11. AVA
AVA
Unhinged
"This is a terrible idea."
I say it again because the first time clearly didn't penetrate his skull. I'll keep saying it, even though my hands itch to touch that bulge on his pants.
If I say it some more, I might form an actual wall between me and the worst decision I'm about to make.
Kai sits beside me on his living room floor, his hand warm on my hip, his thumb still tracing that devastating little circle above my waistband. Each rotation sends a pulse of heat so low in my belly I have to clench my teeth to keep from making a sound.
"You already said that," he says.
I turn to face him, pulling my knees between us like a barricade. The movement dislodges his hand from my hip and I miss the contact so much it makes me furious.
"Because it's still true. You want to use fake dating as an excuse to touch me and flirt with me and…” I can’t say the rest of what he wants to do to me. What I want him to do to me. “When it's over, you'll say none of it counted because it was fake."
He doesn't flinch.
Those brown eyes hold mine with the steady, unblinking patience of a man who's already seen the play develop and knows where the puck is going.
"Not exactly."
"Then what, exactly?"
He leans closer. The soap-and-cologne scent I've been failing to ignore for weeks fills the space between us, warm and clean and specifically, cruelly him.
"I want to make you scream my name." His voice is low, flat. "Terms and conditions apply."
Every nerve ending south of my navel fires at once.
My thighs press together on instinct, a reflex so obvious I might as well have put up a neon sign that reads AVA HARTLEY IS FALLING APART ON THIS FLOOR.
Heat floods my core so fast I'm dizzy with it, pooling between my legs where I'm suddenly, embarrassingly wet.
He did not just say that in his scouting-report voice while sitting beside me with those stupid brown eyes and that stupid broken nose, looking like he's already mapped out exactly how he'd take me apart.
"That..." My voice fractures. I swallow hard. "That’s not a convincing argument for fake dating."
"It wasn't meant to be convincing. It was meant to be honest."
"Honesty doesn't involve announcing your sexual intentions."
His eyes drop slowly down my throat, across my collarbones, lingering where the neckline of my sweater has slipped.
"You're flushed from your chest to your hairline. Your breathing changed, and you pressed your thighs together the second I said it." His gaze returns to mine. "Tell me which part you didn't want to hear."
I open my mouth to fire back something devastating.
Nothing comes out.
Because my body is staging a full coup against every rational thought I've ever had and doing it in front of the man responsible for the insurrection.
The ache between my legs is so sharp it takes actual concentration not to shift my hips.
Biscuit snores from the rug, completely useless as a chaperone. I'm docking her treats indefinitely.
"There wil be rules," I say, breathless.
His eyebrows lift.
"If I do this, and I have not said yes, there’ll be no kissing on the mouth.” I hold up a finger when he opens his mouth to protest. “Cheeks are fine for appearances, forehead if you're feeling sentimental. But your lips do not touch mine."
"Okay."
"We don't share a bed."
He frowns. "Fine."
"And nothing happens between us that you can later claim didn't count because it was fake. No technicalities. No grey areas where you pretend the rules allowed something they didn't."
He watches me stack each condition like I'm mortaring bricks. His expression stays level.
"Agreed," he says.
"You're agreeing too fast."
"You set clear terms. I'm accepting them."
"Nobody accepts terms that fast when they want the opposite, unless they've already found the loophole."
The corner of his mouth lifts barely.
My stomach flips and my traitorous brain serves up a vivid image of that mouth on my neck in the hospital, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, the vibration of his groan against my pulse.
He extends his hand. "Deal?"
I stare at his broad, calloused palm.
That hand fisted in my hair while he kissed me senseless. It pinned my hips to a wall while he drove into me.
I shake it, making sure I’m firm.
His fingers curl around mine and hold. His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, pressing directly over my pulse. I know he can feel it hammering because his eyes gleam with satsifaction.
I pull away. "This fake dating thing is for this weekend only. By Monday morning, this is over."
"One month,” he counters. “If we stop seeing each other immediately after the family getaway, the whole purpose of the fake dating is defeated.”
I sigh. “Fine. Three weeks. Not one day more.”
“Three weeks,” he agrees.
I gather my paint swatches and my shredded dignity and leave before my body can override my brain one more time.
What have I done?
***
The lake house sits at the end of a gravel road lined with eucalyptus, prettier than any place has a right to be on a Saturday morning when I've barely slept and my stomach won't stop doing somersaults.
Okay, the backflips might be partially pregnancy-related. But mostly nerves. Definitely mostly nerves.
Kai parks and comes around to open my door. His hand finds the small of my back as I step out, like it belongs there.
Biscuit scrambles out after me, nose twitching.
The house is big without being ridiculous. Stone and timber, a wide porch wrapping the front, the lake visible behind it through the trees.
Six cars are already in the driveway. My palms go slick.
"Relax," Kai says in a low tone.
The front door swings open. Laura comes through with her arms already open, light brown hair down and soft around her face.
She’s wearing a linen blouse and the kind of effortless warmth that makes me want to crawl into her arms and confess every lie I'm about to tell.
She pulls me into a hug before I've finished climbing the steps. My chest contracts.
"You came."
“Yes, I did,” I say.
Her hand finds mine and squeezes. She holds me at arm’s length, studying my face.
"I've been wanting to tell you something." She pauses. "I watched my son wake up and not know his own life. I watched him relearn how to walk across a room. But you were brave enough to help him through it all, even when he didn’t remember you."
My throat locks shut.
She thinks I'm brave and selfless. But I'm carrying her grandchild and I'm too scared to say it.
The guilt sits like a stone in my stomach. But it's not the only thing sitting there, because underneath the guilt is something worse.
I liked hearing her say it. I liked being seen as someone who belongs here.
"Thank you for everything you've done for my son. I don't think he'd be where he is without you.”
My eyes burn. I blink fast and look at Biscuit because she's the only safe place I can stare at. I manage a nod and a smile that I hope doesn't look as watery as it feels.
Don't cry. Do not cry. You’ll never recover from it.
"He makes it easy," I manage.
She squeezes my hand once more then turns to wrap Kai in a hug.
Kai's hand returns to my back as we walk inside. He leans down, mouth near my ear, breath warm against the skin below my earlobe.
"Breathe."
"I'm breathing."
"You're turning purple."
"That's my natural color when your mother is nicer to me than I deserve."
His quiet laugh vibrates against my shoulder. My skin pebbles from my neck to my wrists.
Inside, the house opens into a great room with cathedral ceilings and a stone fireplace. People cluster on couches and around a long dining table, voices layered over each other. Kids run between the furniture. The smell of coffee and bacon lingers.
Kai steers me through the room, his palm flat against my spine. Each introduction follows the same script.
"This is Ava. My girlfriend."
He says it like it’s an obvious fact, leaving no room for questions. Like it's been true for months and he's simply updating people who haven't been paying attention.
My girlfriend.
The words sink into my skin and settle there, warm and heavy.
It's fake. You drew the lines and wrote the rules. This is a performance that will soon be over.
But every time he says it, the word girlfriend settles deeper into my bones. Into the place where I've been keeping the door locked since the night I left his penthouse and told myself it was just sex.
An older man with Charles's heavy brow shakes my hand and calls me a saint for putting up with the Donovan stubbornness.
A woman with Laura's eyes and a louder laugh tells me Kai has never brought anyone to a family event. She squeezes my arm like I've been initiated into something I didn't apply for.
Biscuit is an immediate hit. She throws herself at every new pair of legs. Charles bends down to pet her and she rolls belly-up for him immediately.
"Traitor," I mutter. "He's supposed to earn that."
Charles's mouth twitches, the closest thing to a smile I've seen from him.
I chase Biscuit across the lawn when she steals a badminton birdie, tackle her gently in the grass, and pry it from her mouth while she wags her whole body at me, tongue out.
"Drop it, you little criminal."
She licks my entire face instead of dropping it. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
A boy joins the pursuit. The two of them tear across the yard while I sit in the grass catching my breath, watching my ridiculous dog make a friend.
Kai drops beside me in the grass. He watches Biscuit and the boy with an expression that's softer than I've seen on him.
"She's good with kids," he says.
"Biscuit has no social anxiety. She's also not pretending to date anyone."
I look away before my face gives anything up.
Mira appears from somewhere with tennis balls. The kids organize a fetch relay that Biscuit dominates with shameless athleticism. She brings every ball back to me, dropping it at my feet and staring up with brown eyes full of uncomplicated adoration.
Why can't all relationships be this simple? You throw the ball, they bring it back. Nobody talks about their feelings.
"You love that dog more than most humans," Kai says.