Chapter 5 #2
“Wow.” His electric blue gaze rakes over every inch of me, and my blood somehow boils hotter than it did during that hike from hell. “You’re really sweaty.”
Great. “I just got back from a hike. Are you here to drunkenly break into my apartment again? It’s only two in the afternoon.”
“Completely sober.” He holds up a hand in testimony.
Why is his hair always rumpled? It’s entirely too inviting.
I tuck my hand behind my back before I do something stupid and reckless for the millionth time in forty-eight hours like run my fingers through it.
“Actually, I’m here to ask for a favor.”
“A favor? Bold of someone who just broke into my apartment and threw up in my bathroom two days ago.”
He grimaces. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Never.”
“The night we . . . met,” he says carefully. “You told me what you do for work.”
“Right?” I draw out the word, terrified of what will come next. Please don’t ruin this.
“Can I hire you?” His cheeks turn rosy, and I nearly swear under my breath. Few things are more adorable than a man who blushes. “To be my girlfriend? Fake girlfriend.”
My heart is pounding now. Fake girlfriend to the man who accidentally, drunkenly broke into my home? I’d be an idiot to accept. “Why?”
“To convince my family I’ve moved on from my last relationship.”
I snort. “I’m good at my job, but I’m not a miracle worker.”
His brows scrunch together, a crease forming between them. “I’m confused.”
“When we met, you were literally getting blackout drunk over your breakup.”
He shakes his head. “Not over the breakup. Over how my family was reacting to the breakup.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know I shouldn’t complain about my family caring about me—”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“—but the constant questions and prying and literal snooping just got to be too much. I wanted a night to get shitfaced, and I did.” He takes a step toward me, and my heart skips a beat.
I’m five-foot-four, and there’s no way this man isn’t at least a full foot taller than me. “That’s why I need you, Summer.”
A lump forms in my throat. Jesus, if he wants me to be his professional fake girlfriend, he can’t keep saying my name like that.
“I only need you to put on a show for one family dinner, and then we can amicably part ways.” His smile is meant to be reassuring.
“You really think one dinner will be enough?”
He chews his lip, considering. “You’re right. Maybe a dinner and a family outing. A couple of selfies at different restaurants that I can send to them over the course of a month before we stage a breakup.”
As much as I want to help Noah convince his family he’s over his ex—as much as I want to believe it too—I’ve already exposed myself to him too much. He’s heard my drunken confessions, been inside my shower, and seen me in the sweats that I only wear at home.
“We’re not supposed to have any kind of personal relationship with our clients.”
He rubs the back of his neck, and guilt washes over me for rejecting him. Especially when the delicious, minty scent of his deodorant coils up my nose. I could literally bury my face in his armpit and be content. “What if I pay double the rate?”
I cough, choking on air. “Double? Have you ever used the Plus One app?”
There’s no way he’s aware of our rates if he’s making an offer like that. We’re a luxury service for a reason.
“I haven’t,” he admits.
“You should. Our rates are pretty steep. And you should read the rules first. There’s no kissing, and no physical contact I don’t consent to, not even a hug or hand holding.
And no . . .” God, my face is on fire. I never even stutter when I have to re-explain the rules of the Plus One app to anyone else, but with Noah, something is different. “. . . no sex—”
“Actually, I meant I haven’t used the app to hire anyone before. I read the rules. I’ve already agreed to all the terms and submitted an official request for a date.” He shakes his phone, his easy smile lighting every part of me on fire.
When I glance at my screen, a notification from the Plus One app waits for me. A date request. I’m not sure if I should be flattered or dumbstruck. He really thinks he can waltz back to the woman he damn near traumatized two nights ago and ask her to work with him?
Am I really considering it?
I stare at the notification until the screen goes dark again and finally force my gaze back up to meet Noah’s, a kind and hopeful sheen to his sapphire irises. “Can I have some time to think about it?”
Noah’s expression briefly dips with what might be disappointment before he replaces it with his usual warm smile. “Of course. The app warned me that the request is voided if it’s not accepted in three days, so . . . if you don’t accept before then, I’ll take that as your answer.”
I nod and head inside, ridiculously sympathizing with an accidental trespasser as he trudges back to the parking lot with his hands in his pockets.
Except he doesn’t head for his car. He stops at mine, crouching and examining. A flat tire, maybe? A dent? My car is a beater I bought ten years ago, so I wouldn’t be surprised if everything is leaking, clunking, or otherwise malfunctioning.
He’s reaching under the vehicle, feeling for something, and I can’t help the way my heart swells at the sight. He’s concerned enough about my safety to check on my car.
I step back out onto the landing and shout, “Is everything okay?”
Noah starts, hitting his head on the metal. I wince and immediately regret calling out to him.
He stands and waves to me. “Yep! Thought the tire might have a leak. All good.”
With that, he climbs into his car with a warm smile and leaves.
Saying yes to Noah’s request would be absurd. I’d be crazy, delusional, gullible. I should decline his Plus One request right now, block his profile, and move on.
But when I glance at the notification on my phone, I don’t do anything. I leave the notification where it is, a reminder every time I pick up my phone.
Three days to make my decision.