Chapter Eight #2
“No,” Katie says, placing her bag on the kitchen island. When I have the pasta heating in the microwave, I turn to face her, leaning against the counter. It’s the same counter that I leaned on nights ago, before I almost kissed her.
When she told me she liked to hear me beg.
When she left me hard as a rock in the kitchen and I had to count to a hundred before following her because I was so fucking hot, I was scared that if I had to watch her walk up the stairs, I would’ve snapped.
I stare at her, watching as she nervously plays with the hem of the jersey she wears. A jersey with my name on it.
If it wasn’t a kink of mine before, it is now.
“We need to—”
“You look good in—” we both say at the same time. I watch as a gentle blush makes its way onto her cheeks as she realizes what I was about to say. I smile and finish my sentence. “You look good in my jersey.”
“A jersey,” she murmurs.
“Pardon?” I say.
“It’s a jersey.” She tucks her fingers into the hemline and scrunches the fabric in her fist. “Not yours. It was new.”
“It has my number on it.” I take a step toward her. She responds and steps back, but hits the edge of the counter. “It has my name on it. I think it’s mine.”
“You don’t own it,” she snaps. Katie glances up at me through her lashes as I take another step, right into her space.
“Hollie definitely used the black card of mine she has to buy it.” I reach out and tug the fabric of the shirt out of her clenched fists. “So, I do, actually.”
Silence fills the space between us. Nothing but a quiet house and our uneven breathing. I stare down at her, my gaze landing on her lips.
I could just—
“We need ground rules,” she whispers. I can tell she meant to say it differently because she looks shocked at herself. Annoyed, even. Knowing Katie, she probably wanted to say it with her whole chest.
I make her nervous.
Good.
“Ground rules?” I ask.
“We are dat—fake dating,” she quickly corrects herself. I hum in agreement, slipping the fabric through my fingers. Back and forth, along the hemline. I could step back. I could make this easier for her.
But, I really don’t want to.
“We don’t have to be one of those touchy-feely, PDA couples.
We don’t have to be so handsy in public.
” She crosses her arms over her chest. The movement only makes her boobs more pronounced, and I feel like pulling her against me.
I want to feel her against me, the way her toned curves match my hard muscles in every way.
It’s been so long, and I never want to forget what she feels like.
“We could be.” I tug at the fabric I’m holding, trying to pull her to me. For a moment, I think she might take a step and give in. But Katie remains leaning against the bench, close but not close enough.
“We’re not a couple. In public, where we have to pretend, we are not the kind of couple that likes public displays.” The microwave beeps, and I glance over my shoulder. She uses the distraction to slip away from me. “Keep your hands to yourself, Reed.”
I sigh and watch her ass sway as she gives me her back.
“I’ll do my best, Murphy.” I’m lying. Obviously. Like hell I will.
She rounds the corner, and I listen for her muffled footsteps heading up the stairs moments later. I take the pasta out of the microwave and sit at the counter silently as I shovel in bites.
If I think about the events in Italy, I can’t pick where things went wrong.
Everything seemed fine until it wasn’t, and Katie slammed a door in my face.
Looking back on it, I should’ve pushed a little harder, asked more questions.
I thought she just needed a moment because it was likely the first time she fucked anyone after her breakup. So I gave her space.
In hindsight, I wish I had smothered the fuck out of her until she’d told me what I did wrong.
Nothing has changed. I want her. Having her here, in my house, only cements that. A fake relationship was a fucking terrible idea until it was Katie that was the one I would be in the relationship with.
I sigh, putting my empty bowl in the dishwasher and wiping down the benches before heading upstairs. Katie’s door is open and she’s sitting on the edge of her bed, scrolling through something on the TV with the remote. Slowing my steps, I peek inside the room.
To my surprise, she hasn’t changed the décor all that much. The clean white bedspread is rumpled, and the green decorative pillows I picked because I thought they would add color to the room are scattered across the floor.
I feel a smile curl on my lips as I realize Katie’s messy.
Her things are all over the place. Clothes spill out of the closet, and there are at least three different pairs of jeans on the floor in front of her mirror.
A pair of shoes that I recognize as the ones she wears to work are just outside the door and would stop it from closing if she tried.
I can’t help myself, so I bend down and place them neatly just inside the door.
When I glance up, she’s staring at me, eyebrow raised in a question.
I just shrug and look around the room again. My gaze snags on a guitar sitting in its stand in the corner. I nod toward it.
“Do you play?” I ask.
“Sometimes.” Something new crosses her face. Something between excitement and disappointment. She doesn’t elaborate, but she looks over at the guitar with longing.
“You’ll have to play something for me sometime.” It takes everything in me not to beg her to pick up the guitar right now. I wonder if she can sing. I wonder what her voice will sound like. Fuck, I wish I could hear it.
“Mm. No, I don’t think so.” She shakes her head and stands, coming to stand in front of me with a hand on the open door.
“I’m hurt. Why not?”
“I only play for my friends.” Her phone is in her hand, face up and brightly lit, as she points it at me. “And we aren’t friends.”
Her tone is light and joking. She’s teasing me. I chuckle, leaning forward. “We can change that. Anytime you like.”
Her mouth curls into a playful smile, and that same anticipation from earlier this evening crawls up my throat. Come on, Katie. Laugh. Play. Be bright with me again.
Before she can say anything further, the phone in her hand buzzes. Katie goes still as we both look down at the name on the screen.
Grant.
I open my mouth, about to ask her why the hell her ex-boyfriend is calling her, but with a flick of her wrist, the door shuts in my face.
What the actual fuck?