Page 71 of Sour Notes

Would I be different now?

Maybe I wouldn’t feel so emotionally dead inside if he’d loved me. Could he have loved me?

God, what am I doing?

None of this is true. We’re manufacturing a lie—one that was my stupid, dangerous idea.

I definitely shouldn’t be thinking like this, just because Swayze knows how to play a great boyfriend. It’s terrifying how easily I could let myself believe it.

He chuckles, drawing me out of my ridiculous fantasy land, and the sound makes me shiver in his arms.

“You cold, Angel?”

He drops his lips to my neck again, and oh god, he needs to rein that in.

Those butterflies are back again. It shouldn’t be like this—this real. Every brush of his lips sends a pulse straight through me.

Shifting, I try to ignore the throb building low in my belly because the absolute last thing I need is a wet patch appearing on my dress—and not from the pool water, if you catch my drift.

Not my smartest move avoiding underwear tonight, but this dress and panty lines are not a vibe.

I’m swimming in great ideas lately.

With sharks.

“Umm, no, I’m all good.” I lean back against his chest and tilt my head to smile up at him. He grins before planting a soft kiss on my nose.

A nose kiss? God, as far as fake boyfriends go, Deputy Heartthrob's killing it. Who knew a perpetual playboy could rock the boyfriend role so well?

“Let me know if you do get cold, I’ll give you my shirt,” he murmurs, and dammit, that comment’s an automatic swoon.

We should not be swooning, Mia.

Ughhh, maybe I’m still loopy from the flight? Or maybe the soft denim shirt stretching across his muscles like a second skin needs to come with a damn warning label because it’s really working for him.

And as if Mr. Muscle wasn’t enough, the sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, leaving veiny tanned skin on display.

Did I mention I have a thing for veiny forearms? And I don’t think he’s wearing anything underneath.

Maybe I should pretend to be cold so he gets those abs out again.

One ticket to the gun show, please.

Sue me. I’m only human.

He’s paired his I’m too sexy shirt with white shorts and navy Converse, looking both vacation chic and casual.

And hot as fuck—rivaling his usual flight jacket, jeans, and boots combo.

“Enjoying my sloppy seconds, I see.” The nasally voice washes over me like a cold shower, chasing away the buzz I was riding, leaving me numb.

Totally empty.

I knew it was only a matter of time before he slithered my way. Of course he’d appear the second we’re left alone, ready to destroy my night. What was I thinking dropping my guard? I know better. Getting swept away in fantasy land can’t happen here. It’s not safe.

The rat always comes back. He won’t ever be content until he draws blood.

Swayze’s arms tighten, pulling me in closer, a low growl rumbling from his chest.