Pretend You're Mine (Inked Hearts 3)

Sunlight falls over Ryan as he gets out of the car. It bounces off his light skin. Sinks into his dark clothes.

He offers me his hand as he steps onto the street.

I intertwine my fingers with his. My skin buzzes from the contact. My body fails to understand we’re pretending. My pulse races. My stomach flutters. My breath catches in my throat.

It’s hot today.

And with Ryan this close—

God, I’m on fire.

I move closer. Fall into step next to him.

We turn the corner, walk past a lingerie shop, a yoga studio, a cafe.

There it is, the bakery chain doing the wedding’s catering. The shop is all white and pink, lace curtains, soft colors, three, four, and five tier cakes in the windows.

Ryan pulls the door open and motions after you.

The room buzzes. Conversation. Clinking forks. The hum of the air conditioner.

Two kids are sharing a cookie in the corner. The family next to them is tearing into a tiny purple cake. And the short, thin woman in an orchid cardigan—

Penny.

Ryan’s hand squeezes mine.

I pull him closer. Not for him—though I can feel how much he needs that. For me. Because her curious stare is draining every ounce of my warmth.

The guy sitting next to her is handsome. I’ll give him that. He’s tall, with neat dirty blond hair and green eyes. His relaxed t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders. His tanned arms are ink free.

He looks like a Dockers advertisement.

Like a guy who wears boat shoes.

He is wearing boat shoes.

It’s three steps to the ground floor. A giant display case of pastries is in front of us. A sign, with prices and coffee specials, is behind that. The tables are to our right.

Penny and Boat Shoes are sitting at the table next to the pastry case.

They’re sipping coffee from pink mugs.

She’s staring.

He’s oblivious.

Ryan drops my hand. Slides his arm around my waist. “You ready?”

I turn to him. Peel his sunglasses from his face, fold them, hang them on his shirt.

He stares down at me.

Hurt fills his blue eyes. I run my fingers over his cheek. I need to do something to wipe his pain away.

But that’s hopeless.

The best I can do is—