Page 20

20

Jake

I can hear the music way before we reach the dance area—a lively shuffle of fiddles and steel guitars drifting across the open field. Lanterns hang from poles and barn rafters, throwing warm light onto a makeshift dance floor where couples two-step or line dance. The late-summer air is rich with dust, hay, and the buzz of a small-town festival in full swing.

I guide Piper along the dirt path with my hand resting at the small of her back.

It's our first official outing as a "couple" since she proposed this arrangement, and I'm still processing how quickly I agreed. Part of me knows exactly why I said yes—it's the perfect chance to turn her little game back on her. Let her think she's got me where she wants me, when really, I'm the one in control. But there's something else, too. Something I'm not ready to name yet. A curiosity about what it might feel like if this weren't just for show.

A pickup rumbles by, so I shift closer, shielding her from any stray gravel. Part of me knows she doesn’t need the protection—Piper’s as independent as they come. But I do it anyway.

At the entrance, I pay without hesitation. When I glance at her, she’s flashing me a bright, overly adoring smile. I arch a brow.

“Easy, sweetheart,” I murmur. “That grin’s a bit much.”

She bats her lashes. “We’re supposed to look like we’re having fun. Isn’t that the point?”

I give a half-smile, not bothering to argue. Lanterns and string lights lead us inside, past tables circling a wide wooden dance floor. I spot Knox, Ethan, Layla, and Nash off to one side, and steer Piper toward them.

“Over here!” Layla calls.

I pull out a chair for Piper—manners from being raised by Dad, I guess—and watch her slip into it with that careful little half-smirk she does. I ease down into my seat, picking up my drink. The way Piper’s smiling, you’d think I just solved world hunger.

She bats her lashes again. “Chivalry’s not dead.”

I lean closer, lowering my voice. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, aren’t you?”

Piper giggles in an over-bright tone. “Oh my gosh, you’re, like, so funny. I can’t believe you just said that!”

Nash chokes on his soda, and I level a look at Piper. “Yeah? Which part was so hilarious?”

She flusters, cheeks coloring. “Uh…just…the way you said it.”

“Uh-huh.” I set my drink down. “So you’re always this entertained, or are you just playing dumb for me?”

Her fake laugh snuffs out. “I—I’m not playing dumb.”

I drop my voice. “Good. Because I like the real you, who wants to tell me to shut up but won’t. Go on. Say it.”

Her gaze flicks up, defiant. “Fine. Shut up.”

A grin tugs at my mouth. “There she is. Good girl.”

She flushes hard, staring at the table, and I smother a smug grin. If she thinks I don’t notice how that phrase rattles her, she’s kidding herself.

Ethan clears his throat. “Uh…anyone up for funnel cakes?”

Layla jumps to her feet. “I’ll come. Piper?”

Piper all but bolts up, muttering something about yes, absolutely while she and Layla hurry off.

***

They’re gone a while, so I chat with Nash and Knox, half-listening to the band. When Piper returns, I catch a glimpse of Layla and Ethan sneaking a quick kiss behind a post, apparently unaware they have an audience. My eyebrows arch, and I shoot Piper a look—one that says, We’ll figure out what’s going on later. She just shrugs and takes her seat again.

“So,” she says after a few minutes, sipping her soda, “your dad’s here with Annie?”

I shrug. “He’s a… ladies’ man.”

She lifts a brow. “So, are they dating?”

I glance over at Dad, who’s spinning Annie across the floor, flirting up a storm. “God, I hope not. She’s nice, but Dad flirts with everyone. And she’s his neighbor. It’d be…messy.”

Piper mumbles something about “messy” and “blog hits,” then goes quiet. Then the band cranks out a faster tune, and I figure it’s the perfect time to ratchet up the show.

I nudge Piper’s arm. “We should dance.”

She beams up at me in that sugary fake way. “Oh my gosh, I’d love to!”

I guide her onto the floor, but the second we’re in the thick of the crowd, I yank her closer, letting my hands slide down to her hips. She stiffens, and a little thrill runs through me. Oh, I’m gonna enjoy making her squirm.

“Relax,” I murmur, dropping my cheek near hers so I can speak over the music. “Pretend you like me.”

She swallows hard. “I—I do like you,” she chirps, voice too sweet to be real.

A low laugh rumbles in my chest. “Uh-huh. Now say it without that plastic smile.”

Her shoulders slump in a quick exhale, like she’s giving up the act. We move in sync, and I’m honestly surprised how well she follows my lead. “Wow,” she mutters after a moment, half-laughing. “You’re just amazing at everything, aren’t you?”

I lock eyes with her, tone going flat. “That’s cute. Say it like you mean it this time.”

She blinks, clearly thrown. “What?”

I swing her into a slow spin, one arm slipping around to the small of her back. “If you actually think I did something impressive, say it. If not, don’t waste my time with fake praise.”

Piper’s mouth opens, then closes. Finally, her shoulders loosen. “Alright. You’re good at this. Really good.”

The genuine spark in her eyes has me smiling back—couldn’t hide it if I tried. We let the band’s rhythm carry us in playful circles, even teasing each other about stepping on toes. There’s a moment I forget this is all for show, because we’re actually… having fun.

Then the music shifts—slow, smoky, meant for bodies pressed close. All around us, couples pair off, and I can feel the shift in energy, thick as the air, hot and humming with tension.

She’s laughing at something Nash said, her eyes glinting under the string lights. Hair curling down over her shoulders, hips swaying just slightly as she stands. There’s nothing about her that isn’t distracting. Nothing that doesn’t pull me in.

And she feels it too—I see it in the second her eyes meet mine. Her smile slips, just a little, like I’ve knocked the wind out of her. She looks down at her drink, but not before I catch the flush starting to rise.

She’s rattled. Good.

I move toward her without thinking. No lines, no plan. Just a thrum under my skin and the weight of everything unsaid between us.

When I stop in front of her, she looks up. There’s something flickering in her eyes—uncertainty? Curiosity? Want?

I don’t wait.

“Dance with me,” I say, low and steady, like it’s not a request.

She doesn’t answer—just nods once. Barely. But that’s all I need. I take her hand, her skin warm against mine, and lead her to the center of the floor.

We’re not performing now. This isn’t for the crowd, or the plan, or any goddamn dare.

This is mine.

I pull her in, slow and firm, my hand sliding up her back to the nape of her neck. Her pulse kicks under my palm, fast and fragile. I wonder if she knows I feel it too—that pounding in my chest, the burn behind my ribs that’s got nothing to do with pretending.

Her breath hits my collarbone. Soft. Barely there.

I tilt her chin up and kiss her.

Deep. Hot. Not asking.

Her lips part on a gasp, and then she’s melting into me, arms winding around my neck like she’s been waiting for this as long as I have. My hand drops to her hip, pulling her tighter against me. She fits. Too well. Too easy.

My cock’s already hard—has been since she walked onto that floor—but now it aches, straining against my jeans as she shifts just enough to grind against me. It’s un-fucking-real, the way one kiss from her makes me feel like a teenager again, desperate and dangerously close to forgetting this is supposed to be fake.

Fuck.

I groan into her mouth when her fingers tighten in my shirt. She tastes like sugar and challenge. Like every fantasy I didn’t let myself have.

Everything disappears. The band, the people, the bullshit. All I know is her.

Her body soft and pressed to mine. Her breath stuttering. The way her kiss shifts—hesitant to hungry. Controlled to chaos.

I deepen it, just to see how far she’ll go. Her tongue brushes mine, and I swear I feel it everywhere.

Blood rushes south in a violent wave, and for a second, I want to drag her behind the nearest stall and fuck her until she forgets why she ever dared me in the first place.

By the time I pull back, we’re both breathing like we just came up for air.

“Damn,” she whispers, her voice cracked open.

Her cheeks are flushed, lips kiss-bitten. She’s blinking at me like I just rewrote her universe.

I lean in, forehead to hers, voice rough. “Told you.”

She lets out this shaky laugh, fingers still twisted in the front of my shirt. “You didn’t say it would be like that.”

I don’t say anything. Just hold her gaze. Let her feel it. Whatever this is.

She brushes her fingers against my chest, hesitant now. Like she knows we crossed something. Like she’s scared to name it.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

That this is a mistake. That it’s too much. That I want more.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

She smiles—too soft, too knowing. “Liar.”

And then she kisses me again.

This time, it’s gentler. Slower. The kind of kiss that tastes like hope.

By the time we break apart, we’re both wrecked. I rest my hand against her back and she sags into me, forehead against my chest like maybe she’s scared of what this means too.

The music shifts, picking up again, but neither of us moves.

Cameras flash, phones snapping pictures. My own phone buzzes with notifications—no doubt we’re giving everyone the show they came for. “You’re enjoying this too much,” she mutters, breathless.

I brush a lock of hair from her face. “Aren’t you?”

She doesn’t respond, because the answer’s obvious.

She finally whispers, “We should probably sit down.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her lower back. “Probably.”

I take her hand. We weave through the crowd, not speaking. Still buzzing. Still warm.

We settle at a small table tucked off to the side. Just us. No cameras. No crowd.

She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at me like she’s still trying to figure me out. Like maybe I’m trying to figure myself out too.

“So,” she says, soft. “What was that?”

I reach for her hand across the table. Her fingers twitch, but she doesn’t pull away.

“That?” I say. “That was the beginning.”

Her eyes widen just a little. She bites her lip. “Beginning of what?”

“Of whatever this is,” I answer, not blinking.

She studies me. Long. Careful.

And then she nods. Smiles.

“I like the sound of that.”

I squeeze her hand. She doesn’t let go.

And just like that, I’m in deeper than I planned. Maybe deeper than I can crawl out of.

But for now? I don’t want out.

Not even a little.

Then the song shifts to a slow tune, and I tug her against me, fingers sliding up to the nape of her neck. Her pulse kicks under my hand. Without warning, I lower my mouth onto hers in a deep, claiming kiss. It’s hotter than I remember, her lips parting in surprise, her arms curling around my shoulders. The crowd, the music—everything else blurs.

“Damn,” she gasps when I finally pull back, cheeks flaming.

I smirk, towing her off the dance floor. Cameras flash, phones snapping pictures. My own phone buzzes with notifications—no doubt we’re giving everyone the show they came for. “You’re enjoying this too much,” she mutters, breathless.

I brush a lock of hair from her face. “Aren’t you?”

She doesn’t respond, because the answer’s obvious.