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I don’t even take the shot, I just completely whiff it. The cue ball jumps off course.

Zoe hums. “Interesting.”

I slowly straighten, grip tightening around the cue as I stare at her. She is so pleased with herself.

“That was evil.”

She lifts a shoulder. “I was just making an observation.”

I narrow my eyes, circling the table and stepping closer to her. “An observation, huh?”

“Mhmm.” She taps her cue stick against the floor, watching me with that impossibly smug expression. “It’s just distracting, you know?”

My brows lift. “Me?”

She almost smiles. “The staring.”

Two can play this game, sweetheart.

“Maybe I just like what I see.”

Her lips part just slightly, so fast someone else might miss it. But I don’t, I never do.

Then, quick as anything, she rolls her eyes. “See that? That’s exactly why you have a PR crisis right now.”

“Yeah?”

“A little humility wouldn’t kill you.”

I lean in slightly, lowering my voice. “But then I wouldn’t be me, sweetheart.”

She makes a deeply unimpressed sound, and leans down to take her final shot. Stretching out across the green felt table, she looks up at me. “You sure you’re okay over there? You look a little tense.”

I don’t answer. Just watch in horrified silence as she gets ready to sink the ball—the shot that will end me.

CRASH!

The unmistakable sound of a bar fight breaks out behind us.

Just a couple of drunk idiots shoving each other, knocking over stools, nothing serious.

Gary’s shouting obscenities and moving them along before I feel the need to get involved.

But it’s just enough of a distraction to make Zoe flinch, sending the cue ball spinning straight into the wrong pocket.

For a moment, neither of us reacts. Then I laugh. It bursts out of me loudly, triumphantly, and definitely a little unhinged.

Zoe whips around to face me, so fast her hair swishes with the motion. Her mouth drops open, and her eyes blaze with that I-will-bury-you-in-litigation look I’ve learned to fear and respect.

“That doesn’t count,” she snaps. “That was an interference!”

I hold my hands up. “You sunk the wrong ball. You lost.”

Her glare sharpens, heat rising in her cheeks. “That was not a fair win.”

“Listen,” I say, grinning, “I didn’t start the fight. It’s not my fault fate intervened.”

She crosses her arms, weight shifting onto one hip, looking so outrageously pissed off that I can’t help but love her.

Wait.

No, I don’t.

“Rules are rules, sweetheart.”

She exhales sharply, cursing under her breath and dragging a hand through her hair. Then, after a long pause, she mutters, “Fine. But I have conditions.”

“Oh, I love conditions.”

“One. No touching in public unless I initiate.”

“What if you fall over and I have to—”

Her eyes narrow.

I lift my hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No touching.”

“Two. No kissing. At all.”

I make a hmm sound, like I’m considering it. “What if a photo booth presents itself?”

Her nostrils flare.

“Fine. No kissing.”

“Three. This is temporary. If I want out, I’m out.”

That one stings, but I don’t let it show.

Instead, I nod once. “Deal.”

Her shoulders rise with a pained breath, and for a split second, I catch something in her expression. Hesitation, but maybe something else too. Like maybe she knows, just like I do, that this won’t be easy. Not because it’s the worst idea ever, but maybe because it’s the best.

Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off. “I’ll get in touch with John about the NDA in the morning.”

I grin, leaning a little closer, just to see if she’ll flinch.

“You’re really making this all professional and official, huh?”

She doesn’t blink. “Unlike you, I take my job seriously.”

God, I love pissing her off.

I tilt my head, studying her. “So that’s it? Just some rules and a handshake?”

“Yes.”

I let my grin stretch just enough to make her wary. “No contract-signing ceremony? No official initiation? No…” I pause, watching her closely. “Kiss to seal the deal?”

Zoe actually recoils. “Pardon?”

I shrug with casual indifference, even as something hot and reckless bubbles inside me. “Just seems like a missed opportunity.”

Her jaw clenches. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Because”—I lean in and lower my voice—“if you had just agreed to date me for real, you’d be pressed up against that wall over there while I kiss you senseless.”

Her eyes widen for a beat, and I drink it in, humming thoughtfully as my gaze drops to her mouth. A flash of pink, the way her lips press into a tight, irritated line. I shouldn’t push it.

I push it.

“We might as well make sure it looks convincing,” I add smoothly. “Consider it optics.”

Zoe glares daggers, and her fingers tighten around her cue stick like she’s considering shoving it through my chest.

“Rule two. No fucking kissing, Walton.”

“Just interesting, that’s all.”

She sighs. “Interesting how?”

I take a slow sip of my whiskey, watching her over the rim of my glass. “Just that you didn’t seem to have any complaints the last time I kissed you.”

Her entire body goes rigid, and her eyes flash a deep, molten brown, burning with a do not fucking go there warning. And because I have absolutely no sense of self-preservation, I go there.

“In fact, I think you liked it.”

Zoe actually vibrates, like her soul just briefly left her body. She blinks at me slowly, then inhales through her nose, sets her drink down, and tilts her head.

“Walton.”

“Carlson.”

“I hate you.”

My grin is slow and insufferable, and I know it. “No, you don’t.”

“I will pour my entire drink on your fucking head.”

I sigh dramatically. “Fine. No kissing. No touching. No fun of any kind.”

“Correct.”

“But if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“—you know where to find me.”

She glares. I sip my whiskey, unbothered. Then I casually lift my glass toward hers.

“At least have a toast to celebrate with me.”

“Celebrate what?”

I let the pause stretch, completely fucking hard from the way that little crease between her brows deepens.

“You being my girlfriend.”

The exact moment the words sink in, her entire face morphs into unfiltered horror. I bite back a laugh as she recoils, brows snapping together, jaw clenching like she’s about to implode.

“I am not your girlfriend.”

I grin. “ Technically —”

“Chase.”

There it is. My name, that sharp warning tone, like she’s one second away from snapping. It’s so fucking hot.

I clink my glass against hers before she can finish. “To my new girlfriend.”

Zoe lets out a loud, exasperated growl.

Gary looks up from behind the bar with a sigh. “Don’t think I won’t kick you two out on your asses, too!”

Zoe slams her drink down and stomps away.

I smirk, calling after her, “That’s not very girlfriend-like of you!”

She flips me off as she heads to the bathroom, and fuck it, I grin. Because somehow, I just pulled this off.

Zoe Carlson is fake dating me.

And I am so screwed.

But I think she might be, too.