Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Sawyer
I’m an idiot. A complete, absolute moron with the emotional intelligence of a brick wall and the impulse control of a toddler.
Not only did I just watch my very fake girlfriend come apart in front of me, but I decided the best follow-up move was to toss out a good girl like some kind of caveman and walk away.
Real smooth, jackass. Real fucking smooth.
Seriously, what kind of masochistic lunatic sees a woman looking at him like he shattered her entire worldview and thinks, Yeah, this is the perfect moment to make it weird and disappear?
I didn't think. That was the problem—I never thought when it came to her. I saw her standing there in my doorway, and every functioning brain cell I had left evaporated into thin air. Gone. Bye-bye.
I was so catastrophically screwed.
Because seeing her like that? The way she looked at me, the way my name fell from her lips?
Yeah, if I was teetering on the edge of this fake relationship before, I took a swan dive straight into down bad territory.
No parachute, no safety net, just me free-falling into feelings I had no business having.
When she burst through the door, I was still fumbling with my sweatpants—because apparently, I also lost all motor function when she was involved.
We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Her cheeks were still flushed that perfect shade of pink, her hair a beautiful disaster, and all I could think about was how gorgeous she looked and how desperately I wanted to mess her hair up even more.
I cocked my head, forcing what I hoped looked like a smug grin instead of the lovesick grimace it probably was. “Yes, Ellie baby?”
Play it cool, you disaster. Act normal. Definitely don't think about the little whimpers she made or how much you’d like to make it happen again. And again. And maybe once more just to be sure.
She scoffed, and even that sounded beautiful. Fuck, I need help.
“’Ellie baby.’” She tried to mimic my voice, dropping it low and gravelly. “Don't ‘Ellie baby’ me. What the hell was that?”
“I think that was one consenting adult coming in front of another consenting adult.” I shrugged, desperately trying to pretend like my heart wasn't attempting to break free from my chest and throw itself at her feet.
“That.” She waved toward the bathroom. “Cannot happen again. This whole thing between us? It's not real, remember?”
Not real. Right. The fake relationship. The one that stopped feeling fake approximately thirty seconds after she walked into my life.
But sure, El. Let's pretend.
“I mean…it sounded pretty real when you were moaning my name.”
She groaned and buried her face in her hands. God, even when she spiraled, she was incredible.
“You're not helping.” Her complaint came out muffled.
I crossed my arms—maybe flexed my biceps a little—and caught the way her eyes tracked the movement before snapping back up to my face.
“Sorry, just trying to understand the situation here,” I started. “Are you, uh, mad it happened, or are you mad you liked it?”
She threw her hands up. “I’m mad…I don't know! I'm mad I came out here ready to tear you a new one for making everything weird, and now you're standing there being all smug and shirtless and completely unrepentant, which somehow makes everything infinitely worse.”
I stepped closer because, well, I was apparently incapable of making good decisions where she was concerned. “Yeah, because I'm not sorry. Not even a little bit.”
She shot me a smile so sarcastically sweet, it could have given me diabetes.
“Great. Fantastic.” She pointed a finger in my direction. “You’re not sorry.” Her hand flew to her chest. “I’m losing my mind. I’m great. Everything is great.” She flung both arms in the air.
“Ellie.”
“What?”
“Why'd you come back?”
“I’m trying to figure out what the hell happened,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
“You already know what happened.” I closed the distance between us, my pulse hammering in my throat. “The real question is, what are we going to do about it?”
“Nothing.” She poked my chest, hard, right over my heart like she was trying to restart it. “We're doing absolutely nothing. This changes nothing. We're still faking this relationship.”
My eyes drifted down to her bare legs, those perfect, endless legs, then slowly back up to her face.
She was breathing hard, and I wanted to push her against the wall and make her fall apart again, this time with my hands, my mouth—hell, I didn't care what I used, as long as I got to watch her come.
“So fake,” I murmured, sliding my hands to her waist and pulling her against me, marveling at how perfectly she fit.
Her breath hitched, and that tiny sound went straight to my dick.
“Don’t.” Her words were a warning, but her hands betrayed her, resting flat against my chest.
“I'm just agreeing with you, baby.”
My hand found the small of her back, fingers splaying wide, and I leaned down until our faces were inches apart. She tilted her chin up slightly—barely, almost unconsciously—and I thought I might actually lose what was left of my mind.
“You're being annoying,” she whispered, but her voice was breathless and shaky.
“You love it when I'm annoying.” I forced my hands to release her before I stepped back.
“Go, El,” I said, flexing my hands. “Before I really mess up this whole fake thing we've got going.”
Or before I admit I've been pretending to pretend for weeks now, before I completely lose what's left of my self-control and kiss you until neither of us can think straight.