Chapter 9
Nine
SUMMER
That was almost a shitshow.
If Killian and Aries had spotted me with another man, I’m not sure what would’ve happened. This could get very messy, very quickly. We’ll have to be more careful.
Noah’s house is nothing like I expected. For some reason, I anticipated clothes strewn everywhere and dirty dishes scattered across the various surfaces. But his house is shockingly tidy, with the only slightly chaotic room designated as Puppy Paradise, according to the sign on the door.
Right now, Bud is the only dog Noah is pet sitting, and a single cat is enjoying the catio. A literal feline haven attached to Noah’s house with multiple ledges, beds, and tunnels.
Ornery isn’t anywhere near accurate a word to describe the cat in his home.
Edgar Allan Paw is a menace. A menace Killian is determined to play with, even if it costs him a finger.
His arm is bright red with scratches, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he laughs and coos while Edgar Allan Paw swipes at him again.
“He loves cats,” Aries tells me, keeping a safe distance from the threshold between the catio and the sliding glass door. “But they hate him.”
“I’m going to win him over,” Killian vows. “You’ll see. Ow, fuck.”
Despite Edgar Allan Paw’s animosity toward Killian, Aries, and me, he’s allowed Noah to approach him with food and even to scratch his head for three whole seconds. Bud hasn’t left Noah’s side, and my heart melts every time Noah pets him or lets the huge golden retriever climb onto his lap.
I’m starting to wonder if this man has any flaws.
I can’t believe his ex treated him so badly. Kind, generous, gentle Noah. The thought of anyone mistreating him makes me want to scream and jump to his defense.
From where he’s kneeling and rubbing Bud’s belly, Noah peers up at me with those water-blue eyes that make my thighs clench. “Summer? You okay?”
Gah, don’t say my name like that. We should’ve come up with a fake name. He could’ve called me Brandy or Amber or something and I’m sure I wouldn’t have to wonder what he’d sound like saying my name in bed.
“Yep. I just need to . . . pee.” I spin on my heel as Noah shouts directions to the bathroom at my back.
My heart pounds. This isn’t real. This isn’t the real him—this is the version of Noah who’s pretending to be my boyfriend for his family.
I’m sure if it was just the two of us, he wouldn’t look at me with those eyes or say my name like that or send me gifts or call me that ridiculous nickname, sweets, that definitely shouldn’t be stirring something low in my belly.
I shut myself in the tiny half-bath and breathe slowly with my palms planted against the door.
Get your shit together, Summer. Be professional. You’re doing a job. Nothing more.
Agreeing to be Noah’s fake girlfriend is really starting to feel like a mistake.
I should’ve listened to my gut and declined his request. I shouldn’t have agreed to take on someone I knew as a client, even if we’d only known each other for a few hours.
I’m too invested. Too guilt-stricken that we’re tricking his family, who are some of the most genuinely kind and welcoming people I’ve ever met.
Too tongue-tied by his eyes and his lips and his infectious laugh and the slopes of his muscles beneath his shirt and the curve of his ass—
My phone chimes. The familiar, unsaved number lights up my screen.
Unknown
How was lunch?
My stomach twists. Whoever this person is, they know I was at the bistro. They knew I was at the digital marketing agency last week. How are they following me? My fingers fly across the screen.
Summer
How are you tracking me?
Unknown
Everyone eats lunch, Summer.
Despite the insanity of this situation, my lips quirk up in a smile before I manage to tame it.
Summer
Why are you keeping tabs on me? What’s your intention here?
Unknown
I want to take care of you. Look out for you. Make sure you know someone is doing their best to protect you.
My chest squeezes. I want to take care of you. Whoever this is, they have no idea the impact their words leave on me. I feel like I’ve been aching for years for someone to say those words to me. To find someone who cares for me the way my father cared for my mother.
This could be a psycho.
I need to remember that. The person sending these messages could be one of my ex-boyfriends or clients. I don’t know who this person is, and I can’t be growing weak at the knees from one message.
Unknown
I want to do whatever I can to make you happy.
Shit. I’m weak at the knees.
My phone pings with another notification, but it’s not the anonymous texter this time. A Plus One notification for another date request.
For the first time since I signed up for the Plus One app, my stomach sinks.
I stuff the phone back into my pocket and yank the door open, an excuse to leave on the tip of my tongue when Noah halts in his tracks, on his way to come find me.
He brightens, and the excuse dies on my lips. “Hey, sweets.”
Why does the nickname he deliberately chose to be cheesy and ridiculous make my spine tingle? “You know you don’t have to call me that when we’re alone.”
He leans against the wall, amusement playing across his features. “What should I call you when we’re alone?”
Oh my god. My breath catches.
No, he’s not actually flirting with me. Clearly, I’ve been a fake girlfriend without a social life outside of work for too long. I’m so starved of actual, genuine human connection that I think someone who is paying me to pretend to be his girlfriend is seriously flirting with me.
“Summer is fine.”
He contemplates this. “I agree. Summer is perfect. It suits you.”
Damn it, Noah. Don’t say perfect. I desperately need to change the subject. “So are you stalking me?”
When I saw Noah at the bistro in a hat and sunglasses, trying and failing to hide behind a menu, the first thought that flashed through my mind was: Noah followed me to my lunch date.
I let out a snort that made my client raise an eyebrow.
Of course Noah didn’t follow me. We live in a small town with few dining options—we’re bound to run into each other once in a while.
He was probably hiding because we accidentally ended up at the same bistro, and he didn’t want me to think he’s some creepy, jealous client who gets too attached to his fake girlfriend and follows her around town to spy on her dates.
Fortunately, by the time Killian and Aries showed up, my client was already long done with our date. We’d failed spectacularly at making his bistro-waitress ex-girlfriend jealous. She was far more enamored with Bud, so he wasn’t exactly upset when I offered him a discount to cut the date short.
Now, Noah freezes, his easy, flirtatious expression slipping. “Stalking you?”
“Us ending up at the same outdoor bistro at the same time? That was almost a disaster.”
“Right.” He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles. “Glad we avoided that.”
“We’ll have to be more careful going forward. I can try to give you a heads up when I’ll be on a date somewhere so you can avoid it.”
“You don’t have to do that. But it would make stalking you a lot easier.” He winks.
I laugh, and a comfortable silence falls between us. With anyone else, a compulsion to fill the quiet with chatter gnaws at me. But not with Noah. Even when we’re not speaking, it’s like there’s still a conversation happening between us.
Then he shoves off the wall. “I’m such an asshole. Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure.” I follow him into the kitchen, cramped but cute, and accept the orange juice he hands me. “I’m sorry about what you went through with your ex. No wonder your family thought you would need time to heal for a while.”
I can’t imagine someone shouting at Noah and calling him names, let alone in front of his family. He didn’t deserve that. I’m sure if I was ever in a relationship like that, I’d need a long time to heal.
“They worry too much. But now you see why I needed to hire an expert.” He leans back against the counter, gripping the edge and showing off those biceps beneath his long sleeves.
I chug the orange juice for something to do with my mouth that doesn’t involve drooling over my fake boyfriend’s body.
“Speaking of exes, why aren’t you in a relationship?
You’re sweet, funny, gorgeous. Clearly, a lot of men are interested in you. ”
I nearly sputter into my juice. Sweet, funny, gorgeous. I’m not sure which of the compliments stops my heart first. “Who are all these men who are interested in me?”
“Every single one of them who asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a day. You don’t think they would all jump at the opportunity to have a real chance with you?”
My face could start a forest fire right now. There’s no way flames aren’t licking at my cheeks. “Honestly? I think I’m just too weird.”
Noah barks out a laugh. “That can’t be true.”
He only thinks that because he doesn’t really know me.
That’s the danger of this job. You’re playing the role of someone’s perfect girlfriend, and they start to convince themselves that this is the real you.
But Noah doesn’t know me at all. Not the real me.
If he did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
And even though part of me wants to let Noah keep believing that I’m this fake person he’s imagined in his head, I can’t. I can’t keep pretending. Not with him.