The Relationship Pact(23)

“To be honest, my mother will have someone there as my date if I don’t bring one. And while that seems fairly innocuous, it’s not. It’s a long and convoluted story that ends with my mother trying to marry me off to some random athlete that she thinks will simultaneously make me happy and save me from a life of eating TV dinners alone.” She sighs. “So I need a date, a fake one I won’t actually fall in love with, to save me from an arranged marriage.”

She smiles triumphantly.

I tilt my head to the side. “There’s one problem I don’t think you’ve accounted for.”

She makes a face.

“You don’t think you’ll fall in love with me?” I grin. “That’s very bold of you, Larissa.”

She levels her gaze on me. The sparkle is still there but also a heavy dose of confidence I wasn’t expecting.

“On the contrary, I think it’s very bold of you to think I will, Hollis.”

“Your naivete is adorable.”

“And your confidence is admirable.”

We watch each other like two gamblers in Vegas—both of us waiting for the other to fold.

This is a side of her that I didn’t expect. It’s a whole lot sexy, and a little badass, and I could really, really get into it.

But I won’t.

“I think the logical thing for us to do is to establish some boundaries for this relationship pact,” she says. “I mean, if you’re still considering this whole thing.”

I rub a hand down the side of my face. “What kind of boundaries?”

“Well, our interaction and relationship—both in reality and the one we are putting on for everyone else—is rooted in friendship. We might be acting like a couple but not a couple-couple. Not all over each other,” she says. “More like friends that might be trying something new.”

I get what she’s saying. It makes a lot of sense.

“Can we fuck and still be friends, though?” I ask.

She’s not sure if I’m teasing or not.

Her eyes shoot to the ceiling, her little rosebud of a pout parting and gasping for a quick breath of air.

I’m not kidding. I’d love to break her down and have her reeling from it for days. But that’s not what we’re doing here, and it’s probably for the best. I’m not sure she’s used to that sort of thing, and I’m definitely not a guy like she’s used to.

Case in point: Sebastian.

“I’m just kidding,” I tell her. “I don’t think you can handle me.”

She sighs, knocking a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re an asshole.”

I shrug.

She sits up and takes a drink of her tea. When she looks at me again, she’s composed.

“If I do start to fall in love with that wicked charm of yours, all I’ll have to do is remember this conversation, and I’m sure I’ll be able to deal,” she says.

“Yeah, well, women usually take it as a challenge.”

“Not me. I’m challenged out. Just looking for the easy road from here on out.” She pulls her purse onto her lap and sorts through it. “What will your dinner thing require? A dress? Casual? A bottle of wine?”

“Casual. I think. He said pizza.”

She looks up. “Pizza is good.”

“Pizza is great.”

She nods and takes her hand out of her purse. “Okay. For my thing, you’d need a suit and tie. Would that be a problem?”

“Nope. I have one with me for the event I’m here for to start with.”

“Can you make small talk?” she asks.

“I’m making small talk now, aren’t I?”

“Good point.”

She puts her purse back on the chair and focuses solely on me once again.

The need to move, to burn off excess energy comes rushing back again. My leg bounces up and down as I wait for her to figure out what she wants to do.

Because I know what I want to do.

I want to make this deal.

It’ll help me out of a bind. Fortunately, it’ll help her too.

And the fact I’ll get to hang out with her and watch her laugh and banter back and forth isn’t that bad either.

She wrinkles her nose. “So do we have a deal?”

“I’m in if you are.”

She shoves her hand across the table. I take it in mine.

Her skin is as soft as I remember, and her perfume brings me right back to the sea. Feeling the warmth in her palm and the sturdiness in the weight of her hand causes my leg to stop hopping around under the table.

We shake gently, easily, our eyes glued together.

She slips her hand from mine entirely before I’m ready, which is weird because I don’t do the hand-holding thing. I mean, I’ve done it. Sometimes you have to in order to keep the peace. But it’s never once been something I wanted or enjoyed. It feels intimate—like parents and their kids or girlfriends and boyfriends—and when have I ever had that?

Never. And despite what Lincoln said earlier, it’s not something I’ll probably ever have. That shit makes me uncomfortable.

Still, I miss the stillness from Larissa’s touch, and that throws me a bit.

“Guess we have a deal then,” she says softly, her eyes finding mine.