What the hell?
Of course he would come to the bar on the one night I just happened to be there.
And he wasn’t alone.
Dean was there too.
As Rhys strode toward me, his expression unreadable, my heart raced and my palms grew clammy. It had been five days since the paintball exercise. Five days of a complete lack of focus on my part. Not only because I had come to the uncomfortable realization that I had a humongous crush on the guy I was paying to date me (rookie mistake!), but because Fairchild had invited us to a garden party tomorrow. Jackson, with obvious discomfort, had made it clear that my invitation to this party was contingent upon Rhys escorting me.
Rhys had, of course, agreed to come but I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that I’d vowed to keep myself physically and emotionally distant from this man and how impossible it would be to maintain that vow when we had to continue to pretend to be in a relationship in front of all my colleagues.
As Rhys stopped at our table, I let out a shaky exhalation I knew he didn’t miss. His eyes narrowed on my mouth before he gave me what might have been a tender smile, if I thought for a second he had tender feelings toward me.
Which I knew he didn’t.
He was a very good actor.
Something he’d proven when he kissed the hell out of me at paintball, only to be completely unaffected by it.
My knees were still like jelly when I’d gotten home that night.
The big jerk.
The text he’d sent me this evening was also fresh in my mind. Apparently, he felt the need to remind me he was getting paid to escort me. And kiss me. While I was emotionally and physically discombobulated by his superior kissing talent, he was clearly concerned I might be getting the wrong idea about our “relationship.”
Like I needed the reminder I was as far from his type as a woman could be.
Some of my irritation must’ve registered on my face because he grinned, and it was filled with mischief. “Hey, sweetheart.” He bent down and kissed me full on the lips, quick, hard, and pulled back before I could react. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be in my part of town tonight.”
“Uh … I didn’t know.”
“And who are you?” Ren asked belligerently, reminding me we were not alone.
And crap.
I did not want to lie to my friends.
“Rhys Morgan.” His expression turned blank as he checked out Ren. “I’m dating Parker. You are?”
Ren’s eyebrows drew together, and he cut me a hurt look. Double crap. “Your boyfriend?”
“Well …” My mouth opened and shut like a guppy. “You see … I was going …”
“We haven’t been dating long. On that note”—Rhys clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder—“Tink, this is my baby brother, Dean. Dean, this is Parker.”
Dean gave me a knowing smirk. The fact that it was sexy was more of an observation on my part, rather than a reaction. Huh. Strange, because Dean Morgan was definitely more my type. Although he and Rhys shared similarities in their features, Dean was blond and clean-cut while Rhys was all dark, rugged masculinity. Dean was in shape, but he was an academic, while Rhys was the ultimate athlete. Dean was all-American handsome; Rhys was …
Rhys was … just looking at him caused a delicious ache between my legs, even in the midst of my anxiety over lying to my friends.
How was this possible? How could this mortifying nightmare be happening to me?
Rhys Morgan was so not my type.
Argh!
And I was definitely not his.
Therein lies the problem.
“Nice to meet you, Parker. Heard a lot about you.” Dean shook my hand, and I couldn’t help but glare at him as I noted the laughter in his eyes. Obviously, he shared his brother’s twisted sense of humor.
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied politely. I avoided direct eye contact with my friends as I gestured to them. “Elijah, Navin, Ren, this is my … boyfriend, Rhys, and his brother, Dean. Rhys owns a boxing gym right around the corner. Rhys, these are my college friends. I think I told you about our quiz nights.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
Before anyone could say another word, Bill the bar owner returned to the stage to continue the quiz.
Rhys bent toward me, his lips near my right ear as Bill’s voice quieted the bar. My fake boyfriend’s breath caressed my skin, and I hunched up a shoulder to chase away the answering shiver. “We’ll just grab a beer and be right over. You want anything?”
Trying to make my smile as natural as possible, all the while cursing my bad luck, I shook my head. “We’re good.”
“An encomium is a speech or piece of writing that does what?” Bill asked into the mic as Rhys and Dean walked away from the table. Bill looked up from the card in his hand toward the bar. “Jesus fuck, Della, where the fuck did you get these fucking questions?”