That’s a lie. It totally occurred to me. I drafted (and then deleted) at least eight emails to Blondie since our meeting in the park on Tuesday, after which I compiled just as many texts upon retrieving her number this morning from that old fox, Meredith. But in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to send any of them. I think because it felt too distant, like keeping our communication to the digital space would make it easy for her to pretend none of this ever happened, and ultimately use it as a way to get out of our agreement. All she would have to do there is block me.
Ambushing her at her house on the other hand…well, good luck blocking me here.
Blondie blinks large, bewildered eyes at me. “Okay, so email didn’t occur to you, but bribery and stealing my personal information did…?”
With a coy smile, I step back and lean against the side of my car. “Listen, Dornan, unless you’re planning to come over here and spank me for being a very bad boy, then I think you need to get over it. We have unfinished business to discuss.”
Fire sprouts across her cheeks. “You are insufferable,” she growls.
“And you’re being pedantic,” I shoot back. “Any other insults you want to hurl my way, or are you done?”
To my surprise, the anger in her eyes dissolves, replaced by a faint glint of amusement.
“Pedantic,” she echoes, each consonant as sharp as a blade on her tongue. “Big word. I’m surprised you know what that means.”
I shrug. “My word-of-the-day calendar clearly knew I’d need it.”
When she huffs out a laugh, I know I have her.
I open my mouth to say something more—to firmly hook the fish on the line—when the front door to her house opens again and a full-figured, middle-aged woman steps out onto the porch. Her hair is even curlier than Blondie’s (more coiled spring than loose corkscrew), but a mousy brown, and her face is covered in freckles, which surround bright, curious green eyes.
“Lexi? What’s going on out here?” Her gaze jerks from Blondie to me, and her brow instantly lifts. “Oh, hello.” She proceeds down the stairs, beaming at me. “And this is…?”
I return her smile and push away from the car, holding out my hand. “Damian. Nice to meet you.” When she accepts my proffered handshake, I wink at her. “I’m assuming you’re Lexi’s older sister?”
She barks out a booming laugh. “I’m her aunt, Romeo, and twice your age, but nice try.”
Before I can come back with a witty retort, Blondie steps between us, using her body as a battering ram to break our hands apart. “And onthatnote, we’re leaving.” She glares at me, silently daring me to say another word, then turns to face her aunt. “We have a…project we need to go work on.” I hide my snort. Very convincing. “G, could you let Mom know I’ll be home in a few hours?”
With a blink-and-you-miss-it smirk in my direction, the older woman shoves her hands into the pockets of her acid wash jeans and retreats to the porch. “Don’t rush back on our account. It’s Friday! You two go enjoy yourselves.”
Blondie exhales as she turns toward the car, a sneer curling her upper lip. “Ugh. Gross.”
With a cheery wave at her aunt, I lean over and pull open the door—have to show her I’m a gentleman, after all, if I’m going tobe fake dating her niece—and as Blondie steps past me to slide into the passenger seat, I bring my lips close to her ear.
“I bet that wasn’t what you said when I was making you come,” I purr.
Blondie sputters, choking on either air or saliva—I honestly couldn’t say which—then tumbles into the car, her body a tangle of long, slender limbs, the motion knocking her large glasses lopsided. Chuckling to myself, I make my way around to the driver’s side, ignoring the death glare she throws at me as I buckle my seat belt and press the button to start the ignition.
“The fact that you aren’t even sure says it all.” She crosses her arms, giving a delicate sniff. “Nice car, by the way. How many suckers like me did you have to fuck to win it?”
I falter for just a second, then shift the car into drive and push my foot down on the accelerator. I didn’t even think about how it might look to her if I turned up at her house driving this car, but there’s no undoing my thoughtlessness now. “I think, for the sake of keeping my balls attached to my body, I won’t answer that.”
Silence swells between us as I continue to the end of her road and turn right, then take the next street over, coming back on myself and heading northbound. I can feel Blondie shooting me a questioning look as I loop onto the 138 and continue onto Newport Bridge, but it’s only when we’ve passed through Jamestown and crossed the last stretch of the bridge, carrying on into North Kingstown, that she finally asks, “So, where are we going?”
“Like I said. Out,” I reply without meeting her gaze.
“As in…out to the countryside where you plan on hiding my body?”
I snort. “I was thinking something a little more public.”
“Public,” she echoes, blanching at the word.
I chuckle. “That’s usually how this dating thing works.”
Although I try my best to keep my eyes on the road, I can’t stop myself from glancing at her. Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments, and she must see the question in mine because she says, “I…didn’t realize we were starting already.”
A thoughtful hum passes my lips. She seems nervous. And of course—because why would I have had the foresight to consider this sooner—I only now wonder if she suffers from performance anxiety or if, maybe, she is physically incapable of public displays of affection. Her icy personality certainly supports that theory.
