Cheyenne
Knox carries my suitcase while I take the overnight bag and try not to think about the fact that I’m moving into this man’s home. Even if it’s temporary and our relationship is fake.
It’s still happening.
He stands close enough for the heat of his body to radiate through my sweater without us actually touching. Somehow, that feels even more dangerous. Like all it would take is one shift and suddenly there’d be no space left between us at all.
The doors of the elevator slide open, revealing his sprawling penthouse with its floor-to-ceiling windows. It hits me all over again that I’m not sneaking in with his parents’ keycard at ten o’clock at night. I’m actually moving in.
The place is all dark wood, polished stone, and sharp edges. It’s gorgeous in a way that doesn’t need to try too hard.
Just like him.
And now I’m stepping into the middle of it with my duffel bag and drama.
“You can take the guest room.”
I trail after him as we pass by the kitchen and living room before turning down another hall. Even the way he moves through this place is different than it was in the hotel. He’s more at ease here, like the space fits him in a way that makes me painfully aware it doesn’t fit me at all.
He pushes open a door and steps aside so I can enter first. The room is beautiful, with pale-gray walls and a king-sized bed. There’s a private bathroom with a window that overlooks the city.
He nods toward the room across the hall. “Mine’s right there.”
I glance into his bedroom, barely able to suppress a shiver. The space separating our rooms feels much too narrow.
I set my bag on the bed before turning toward him. The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Are you sure about this? I can always find a different hotel. Maybe something outside of the city.”
There’s the briefest hesitation as emotion flashes across his face. It’s there and gone before I can name it. Not annoyance exactly. Or even reluctance, which I was prepared for. It’s something heavier. As if he’s already regretting the decision.
“No, it’ll be fine.”
“Knox—”
His expression hardens. “You’re safer here.”
I glance around again, suddenly feeling small in the massive space. It makes me acutely aware of how much room he’s making for me. How much of his life I’m stepping into for reasons that have nothing to do with him and everything to do with the mess that followed me to Chicago.
“There’s a Railers event this weekend,” he says, neatly changing the subject. “Some charity thing. We can debut this new relationship there.”
My stomach flips. “Already?”
It’s not just the idea of cameras, press, or gossip sites photographing us together that makes my nerves jump.
It’s the idea of pretending Knox and I are intimately involved.
Of standing beside him, smiling for pictures, and letting people believe he’s mine while trying not to think too hard about how nice it might be if it were actually true.
“It’s the best way to sell this relationship. Plus, even if your mother hates the idea, I’m sure she’ll blast it all over the internet.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, as if we’re discussing practice schedules instead of a fake relationship that feels all kinds of dangerous.
“Knox…” I hesitate, trying and failing to find my equilibrium. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”
His gaze sharpens as his attention turns penetrating.
When he remains silent, I force myself to continue. “I hate that I’ve dragged you into this mess.”
“You didn’t drag me into anything, Hollywood.”
Maybe not literally. But it still feels like I’ve shown up with all my problems and expected him to rearrange his life around them.
He didn’t ask for this fake relationship that now includes me sleeping across the hall from him and walking into a charity event on his arm.
For all I know, he’s seeing another woman.
Or, at the very least, had plans to take someone else.
“Maybe I should just go back to LA and honor the commitments I made. Then I’d be out of your hair.”
He’s on the move, eating up the distance between us in three long strides, before the words are completely out of my mouth. His fingers slip beneath my chin, lifting it until there’s no other choice but to meet his steely gaze. Even though the contact is light, it sends a jolt straight through me.
“You’re not going back to California. You’re staying right here.”
My pulse pounds in my ears as I’m sucked into the deep blue of his eyes. When his thumb shifts against my jaw, I feel the reverberation of it all the way down to my fingers and toes.
“I’m not about to let you dump me before I’ve had the chance to show you what a kick-ass fake boyfriend I can be.”
Whatever tension had been building within me dissolves as an unexpected laugh slips free. “Kick-ass, huh?”
“Yup.”
Even though his lips tip upward at the corners, the look in his eyes never softens. I get the strange feeling he actually means it. As if the joke is there to make me smile but the promise beneath it is real.
“Trust me, you’re going to be impressed.”
Neither of us moves as the air grows heavy. For a split second, I wonder what it would feel like to be in a real relationship with him. To have him touch me because he actually wanted to.
Because I’m his.
The thought is so disturbing, I immediately shove it away.
It’s a relief when his hand drifts back to his side. Or it should be. Instead, the loss is almost devastating.
“Think about what you want for dinner tonight,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “Any preferences?”
The shift in topic is so abrupt, it takes me a second to catch up. One moment his hand is on my face, and the next he’s asking what I want to eat when both of us seem to be struggling to breathe normally.
I swallow. “Nope. Anything’s fine.”
With a nod, he takes a step in retreat, putting some much-needed distance between us. “Go ahead and settle in. I’ll take care of the rest.”
As he walks out of the room, I have to remind myself this is fake. It’s just a way to get Dakota out of my life. Contrary to what he told my mother, Knox and I aren’t even friends.
So why does this feel like a situation that could easily spiral out of control if we’re not careful?