Fourteen
Punching Through the Tension
AUSTIN
I’M HALFWAY THROUGH MY second coffee of the morning when I hear the knock. It’s not my usual delivery guy with breakfast, and it’s too early for anyone else, so I know exactly who it is.
Mia.
With a sigh, I set my mug down and stroll over to the door, taking my time. Because if she’s here, it’s for a reason, and I’m going to enjoy watching her squirm while she asks for whatever it is.
When I swing the door open, there she is, looking as awkward as I expected—her eyes shifting, a forced smile on her lips. She’s clutching her phone in one hand, like it’s a lifeline, and a takeaway cup in the other.
“Morning,” she says brightly, a little too brightly.
“Mia,” I reply, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She shifts uncomfortably, holding the coffee out like a peace offering. “Thought you might like this.”
I raise an eyebrow, eyeing the cup. “Bribery before 9 a.m.? Bold move, Jameson.”
Her face flushes, and she pushes the cup into my hand. “It’s just coffee, Austin. Don’t overthink it.”
I take it, but I don’t drink. Not yet. “What do you want?”
Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, she looks like she’s debating just bolting down the hall. But then she sighs, deflating a little. “I need to ask you a favour.”
“Shocking,” I deadpan.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Could you at least let me get it out before you start with the sarcasm?”
I shrug. “By all means.”
She hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “So, it’s my brother’s birthday tomorrow. His big fortieth.”
I didn’t even know she had a brother.
“And?”
“And,” she says, her voice rising in pitch, “everyone’s expecting you to come. You know, since we’re together and all.”
I smirk. “Are we, though?”
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red. “Austin.”
“Relax,” I say, taking a sip of the coffee—black, just the way I like it. She knows me too well. “So, you need me to play the perfect fiancé at your brother’s party. Anything else? Should I prepare a speech? Bring a gift?”
She groans, rubbing her temples. “Can you just stop being difficult for one second? I’m asking nicely.”
“Are you?” I cock my head. “Because it kind of feels like begging is around the corner.”
She throws her hands up. “Fine. If that’s what it takes—Austin Conall, will you please come to my brother’s birthday dinner tomorrow and pretend you don’t completely hate me for a few hours?”
I let her stew in the silence for a beat longer than necessary, watching the way her lips press into a thin line, her eyes glaring at me like I’m the bane of her existence.
“I’ll think about it,” I say casually, turning to head back inside.
“Austin!” she calls after me, her voice sharp.
I glance over my shoulder, fighting back a grin. “What?”
“Why are you being such a dick about this?”
I lean against the edge of the door, leveling her with a look. “You mean, why am I not jumping at the chance to play your fake fiancé for the hundredth time while you do everything you can to keep me at arm’s length?”
Her mouth opens, then closes again, and for once, Mia Jameson is speechless.
“You need me, Mia,” I say, my voice softening just enough to throw her off balance. “But you’re going to have to ask a little nicer if you want me to say yes.”
She groans again, louder this time, and runs a hand through her hair. “Fine,” she grits out. “Austin, please come to my brother’s birthday. I’m begging you.”
I let the silence stretch again, just to make her squirm a little more, before finally nodding. “Alright. I’ll go.”
Her shoulders sag with relief. “Thank you.”
“But,” I add, stepping closer, “you owe me.”
Her eyes narrow, suspicion flashing in them. “What kind of ‘owe’ are we talking about?”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. “Fine. Whatever.”
As she turns to leave, I call after her, “And Mia?”
She glances back, her expression wary.
“Next time, skip the coffee and just get to the begging. Saves us both some time.”
The glare she shoots me could kill, but I’m too busy grinning to care.
MIA
“THIS WAS A TERRIBLE idea,” I mutter as I tug the borrowed boxing gloves onto my hands.
Ugh, how do they even clean these things?
Charlotte grins at me from the other side of the punching bag, her hair tied up in a neat ponytail that somehow manages to look Instagram-worthy even in a manky gym. “It’s not a terrible idea—it’s empowering. And it’ll be fun!”
It's official. I’ve lost control of my life.
“Your idea of fun is seriously warped,” I say, jabbing experimentally at the bag. The bag barely sways, and my wrist twinges. Great start.
“Don’t half-arse it, Mia,” Charlotte says, smirking as she gives the bag a solid whack that sends it swinging. “Picture someone who pisses you off. Like, I don’t know . . . Austin?”
My head snaps up, and she wiggles her eyebrows knowingly.
“That was a joke,” she adds, not even bothering to hide her grin. “Sort of.”
I roll my eyes and throw another punch, harder this time. The bag shifts a little more, and I can’t deny there’s a tiny thrill of satisfaction. “I am not imagining Austin,” I say, though my cheeks heat at the mention of his name.
“Oh, come on,” Charlotte says, switching places with me so I can hold the bag. “You’re telling me Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smoldering doesn’t make you want to throw a punch every now and then? Or, you know, do the opposite of punching?”
“Charlotte!” I gasp, horrified and slightly amused.
“What?” she says innocently, landing a perfect one-two combo on the bag. “I’m just saying, if I had a fake fiancée like him, I’d be punching less and, well doing more.”
“You’re incorrigible.” I tell her, shaking my head.
“I’m honest,” she corrects, taking another swing. “And so are you, deep down. That’s why you keep avoiding talking about him, isn’t it?”
I freeze for a moment, my grip on the bag tightening. “I’m not avoiding anything.”
She stops mid-punch, giving me a skeptical look. “Mia, you’ve been cagey about this guy since I got here. Either you’re in over your head, or he’s actually Prince Charming, and you’re afraid to admit it.”
“Neither,” I say quickly, too quickly, and Charlotte’s smirk grows.
“Right,” she says, dragging out the word. “So, when do I get to meet this totally not charming, completely fake boyfriend of yours?”
I sigh, shifting awkwardly on my feet. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“I prefer ‘dedicated.’”
Before I can reply, the instructor calls out, “Alright, ladies, let’s partner up for some light sparring!”
Charlotte’s eyes light up, and I immediately regret everything.
“Oh no,” I say, holding up my gloved hands. “We’re not—”
“We absolutely are,” she interrupts, dragging me into the middle of the gym.
Ten minutes later, I’m dodging Charlotte’s jabs with all the grace of a drunk giraffe. She’s faster than she looks, and I’m already regretting every carb I’ve eaten in the past week.
“Come on, Mia!” she taunts, circling me. “This is your chance to channel all that pent-up frustration!”
“I don’t have any pent-up frustration,” I lie, swiping at her and missing entirely.
Charlotte laughs, dancing out of reach. “Sure you don’t. Your shoulders are practically up to your ears.”
I glare at her, my chest heaving. “You’re supposed to be my cousin, not my tormentor.”
“And you’re supposed to be having fun,” she counters, stepping closer. “So stop thinking so much and just let it out!”
Something snaps. Maybe it’s her smug grin, or maybe it’s the weeks of unresolved tension swirling around Austin and me. Either way, I take a wild swing—and actually land it.
Charlotte stumbles back, eyes wide, before breaking into a laugh. “There she is! I knew you had it in you!”
I can’t help but laugh too, even as I drop my gloves and collapse onto the mat. My arms feel like jelly, and my face is flushed, but for the first time in days, I feel lighter.
“You’re insane,” I tell her as she plops down beside me, grinning.
“Maybe,” she says, shrugging. “But you’re smiling, so I’m calling it a win.”
And for once, I can’t argue with her.