“Rae’s birthday party is this Friday, and I could use you as a wingman.”
“Don’t you mean wingwoman?”
He grins, all confidence and charm.
“Does that mean you’re in?”
“Well, since you brought that up, I think we should create our rules.”
Pax takes a drink of his soda as I reach for a notebook and pen. “You’re going to write them down?”
“How else are we going to remember them?”
His lips twist with a wry smile. “How many rules are we making?”
“We’re writing the rules of our agreement,” I point out. “Anything is up for discussion. For example, I think the first rule should be that we don’t tell anyone.”
Pax nods. “I would agree.”
I write it down and pause, placing the pen cap between my teeth. It’s a terrible habit, one my mom worked years to break, just like biting my nails. Paxton’s gaze lowers to my mouth, and he swallows, the column of his neck bobbing. I quickly redirect my focus to my notepad and lean back to gain a little space, and try to ignore the thought that wants to arise—the one that whispers about him being affected and, dare I say, turned on.
I clear my throat. “What do you think of making rule two be that we talk about things that bother or annoy each other? I mean, this is benefit of fake dating, right? We don’t have to pretend that if you chew with your mouth open that I don’t mind, and you don’t have to lie and tell me you like redheads.”
“What if I do like redheads?”
I roll my eyes. “You like brunettes, except for Candace.”
He grins but doesn’t object. “Write it down, boss.”
I do and barely refrain from rolling my eyes again.
“I need you to be my wingwoman whenever I go to a party. This will be beneficial for both of us. We won’t go out more than once a week.” Pax takes another drink of his root beer.
“Doesn’t wingwoman imply I’m going to help you hook up with someone at the party?” I ask.
“In this scenario, it means you’re going to be my plus one, so if Derek Paulson shows up to any party we’re at like the fucking shadow he is, I don’t kick his ass and get into more trouble than I’m already in.”
Last year, Paxton despised Derek after he started flirting with Rae. It was why she and Lincoln didn’t tell him initially when they started developing feelings for each other and later more. “I thought things were … amicable between you guys?”
He nods. “They were. Mostly. Until he started sleeping with Candace.”
I wince. “That’s low.”
Paxton traces his eyebrow again and then buries his fingers into his hair, making it stick up. “They’re only doing it to fuck with my head. I don’t care that she’s moved on. It’s good that she is, but…”
“It’s him,” I say, finishing his sentence. “I get it. She knew you hated him, and he knew you dated her.”
“Exactly,” he says. “They don’t give a single shit about each other. They’re just using each other to get to me.”
Like us.
I nod. “I’ll be there.”
Pax nods again, then reaches for the marinara sauce. “Shit. I forgot to ask for pesto for you. Hang on.” He gets out of his seat and goes to the counter, where he asks Demonic for a side of pesto, reminding me of one more seemingly insignificant detail that he knows about me. Our lives are made up of millions of tiny moments—details. They’re the threads of the tapestry that makes up our lives, and Paxton keeps reminding me of how many of my threads he represents.
When he turns around, I pull out my phone, needing a distraction because my thoughts are beginning to misread this situation, and I know it. I pull up my calendar and pretend like I’m busy.
Pax sets the pesto down in front of me. “I’m invoking rule two. I need a quick timeout. I can’t focus on anything but eating. I’m starving.”
“Rule two isn’t something you invoke. It’s just saying that we’re going to be open and honest with each other.” I shrug.
He balances a large slice of pizza on his fingertips. “Have you heard from Mike?” he asks, lifting his gaze to mine before he takes a bite of the slice loaded with meats and vegetables. The action has my eyes shifting from his squared cheekbones to his strong chin and finally to his mouth, memorizing the fullness of his lips, the light stain as he chews his bite of food.
I tear my attention to my pizza, clear my throat, and shake my head. “No. He only texted me the one time. I don’t even know why he did.”
Pax swallows. “He was paying attention to you at the bonfire.”
“I don’t think he believes we’re dating. He knows you’re Rae’s brother.”
A devilish smile claims his mouth. “He believes it now. I’m pretty sure he was ready to go fist to cuffs with me.”
Guilt leads in the race of emotions his words evoke. “His girlfriend seems nice,” I say.
He nods, taking another bite. I reach for one of the garlic knots, dipping it into the pesto. Pax looks at me, waiting for my reaction. “It’s good, right?”
It’s delicious with the right amounts of butter and garlic and all the gluten that appeases my hunger. “It’s really good. I could fill up on these.”
He grins. “We can come here every Sunday and Wednesday afternoon and study. It’s public enough that people will see us, and far enough away we won’t have constant interruptions. Plus, free pizza.”
I consider how this would fit into our rules or if it does. “That’s a good idea. We’ll make it rule three. What else should we add?”
Pax takes another bite, his gaze expressive, though challenging to decipher aside from the spark of humor before he takes a drink. “I can tell you’re a little
