughter tumbles from her lips. “You really are an egomaniac.”
Even though that’s not what I meant, I don’t bother correcting her. It’s better for both of us if she thinks that than discovers the truth.
“Maybe.” It takes effort to shrug off the sting of her words.
“Oh, there’s no maybe about it, McNichols. You’re definitely an egomaniac.”
I force a smile. “You’re welcome to find another fake boyfriend if you’d prefer.”
Her humor fades as she presses her lips together and glances away. For a moment, I wonder if she’ll tell me to go fuck myself before stalking out of the penthouse.
It would probably be for the best.
Just as my nerves reach a breaking point, she mutters, “Whatever your rules are, I’ll agree to them.”
Relief punches through me so hard and fast, it’s almost embarrassing.
As much as I’m dreading this, the thought of another man laying his hands on her, smiling for the cameras, pretending he’s the lucky bastard who gets to be at her side and in her bed, has something ugly unfurling in my gut.
I’d have no other choice but to kill him with my bare hands.
“No offense, but I’ve dated my fair share of manwhores who are commitment phobic. I’m certainly not going to fall for one I’m pretending to date. So there’s nothing for you to worry about on that front.”
Umm… excuse me?
“What does that mean? Are you saying you’re ready to settle down?” The questions shoot out of my mouth before I can reel them back in.
Her brows lift.
Mine probably do as well, considering how fucking interested that made me sound.
And it’s too damn late to backtrack.
She glances at the skyline before shrugging. “If the right man came along? Possibly. But Dakota wasn’t the right one.”
A bark of laughter slips free. “I’m sorry… you actually dated someone named Dakota?”
She rolls her eyes. “At least I know the names of the people I sleep with.”
I force a smile. Little does she know I haven’t slept with a woman in six months.
Before I can dwell on the sad state of my sex life, she clears her throat. “So, what kind of rules did you have in mind, McNichols? I can hardly wait to hear this.”
What I need to do is keep it simple.
Straightforward.
Clean.
Instead, the second I open my mouth, every fucked-up, possessive instinct I have when it comes to Cheyenne Benson claws its way to the surface.
“No flirting with anyone but me. If we’re together, you act like it.”
She stares at me for a long moment. “Ever consider I’m just friendly?”
Damn straight she is. I’ve witnessed her flirting firsthand, and I hate it. I’ve never experienced the kind of jealousy I do when I watch her with other men. There’s always too much laughing and touching. Too many of those boneheads thinking they’ve got a real shot with her.
I shake my head. “With me, in public, you’re not.”
“All right. I’ll do my best to control myself.”
Her dry tone tells me exactly what she thinks of that.
Good.
“Rule number two: if your ex contacts you, you tell me right away.”
Her expression shifts, all amusement fading. “Is that really necessary? I can handle Dakota on my own.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”
She releases a slow breath.
“I want to know if he texts, calls, shows up, or tries to get in touch with you in any other way,” I add. “You no longer handle it on your own. We’re a package deal now.”
Her eyes narrow. “You do realize this relationship is fake, right?”
“Yup.”
“Then why are you acting like I need a bodyguard when I just need you to look pretty on my arm?”
Because the thought of that guy showing up anywhere near her makes me want to put him through the nearest wall.
She walked into my place tonight tense as hell, all the while pretending she wasn’t, and I’m not buying her easy smile for a single second.
I don’t trust him because I’d be out of my fucking mind if I were the one who lost her.
And maybe I don’t trust her to take this as seriously as she should.
Instead of purging all of that from my system, I keep it to myself.
“Luckily for you, Hollywood, I’m capable of doing both.” I shoot her a grin before continuing. “Rule number three: I want your location on at all times so I know exactly where you are.”
The second the stipulation leaves my mouth, I realize I’ve crossed into borderline unhinged territory. She studies me for a beat, and I can practically see her reassessing the entire conversation, as if she’s realizing these aren’t just fake-boyfriend rules.
They’re something else entirely.
Well, that’s too damn bad. I’m in this now.
Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”
For half a second, I consider walking it back and telling her I’m kidding. But then I picture her somewhere in the city with her ex blowing up her phone—or worse, showing up in person—and I double down.
“One hundred percent. Here’s what you need to know about me: I’m a possessive boyfriend.”
“Don’t you mean possessive fake boyfriend?”
“Yup.”
She just stares, which I can’t blame her for. If our positions were reversed, I’d probably think I was out of my damn mind as well.
Who knows? Maybe I am. That’s exactly what Cheyenne fucking Benson does to me.
“All right, fine. I’ll agree to your so-called rules. Does that mean you’ll actually go through with this?”
Even though it’s a shit idea, what other choice do I have? The thought of her walking out that door and texting Brooks, or any other male with a beating pulse, has my jaw locking so hard it aches.
“Yeah,” I grumble. “I’ll do it.”
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t have to sound so thrilled.”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
She nibbles her lower lip and her shoulders droop. “Look, I’m not interested in dragging you into something you clearly hate. Let’s just forget it.”
Like hell we will.
I take a step closer before forcing myself to stop. It’s so damn tempting to lay my hands on her. “It’s a done deal, sweetheart. For all intents and purposes, I’m your boyfriend.”
“Fake boyfriend.”
“Sure.”
She looks up at me, and without the constant sniping, the energy between us turns charged.
Which isn’t any better.
In fact, it’s a hell of a lot worse in a different kind of way.
I cringe, forcing the next question out. “Do you need a place to crash?”
The thought of her sleeping under the same roof as me is enough to set every nerve ending on edge.
“Nope. I booked a suite at the Regency.”
Thank fuck.
It’s bad enough we’ll have to spend time together. Her living here would push me straight past my limits, ending in disaster. I’m not sure I have enough self-restraint to keep my hands off her if she’s sleeping across the hall from me.
“So, unless you’d like to tack on a few more rules, I’m going to head out.”
“Nope. I think we’re good for now. Although, if I come up with anything else, I’ll text you.”
She glares. “Perfect. This is going to be so much fun. I can hardly wait.”
I nod as she turns to the couch, picks up her purse, then beelines for the elevator. I can’t help but trail after her like a lost puppy. The most confusing part is that, as much as I need her to go, I want her to stay.
She presses the button, and we stand awkwardly in the entryway while waiting. The silence is different now. Thicker. Tense in a way it wasn’t when I first found her in the living room. Twenty minutes ago, I’d been fighting back surprise.
Now I’m fighting awareness.
Of her.
Of me.
Of the fact that this fake arrangement already feels like a disaster waiting to explode in my face.
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my pants and shift on my feet. “I guess we’ll talk tomorrow?”
“Yup.”
Just as the elevator chimes, I slip a hand from my pocket and hold it out. “Give me your phone.”
“Excuse me?”
“Pretty sure you heard me the first time.”
With a huff, she digs her cell out of her purse before slapping it against my palm. The warmth of her touch lingers long after she pulls her hand away.
“That isn’t necessary.”
“You’re wrong about that. Plus, you already agreed to it. Let’s not forget rule number four.”
“It’s three. There aren’t four rules.”
I lift a brow. “I could certainly come up with another one if you’d like.”
When she presses her shiny, entirely too kissable lips together, I chuckle and hit the side button. “What’s the passcode?”
Surprisingly, she doesn’t fight me.
“Zero-six-one-two.”
My fingers still over the screen. “June twelfth?”
She shifts. “Avery’s birthday.”
I glance at her. “I know my goddaughter’s birthday.”
“What kind of godmother would I be if it weren’t my passcode?” she fires back. “A terrible one.”
“Yeah. Same.”
Her brows pull together. “Wait. Are you saying that’s your passcode too?”
“Obviously.”
“Obviously?” she echoes.
I stiffen before grunting. “She’s my goddaughter too.”
“Huh.”
“Huh what?”
She lifts one shoulder. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the sentimental type.”
“Ever consider you don’t know me half as well as you think you do?”
Her brow furrows as she looks up at me.
When she remains silent, I add in a softer tone, “Family is everything to me.”
Her expression softens. “Guess I never really thought about it like that, but I suppose it makes sense.”
A quiet beat stretches between us.
Avery is Colby and Britt’s first kid. The first grandchild in both our families.
I still remember how it felt when her tiny fist wrapped around my finger in the hospital, and the way Chey cried harder than Britt when Avery was born.
She refused to hand her over for nearly an hour, like she’d already fallen in love with the little girl.
It shouldn’t hit me so hard that we picked the same numbers for our passcode.
But it does.
I take her phone and unlock it. After a few quick taps, I hold it out to her.
She frowns at the screen. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.”
“Believe it, Hollywood.” I don’t release the phone right away. “Hit share.”
“For how long?”
I pull my own phone from my pocket. “Indefinitely.”
Her brows lift.
“Now I’ll always know where you are.”
There’s no way in hell I’m going to examine why I find that thought so damn satisfying. She doesn’t comment as I check my phone, making sure the request went through. When her cell buzzes between us, she glances down at it.
“You’re taking this a little too seriously, McNichols.”
I shrug. “Guess you should have considered that before you involved me in this situation.”
She studies me for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze lingering, as if she’s trying to sort through something in her head. The elevator dings, and the sound slices through the growing tension.
With that, she pulls her phone from my grip. “Night, Knox.”
The doors slide open behind her.
“Text me when you get to the hotel,” I say automatically.
She rolls her eyes. “Sure thing, Dad.”
My jaw tightens.
That shouldn’t do anything to me.
So tell me why it does.
Maybe because it makes me sound controlling as hell, which is fair. Or maybe because she says it like a tease when I’m already hanging on by a thread.
“Chey.”
With a smirk, she gives me a little wave with her fingers before stepping backward into the elevator.
Once the doors close, silence settles over the penthouse as I stare at the empty space where she stood a few seconds ago.
The place already feels too damn quiet without her presence.
Her beachy scent continues to linger in the air, as if she left a part of herself behind just to fuck with me. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past her.
Zero-six-one-two.
I unlock my phone.
We picked the same numbers for the same reason.
It hits me all over again just how much trouble I’m in where this woman is concerned.