Page 18

EIGHTEEN

LENNON

My face is burning as I sink down into the chair at the dinner table, the flush creeping down my neck and disappearing beneath the front of my dress.

Every cell in my body feels like it’s on fire, and it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room and everything to do with the far too tempting hockey player next to me.

I am so beyond in over my head. I’m his to “kiss and touch.” What the hell was that, and why does it make my stomach dip just replaying the gravelly tone of his words?

Clearly, that champagne went straight to my head. I shouldn’t have drunk it on an empty stomach, and I absolutely should not be thinking about the way his lips felt as they brushed against my ea?—

“Lennon?” My father’s voice stirs me from my thoughts, and my face feels even hotter.

I clear my throat as I look up, gaze darting to Saint, who’s grinning like he’s just won something, then to my parents, who look slightly concerned still.

“Yes? Sorry, I was…” Saint kissing me in different places besides just behind my ear? Guilty. “Uh, just thinking about the test I have in my finance class.”

I’m going to crawl under this table any minute now.

“I was asking how the two of you met?” Mom asks as she swirls the red wine in her glass around slightly, wearing a knowing expression.

Shit.

I knew they’d ask questions, and I told Saint to go with the truth, but my mind is suddenly blanking, and I’m starting to panic until I feel his hand on the top of my thigh beneath the table. It’s warm and oddly… reassuring, even though I’m not sure if that’s what he meant it to be.

I suck in a deep breath, quickly gathering myself. He squeezes my thigh, and I fight the urge to press my legs together.

“We met at school,” I finally say, my words coming out in a rush. I reach beneath the table and try to pull his hand from my leg, but his fingers tighten.

No need to crawl beneath the table when I’m going to spontaneously combust. Why is my body being such a traitorous bitch when I hate this man?

I don’t understand.

Mom smiles. “Are you also majoring in business, Saint?”

I look over at him, praying that he doesn’t say something inherently ridiculous, which is the majority of what comes out of his mouth. “Nah. General studies. Just need to keep my grades passing so I can stay on the hockey team. I’m a left winger.”

“Oh, I see. I guess I’m just trying to figure out how the two of you… crossed paths?” She laughs airily. “Are your parents OU alumni?”

For a second, he’s quiet, something dark passing over his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“They’re not. I’m the only one in my family to go to college. First one out of the trailer park.” He chuckles, and Mom’s eyes widen. She looks over at my father with a cut of her eyes, nostrils slightly flaring.

Damn, he’s good.

“Ah, what an unlikely pairing between the two of you.” Her smile is strained as she lays down the backhanded insult.

What she really is saying is why am I with a hockey player, with no trust fund, no Roth IRA, no prestigious family name… no future.

At least not the one she and my father have been priming me for.

“Yeah, but this chemistry between us is just too fuc—” Saint starts, only to be interrupted by a flurry of waitstaff sweeping into the room, carrying the first course of the night. Plates of steaming steak, topped with garlic butter and greens, alongside roasted vegetables and fingerling potatoes.

Saved by the bell.

Relief floods me, my shoulders sagging. As much as it pains me to admit, Saint was right. We should’ve probably prepared better for this.

We somehow make it through the first course unscathed. Although my parents ask way too many questions that we manage to answer without the whole charade blowing up in our faces. It’s surprisingly easy to lie to them. Something I’ve never done before.

Until recently.

I pretend to know the guy sitting next to me, and the truth is, the only things I know about him are ones that drive me insane.

Like the way his fingers are currently trailing up the exposed skin of my thigh through the slit in my dress, dancing along my heated flesh until my nipples tighten.

My heart is racing as I look over at him, expecting his gaze to be on my parents, the party, his food.

Anywhere but… me.

His eyes are on me . The dark flare of hunger burning in the depths takes me by surprise and sends my pulse skittering, making me breathless.

God, what the fuck is happening right now?

I would clench my thighs together to stifle the persistent throb forming between them, but I can’t because then he’ll know exactly what he’s doing to me.

I hardly touch the rest of my food because I’m too focused on not reacting to Saint’s fingers dancing across my thigh.

I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to survive the rest of tonight , much less the entirety of this arrangement.

Ironically, it’s not because I’m going to murder him, although the jury is still out on that.

No, it’s because the one thing I wasn’t expecting was for him to be attracted to me at all and for it to be mutual.

He’s the last guy I should ever go for. Brooding bad boy couldn’t be further from my type, yet… I can’t deny it.

Maybe this attraction has existed since I met him, but only now with the sudden proximity, I’m painfully aware of the fact.

Even if I hate him.

This is why Maisie made the one and only rule… Don’t fall for the bad boy.

Bad boys are for fun only.

“Lennon, your mother and I need to make our rounds and speak with a few of the backers before the auction starts. Are you two planning on staying?” Dad asks from across the table, his eyes shining with disapproval as they bounce between Saint and me.

He wouldn’t say it out loud because he’s far too proper for that, but I can tell that he hates this.

The fact that I’m “dating” Saint and that I’ve brought him here tonight.

“No, I actually think we’re going to head out. Saint has an early practice tomorrow, and I need to keep studying for my finance test.”

None of that is true, but I think we’ve tested our luck enough times tonight.

I lift the napkin from my lap and set it onto the plate of barely eaten food, then turn to Saint. “I’m okay with heading out if you are?”

His eyes twinkle. “Of course, baby. I parked my bike out front.”

“ Bike ?” Mom blanches.

“Oh… I drive a vintage Indian classic motorcycle. I restored it myself at the auto shop I work at,” Saint says, his grin proud. “But don’t worry, my girl has her very own helmet. Safety first.”

He pats me gently on the top of my head, like I’m a cute little toddler.

My stomach lurches. My God, I might actually be responsible for my parents keeling over in the middle of this damn fundraiser.

Wait, I didn’t even know he had a job. I wonder if that’s real or just part of the ruse?

Honestly, he’s so good at this I can’t tell the difference. I make a mental note to ask him about it later as I watch Mom’s eyes widening in near panic, and Dad, well… he looks like he’s going to drop the “everything’s fine” facade any second now if the crimson shade of his face is any indication.

I think we’ve dropped one too many things on them tonight, and their decorum is fading.

“It’s totally fine. He drives very slowly,” I say with a bright smile, my voice an octave higher.

“Yep. Very slow, and Lennon knows how to ride. She’s a natural,” Saint says with a wink as he rises from his chair and offers me his hand. My cheeks are flaming, and I think I might swallow my tongue, but still, I slip my slightly clammy palm in his, and he helps me out of my chair.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon,” he drawls lazily.

I feel his arm slip around my waist, and I lean into him slightly as I offer my parents a smile. “I’ll check in sometime this week?”

A beat passes, the silence strained and tense as Mom nods.

“Yes, that sounds good. I’ll call you about the upcoming fundraising gala.

” Her eyes flick toward Saint, nostrils flaring beneath a brittle smile that’s so thin and forced I’m sure even he sees through it. “It was… lovely to meet you, Saint.”

He says nothing, just smirks, and it feels like a taunt more than anything.

I know that it’s probably terrible of me to feel this way, but seeing the hard look on both of their faces is worth every single second of stress orchestrating this has cost me.

Hopefully, my father gets the picture. That I’m not going to be with Chandler. Ever again.

Without another word, Saint pulls me away from the table and my parents toward the exit.

“Oh God, that was…” I breathe when we walk outside of the restaurant, the hot, humid September air sticking to every inch of my skin. “ Incredible. Did you see their faces? They totally believed it.”

Saint chuckles roughly from beside me. He’s got his hands shoved into his pants pockets, and the jacket he took off the second we walked outside is thrown over one arm, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up his elbows, showcasing the dark ink bled onto his skin.

I’ve never seen it this close up before, and the art is actually really beautiful.

It’s black and white, classically timeless.

The large rose covering his hand has wilted petals, falling away from the flower like it’s dying, and I want to ask him more about them, but if I did, he’d probably give me a bullshit answer.

“And the motorcycle part? That was the nail in the coffin. I thought he was going to flip the table.” I laugh, admittedly having a slight pep in my step.

Take that, Chandler, and your stupid, lying, cheating dick.

I actually haven’t told Saint about that part of this yet, but we’re still on a strictly need-to-know basis.

Hence me not asking personal questions about his art and what it means.

“Good job, Golden Girl. You’re slightly less of a kiss-ass than I thought you were.”

I halt mid-step, whipping to look at him. “I am not a kiss-ass. That’s rude.”

“I call it like I see it, and you are absolutely a kiss-ass. Tell me one thing you’ve ever done that wasn’t something someone else told you to do.”

Easy. “Skating.”

Saint shakes his head. “Nah, besides that.”

I chew the inside of my lip as I think, but ultimately, what have I ever done that was just for me?

I hate that he’s so easily honed in on it without even trying, uncovering one of my insecurities.

Rolling my eyes, I continue walking toward the rideshare parking lot. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

His laugh sounds behind me. “Yeah, because you can’t even answer that. Life would be so much more freeing if you stopped giving a shit what people thought, Golden Girl. It’s great not having to answer to anyone but yourself. You should try it.”

Yeah, well, not everyone has that luxury.