Chapter 12
Twelve
NOAH
Summer does not own a sports bra. That much is apparent by the way her breasts bounce with every step as she huffs beside me, arms swaying and cheeks flushed.
I can’t stop staring. Ogling, more accurately. She’s never going to run with me again after this. Not after she catches me drooling over her. Plus, I’m sure the new sneakers aren’t helping her feet, and she winces with every step, attempting to discreetly hold her tits in place.
“We don’t need to keep running,” I remind her for the tenth time, despite my better judgment. If I were a smart man, I’d keep my damn mouth shut and let the show go on, but I can’t stand to see her in pain. “I’d be happy with a casual walk too. Way more romantic.”
“We need to . . . convince Victoria . . . that we’re a real couple,” Summer pants. “So we’re going to run by her house . . . every morning . . . until she’s convinced. That was our deal.”
Her nose is scrunched adorably in determination, and I’m reminded of the knife-wielding woman I met. She’s been putting on a convincing show, but I know she’s got a darker side she’s hiding, and I can’t wait for the day that she finally reveals herself to me. All of her.
“Our deal wasn’t to convince my sister you’re a runner; our deal was to convince my family I’m over my ex.” We’re less than half a mile in. I haven’t broken a sweat, and my heart rate still hasn’t reached one hundred BPM.
Summer shakes her head, breaths verging on hyperventilation now. “You said running . . . is your favorite hobby. A good fake girlfriend . . . should be interested in your hobbies.”
I’ve never had any girlfriend show interest in my hobbies, real or fake. Kind of sad that the best girlfriend I’ve ever had is a fake one. But how could she not be the best? She’s Summer.
I doubt she goes to these lengths for her other clients. She said herself that most of her clients hire her once, maybe twice. They go to a wedding or an office party, make somebody jealous, and that’s the end of it. She’s going above and beyond for me, I’m sure of it.
“How about we walk until Vee’s house is in sight?” I suggest. “Then we can run past for show until she can’t see us anymore.”
Summer comes to an instant halt, and she bends at the waist, heaving. “That’s a much better idea.”
“We should keep moving, though.” I wince even as the words leave my mouth and nudge the small of her back, her shirt sticking to her skin. “It’s harder to start again when you stop moving.”
“Don’t touch me. I’m disgusting right now.” She shrugs away from my hand as she forces her feet to shuffle forward, and I bite my tongue.
She has no idea what the image of her flushed and sweaty on top of me does to my blood pressure.
“Does this mean I should be interested in your hobbies too? Maybe you can teach me how to draw. I’ll warn you now: I have no artistic talent, and I’m a terrible student.”
Summer snorts. “I don’t think I’m much of a teacher.”
“I still want to see your art sometime.” I nudge her with my elbow.
She hesitates, shoulders stiffening. “I don’t—Shit. Is that Victoria?”
Beside me on the sidewalk, Summer crouches, though there’s nothing hiding us from my sister’s view.
“Yep. That’s her house.”
In her yard, Vee spreads mulch. By June, her front yard will be a canvas of colorful flowers. Summer would love it. If she’s still around by then.
“I didn’t picture her as a gardener,” Summer whispers, as if Vee can hear us from thirty feet away. “Maybe someone who sprays plants with herbicides for sport.”
I chuckle. “I promise she’s not as standoffish as she seems. She was against my last relationship from the beginning when she found out Naomi was my boss, she hated the way I was treated, and now she’s suspicious of you. It’s not fair to you, but she’ll come around.”
Summer nods, not entirely convinced. Then she groans. “Guess we'd better start running.”
Her tits go back to that lovely bouncing rhythm, and she hisses and groans with every stride.
I keep my pace slow for her. “If it wasn’t for Carson, Vee would probably be friendlier to you by now.”
“Why?” Summer’s eyes go round with a mixture of worry and exasperation. “What did Carson say about me?”
“Nothing. He doesn’t say much about anybody. Really just talks about work and baseball. But he makes her mood a thousand times worse.”
“Yeah, he’s kind of an ass, isn’t he?” Summer huffs, gaze darting to Vee as we approach her mailbox.
“He’s an ass,” I confirm. “We’ve been trying to convince Vee to end things with him since day one, but she won’t. Just stays miserable.”
“Aren’t they . . . engaged?”
I grimace. “Unfortunately.”
“Shit!” Summer’s foot catches and she trips, hurdling right for the concrete.
I jump in front of her, and she topples into me, a stone colliding with my gut.
Her arms wrap around me as she tries to right herself, the sweet nutmeg scent of her shampoo wafting up my nose as I nearly bury my face in her hair.
She’s warm and soft, and I want nothing more than to keep her wrapped in my arms like this.
Summer clears her throat and disentangles herself from my grip, a bashful smile playing at her lips. “Sorry. This damn sidewalk has so many cracks.”
“What the hell are you two doing?” A shout finally draws our attention from each other.
In front of her house, Vee stands in a wide-brimmed hat that cloaks her face in shadow. She’s popped one of her earbuds out. From this distance, I can’t tell if she’s suspicious or amused.
“Just going for our daily run!” Summer calls. “My . . . shoelace came untied.”
A few moments of silence pass while Vee studies us. When my sister’s gaze trails down to Summer’s shoes, I drop to my knee in front of her.
Summer’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. “What are you doing?”
“Tying your shoe.” I fumble with her laces that are sturdily knotted before straightening.
“Oh. Right. Um, thanks.”
I can’t help the teasing smile. “What did you think I was doing?”
“Nothing,” she says too quickly.
When I propose, Summer won’t have any doubt about what exactly I’m doing on my knee in front of her.
“What mile are you on?” Vee calls.
We both startle. Right. We’re not alone.
Before I can answer, Summer calls, “Five!”
Oh, god. I’ve never run five miles a day in my life. I run two miles a day, tops.
Vee, who is well aware of this, tilts her head. I brace for her to call bullshit, but all she does is put her earbud back in and wave a gloved hand at us. “Enjoy the rest of your run then.”
She returns to tossing mulch without talking shit, so that’s something.
“Enjoy your yard work!” Summer shouts and waves before she starts jogging again.
A few moments of silence pass before Summer glances back at my sister, who is concentrating fully on mulching her garden and whatever podcast or audiobook she’s listening to.
“She didn’t look impressed, did she?” Summer groans. “How do I make her like me? Write you a love letter? Buy you a ring and propose?”
“Just be yourself.”
She rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Terrible advice.”
“Come with me to the wedding and show off your incredible dance moves.” My chest lights up at the possibility.
Wrapped in each other’s arms and swaying together during the slow songs, laughing while we line dance after the alcohol kicks in, holding hands during the ceremony and imagining what our own wedding will be like someday.
Jesus. Slow down, Sinclair. Aries’s sensible voice rattles in my head.
“You’ve seen me run,” Summer says. “You know I have no coordination. I should not be dancing.”
“That’s not true. You’ve only tripped twice. And you haven’t fallen once.”
“Because you caught me before I hit the ground.”
I’ll catch you whenever you need me to. I hold the words back. Even for someone crazy enough to copy a woman’s apartment key, stalk her around town, and read all her favorite books to reenact them, I know it’s too early for wedding bells.
But damn, are they loud every time I look at her.
“Hey, if I get a plus-one to Vee and Carson’s wedding, will you object during the ceremony?”
“Absolutely not.”
Every good stalker needs to break into the home of the woman he loves to film a thirst trap for her enjoyment.
In Summer’s favorite books, the stalker usually leaves behind a gift for the heroine after he breaks in so she knows he was there.
I’m still not a hundred percent sure why Summer would be into this, but once I imagine her sneaking around my house in the dark, filming herself in sexy poses to send to me later, I get it.
Under the cloak of darkness and with my hood tucked over my head, I stroll up to her apartment with my hands in my pockets. Totally inconspicuous. No one would suspect a thing.
Although the mask would probably make them jump to nefarious conclusions.
When I reach the door, I fumble for the copy of her spare key.
Drop it, curse, and fumble some more with the lock.
I’m jittery as hell. How do the other stalkers do this without pissing themselves?
Every second I spend sneaking around, I imagine her waltzing into her apartment and discovering me lurking inside.
I have no idea how long she’ll be gone. She doesn’t have a consistent daily schedule or routine that I can keep track of. I pull out my phone to check the location of her car. Her location will at least give me some indicator of how much time I might have.
But according to the tracker, she hasn’t moved from her spot on Maple Street, where she was located over an hour ago the last time I checked.
Quickly, I send her a message from my texting app.
Unknown
Hanging out on Maple Street?
Her response comes moments later.
Summer
No?
You getting rusty?
Shit. The tracker is battery-powered; it must’ve stopped working. Now I have no idea where she is or how long I have before she returns home. She could be back any minute and catch me in her apartment.
What would I do if she caught me red-handed?
Wearing a mask helps. She wouldn’t know it was me. She’d see some masked stranger and run in the other direction.