Chapter 18
JULES
We step up to the bar at the most popular drinking spot in town and Chloe Chapman gapes at us from behind the counter.
“Lincoln…? Jules…? Together…?” she blurts loudly as she sets cocktails in front of the customers she’s currently serving.
Every person within earshot glances our way. Prickly heat spikes in my cheeks and I chuckle awkwardly, peeking around.
Chloe quickly approaches Lincoln and me, shaking her head and laughing tightly. “Sorry, guys. That was rude. I’m just…surprised, that’s all.”
My groom-to-be and I share a look. I guess it’s no secret around Fairy Bush that we despise each other. That just means we’re going to have to work a little harder to sell our romantic facade to the town.
Lincoln fakes a smile, draping an arm around my shoulder and coaxing me forward. “We’re engaged, actually. Show everyone your ring, sweetheart.”
With a full-body cringe, I lift my left hand and hold my breath.
At the sight of my ring, Chloe can’t downplay her first reaction—a befuddled cringe—but then, she covers it up with a strained smile. “Oh, it’s beautiful…”
Girl, we all know it’s not.
The thing is ugly. I mean, real ugly. One of the so-called diamonds fell off yesterday morning when I was brushing my teeth, and there’s another one that’s already jangling. I don’t know how much longer the poor thing can hold on.
Wearing this ring is kind of embarrassing.
I keep having to remind myself that its sole purpose is to convince people that Lincoln and I are engaged.
As soon as we dissolve our sham of a marriage, the cheap wedding ring will be in the trash where it belongs.
Right along with our marriage certificate.
So in the meantime, as long as this fake diamond gets the job done and doesn’t turn my finger green, I don’t care what it looks like.
Chloe gives her head another shake, then her eyes bounce between Lincoln and me. “Anyway, congratulations to you both! This is so unexpected!”
Lincoln smiles once more. “The best love stories always are, right, darling?” He squeezes my shoulder and the pet name rolls off his tongue so effortlessly. It’s almost convincing.
I look up at him, batting my eyes and trying to reciprocate the affection. “Always, um…M-Mr. Button Up.”
Chloe’s head tilts to the side and she observes us, still looking confused and unconvinced. Right then, she gets called to the other end of the counter by a large group of guys requesting beer refills. Thank god.
Lincoln’s eyes turn to me, glinting with annoyance. “Mr. Button Up? Really?”
“That’s the best I could come up with in the moment.” I shrug.
I’m not used to pet names. Hell—I’ve never even been in a relationship. At least not one that was serious enough to require affectionate nicknames. So much of this relationship stuff is new to me.
“Is there something you’d like me to call you?” I ask Lincoln, a mocking tone to my voice.
He grunts.
“Baby Cakes?” I pat his butt. “Or what about, Sweet Cheeks? Peaches n’ Cream? Pudding Cups of Love?”
He discreetly smacks my hand away from his ass. “You wouldn’t dare…” he challenges through gritted teeth, and I laugh.
Chloe returns to us, wearing an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the slow service. I’m handling this rush on my own while Dad is on a phone call in his office.”
“No worries,” Lincoln assures her.
“Anyway, your first round’s on the bar tonight.”
“Aww, thanks, Chloe.” I grin, patting her hand and her shoulders relax a bit. “I’m always down for a free drink.”
Lincoln and I place our orders—a ginger ale for him and a whiskey neat for me. We chat with Chloe, telling her the made-up story of our whirlwind romance as we sip on our drinks.
I take note of all the perked up ears around the bar as Lincoln and I spin our bullshit tale. I know that within twenty-four hours, this fake engagement will be the talk of the town.
Perfect! That will help with making our arrangement more convincing.
Still, I feel so bad for blatantly lying to the poor girl. But lying seems to come with the whole marriage of convenience territory.
I like Chloe, even though we’ve never really gotten to hang out. I remember Alba inviting her to a thing with us a while back, but she couldn’t make it. That girl is always working.
Growing up, she was a few years behind us in school, in the same class as Lincoln’s youngest brother, Oliver.
In fact, the two of them seem to have this cute flirtation going on.
I don’t blame Oliver for being infatuated with her.
She’s so pretty, and she has one of those bubbly personalities that you can’t help but be drawn to.
Judging by the new security cameras now glaring down from every corner of the room, it looks like Oliver would go to great lengths to keep his ‘Chloe-licious’ safe.
I smile. I don’t know what it’s like to have a man care about me that much. To go out of their way to assure my safety.
Must be nice.
Once Lincoln and I are finished with our drinks, Lincoln helps me off my stool. “Thanks, Chloe,” he calls out as we weave our way through the crowd.
Lincoln is heading for the nearest available booth, but right then, Pretty Please, an upbeat Dua Lipa song comes over the speakers, and I just can’t pass up the opportunity to shake my ass. I grab his hand, trying to pull him toward the dance floor.
The wall of a man barely budges. Instead, he shoots me a silent warning over his shoulder.
I laugh. “Dance with me.”
He glances around, looking self-conscious. “I don’t really—”
“You promised we could do anything I want to tonight.”
He throws his head up to the ceiling like I just asked him to loan me a kidney or something.
Clinging to his big, muscular bicep, I butter him up. “You’re so strong and handsome and I just want to show you off for all the town to see.” I offer him my most coquettish look, complete with wide eyes and pouty lips. “Please, Fiancé.”
His pupils flare when I call him that. Hmm. I think he likes it.
“Fiancé…” I say again, my grin spreading wider and my tone dropping lower. “Fiancé…”
His gaze hooks on my lips. “What am I gonna do with you?” he mutters, leading me into the middle of the room and looping an arm around my waist.
“Marry me and help me lock down my inheritance?” I suggest cheekily.
Lincoln guffaws.
I like it when he laughs. Correction—I like it when I make him laugh.
Mr. Button Up is a notorious grump. Any time I can coax him into flashing those straight, white teeth at me, it makes me feel unreasonably powerful.
As his arms circle my lower back, I peek around the room. I take note of the eyes following our every move. Good. Let’s put on a show.
I reach up and loop my arms around his neck, allowing my fingertips to tangle in the ends of his hair as we sway. His arms tighten around me, pulling my body closer to his. My breasts come alive, aching and tingling where they’re crushed against his powerful chest.
Lincoln has two left feet, and apparently, not one rhythmic bone in his body. But I like the way his tall, muscular form fits against mine.
I can feel the warmth of his skin. I can smell his musky, expensive-smelling cologne. I can feel his heart pounding. Or is that mine?
Staying on beat with the music is the least of my concerns as I rub myself against him. I’m no better than a cat in heat. My body is desperately wishing to be the object of this man’s attention. All. Night. Long.
He looks at me with drunken eyes. He leans down, his five o’clock stubble brushing my cheek right before he whispers in my ear. “What else?”
His hands find my hips, kneading them softly and provoking butterflies in the pit of my stomach.
“Huh…?” My voice gets all tangled up inside my constricted throat.
His fingers brush across the small of my back, then down the outsides of my thighs. My core responds with a hard throb.
“What else can I do with you, Jules?”
Surprised by the innuendo-laden question, my movements go still.
My breath catches when I feel it—the very prominent outline of his erection now pressing against the hollow of my stomach, right above my pubic bone.
Drag your lips down my neck…
Claim my mouth with yours…
Pin me against any flat surface of this bar and make me scream your name…
That’s what I want to say. But I don’t. Because I’m not a mindless horndog.
I giggle nervously and decide to deflect. “Great acting, Fiancé. For a minute there, you almost had me convinced.”
But the tic in his jaw and the heat rising off his skin tell me that this isn’t an act. He wants me. The way I want him.
“You think I’m acting?” The lust in his eyes darkens. He pauses. “You drive me so fucking crazy, Julissa Lannister. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to survive this fake marriage with you.”
I slap him lightly on the shoulder. “Please don’t make me into a grieving widow. At least not until I get a check from my great-grandmother first,” I tease.
He chuckles as his big hands drag over my curves again. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Thank god the song changes right then, because the tension between us is about to choke me. I slip out of his arms and lead the way to a table in the corner.
I pray sincerely that my movements come across as confident. Because, in reality, my knees are wobbly, my breasts are heavy and my panties are a damp mess.
Lincoln slips into the booth right beside me instead of taking the seat across from me. I like his proximity. Too much. And I’m well aware that I shouldn’t feel this way.
Mere hours ago, I hated the man. Now, I feel…this.
I’m not familiar with these pingpong-ing feelings. With Lincoln, I’m like a billiard ball, shooting from one corner of the emotional pool table to the next.
One minute, I want to strangle him. A minute later, I want to be naked with him. Then in the wink of an eye, I’m plotting to strangle him again. The back and forth is downright exhausting.