Chapter 18
Harper
I recognizewho the text must be from the second the little bubble lights up. The DH is a dead giveaway and the fact that she’s still in his phone and the blunt way she makes the request after all this time makes me wonder if these clandestine trysts are a regular thing for them. I feel a slight flicker of jealousy light inside me. One I don’t have any real reason to feel. One that makes me wonder why I’m here with him, even as his fake girlfriend.
But he literally just brought up the first night we met, flirting with me shamelessly. I know he’s worried I’ll see it when he immediately flips the phone over. She doesn’t even care that he’s here with someone. Probably because she sees me as a mild inconvenience to getting what she wants.
Which means I have two options. Tell him I’m getting a car and run back home to bed where I can return to something close to my usual routine or decide to stage a little revolution and see how well he plays along.
I take another sip of the drink and then set it down next to his phone.
“Unlock it,” I say softly, but with more authority than I feel.
He glances over at me, startled that I’m ordering him around. But I’m taking him up on his earlier offer. He said I could look anytime I wanted. I raise my brow again in expectation.
“You’re not getting sexts while you have a girlfriend, remember?”
He stares at me for a long moment and then unlocks the phone and slides it to me. I’m surprised. I thought he’d cave. Tell me that I don’t have that kind of say as his fake girlfriend. Tell me that he needs to get laid tonight and I need to get over it. I definitely expected an argument, and now I feel like I’ve just initiated some sort of game of brinksmanship.
I scoot my chair closer to him, remembering how he’d dragged me close at Drew’s office, and I slide the slit of my dress to the side, uncovering my thigh in the process as I open up the camera app and turn the flash off.
“Put your hand on my thigh.”
He does as I ask, placing it close to my knee as he raises an eyebrow in question. His eyes flick over me like he’s trying to make sense of what I’m doing.
“That’s how you touch your girlfriends?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
“I don’t have girlfriends.”
“That’s how you touch your fuck buddies?” I challenge him.
Something lights in his eyes and there’s a shameless tug at the corner of his mouth.
With that he slides his hand up, higher and higher, until he’s near the point of indecency, especially at an event like this. His fingers curve over between my legs and I’m biting my tongue hard to keep from having any sort of visible reaction to him. Because we’re in the middle of a very fancy fundraising awards dinner, and I’m supposed to be the good girl on her best behavior who makes him look better.
But fuck that.
I take a picture of his hand with his tattooed knuckles wrapped around my thigh. Then I flip to the sext he just got and upload the picture to it, typing out the words “Busy right now.” I slide the phone back to him, raising an eyebrow in return, waiting to see whether or not he’ll do it.
He glances down, reads it, and hits send without hesitating. I can’t help the tiny grin that crosses my lips.
But it’s only a moment later and a text comes back though.
DH
Lose her. You know I’m the best fuck you get.
“Wow.” I shake my head.
Doesn’t know a thing about me and thinks she’s that much better. Now I’m in the mood to fight. He brings out the worst in me. I take the phone and he doesn’t stop me. I pull up the little text window again.
Interesting. He said you were mediocre in your best moments. I can send you a video of his face between my thighs later if you’re feeling nostalgic though.
I don’t wait for his permission this time, in part because I’m afraid I won’t get it. I hit send before I slide the phone back to him. He reads what I’ve written, and I watch his face contort.
“Saint…” my nickname is a choked whisper, and I’m pleased that I’ve managed to shock him just a tiny bit.
I drink the last of my cocktail, and just then there’s loud clapping and a shuffle of things up on stage. The break in action gives me an opportunity to slip away without making a scene.
“I need a refill,” I say quietly. I glance at Violet who nods, excusing myself from the table, thankful that we’re near a door where my exit will go largely unnoticed. Because what I really need is air. Something to return oxygen and blood flow to my brain so I can stop being jealous over Alex.
I need to remember—none of this matters. I’d given him a hard time about talking to other women and seeing them because us faking it requires that we both not be caught out doing something stupid. But if he was quiet about it, it would be fine. I probably shouldn’t deny him the opportunity since I obviously shouldn’t be getting anywhere near him. After that kiss we had that threatened to drag me under and lose all sense of reason, the last thing I need is to get caught up in the riptide that is Alexander Xavier.
I laugh at myself as I head to the bar and smile at the bartender.
“A paloma, please.” I smile at him, and he nods, moving quickly to assemble the ingredients for me.
Thank God for open bars on nights like this one.