“Baloney.” Alina waved off his objection with a flick of her fingers. “You were handsome then, and you’re handsomer now. Right, Rosie?”
“Absolutely.” She took his hand and wished she could drain away the embarrassment twisting his features.
“Okay, enough bragging. Let’s have dessert. I made your favorite, Eddie.” Alina left them alone to scrape their respective self-esteem off the floor.
Eddie raked his fingers into his hair and paced. She bit her lip, imagining him walking off a defeat in the wrestling ring, wearing that tight little leotard that cupped his butt like a second skin.
Finally, he flopped onto the bed. “Am I dead yet?”
She sat beside him. “It’s not so bad. Your mom’s proud of you.” She kissed his forehead. “And you looked really hot in that singlet. Do you still have it?”
He stared at her open-mouthed, then burst into deep, belly-shaking laughter. She slid her arm around his shoulders, and he buried his face in her chest, shuddering with mirth. Heat flooded her core. Had he ever fucked a girl on this narrow bed? Would the padded headboard slam against the wall? Would the box spring squeak?
Just a friend, just a friend, just a friend.
Finally, he raised his damp, red face, wiped his eyes, and grinned. “You are truly the best. Thank you.” He hauled her to her feet. “Let’s go have some chocolate salami.”
“Chocolate what?”
“Sounds gross, right? It’s actually like fudge, with broken vanilla wafers and walnuts. When you slice it, it looks like salami.” He squeezed her hands. “If you can choke down a slice or two, we can get out of here.”
“Hey, I got no problem with your mom’s cooking. Or your mom. She’s a sweetheart.” She pecked his cheek and tried to turn toward the door, but he held her hands and her gaze for a long, silent moment. What was cooking behind those long-lashed, dark eyes?
Finally, he huffed and dropped her hands. “You’re right. She’s a good mom. Let’s go.”
Chapter Nine
It took every last bit of Eddie’s self-control to finish the fudgy treat his mom made to please him and his “new girlfriend” before fleeing to the safety of his own apartment. Guilt twisted his stomach as he accepted the plate of leftovers she pressed on him “In case you two get hungry later.” God, she was probably planning their wedding by now.
Time to stomp the brakes.
In the hallway, he helped Rosie into her coat. “You want to come up and take a picture of the quilt?”
“Yes please.”
Behind them, his mom tittered.
“Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Volkov,” Rosie said with a wave. “Thanks for a wonderful meal.”
He pulled her through the door and toward the stairs.
“What’s the rush, Eddie? It’s not like we have to work tonight.”
Usually, he took Tuesday nights off. Dawn had made a sour face when he asked to switch his night off to Wednesday, same as Rosie, but offered no comment beyond, “Remember, no relationship drama at work.”
Eddie opened his apartment door and waved her through. “We need to talk.”
“Ruh-roh. Sounds grim.” She shrugged halfway out of her coat. “Or should I keep it on?”
“What? No.” Did she think he was giving her the boot? Then again, why wouldn’t she think that? He was using her to appease his family. By lying to them. I’m a shitty son and a shitty excuse for a friend.
“Please, let’s sit. You want some tea?”
She shook her head, her gaze never wavering from his.
He took her hand. No words came.
She inclined her head. “Out with it, pretend boyfriend. What’s eating you?”
“This.” He pointed from his chest to hers. “I should never have asked you to pretend you like me.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “I’m not pretending, Eddie. I do like you. A lot.” She wove her fingers through his.
Damn, she was not making this easy. Well, this was his pile of shit to shovel. Time to dig in.
“Thanks, Rosie. You were fantastic tonight. An Oscar-worthy performance. But I’ve been using you, and I can’t anymore.”
“Oh.” She released him and folded her hands in her lap. “Guess I misunderstood.” She huffed a wry chuckle. “My specialty, jumping to conclusions.”
He knuckled his eyes. If he could just find the right words to express how much he wished this phony relationship could be real, could be more. But talking about feelings was never his strength. No way to turn this emotional clusterfuck into a neat bullet-point list.
Rosie stood and headed for the door. He bolted after her, grabbed her elbow, and spun her around. “Please, Rosie. I’m absolute crap at this, but let me try.”
Her shaky sigh stabbed him right in his messy, gooey middle. “Okay. Explain.”
He shoved a hand into his hair and paced. “What I’m trying to say is I was wrong to ask you to pretend. I brought you up here on New Year’s Eve, and I have no right to try and control the outcome. We got caught. That’s on me. If all you wanted was a one-night stand, I have to accept that.”
“Eddie, I never—”
“I know, you didn’t mean to hurt me. None of this is your fault, and I was a wimpy weasel to try and lie my way out of it.”
Tears sheened her eyes. “My feelings for you aren’t a lie, Eddie.”
He spun away again, wearing a groove in the floor with his nervous pacing. “I like you too—a lot. You’re the most interesting, exciting person I know. But we can’t keep up this stupid charade.” He flung a hand toward the house below. “Mama’s getting attached to you. I can’t let her get even more attached between now and the wedding, then tell her we broke up. That’s just cruel.”
He couldn’t let himself get more attached, either. If they were going to be friends, he needed the insulation of the bar. Surrounded by all those people, he could resist temptation. Here, he just wasn’t strong enough.
He thumped his fist on the breakfast counter. “It’s not your job to protect me from their old-fashioned notions.”
“You’ll go
