Page 41 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
“Three, four days tops.” She glances at him again. “I can stay at the hotel. It’s not a big deal.”
“Let him stay.” I spit the words out.
I’m going to regret this. I know it immediately.
And by the shocked look on Dylan’s face, she is too, but for completely different reasons from mine. Hers? Ex-boyfriend in her face when she’s still trying to get over him. Mine? It’s twofold. First off, her in a hotel room near his. Not the scenario I want to picture. Second, who would say no to playing house for a few days with a hot female? Add to that knowing it would drive tantrum boy crazy with the charade is icing on the cake.
“What do you mean let him stay?” Her eyes widen and confused disbelief blankets her face.
He laughs again. The spikes on his cuff reflect off the sun and make me roll my eyes. “I mean just that. Let him stay.”
“But why?” she stutters as confused to my reaction as I am.
“Because he deserves the torture of sitting here for a few days and seeing how deliriously happy you are. So let him stay while we play it up and make it so sugary sweet he leaves with a cavity.”
“I don’t think—”
“He needs to regret what he did to you.”
She chuckles nervously and her hands mixing the ricotta fall idle. “Don’t say this just to get more meals out of me because you haven’t tasted my cooking yet.”
She’s goddamn adorable. “I’m certain that anything of yours will taste like heaven.”
She stares at me—her eyes widen and head jostles. I love that I can fluster her so easily. She should be used to forward guys after living in Jett’s world, so every time I can make her blush, I’ll take it. It’s the perfect mix of sexy and sweet, and fuck if I won’t mind enjoying a bit more of both while we play house.
“How do you intend to make him see what he’s missing?” she asks, ignoring my comment and the riot of uncertainty it brings her as she averts her eyes and starts mixing vigorously almost as if she knows the answer but is afraid to acknowledge it.
“We continue what you started.” The stirring slows again, and it takes her a minute to lift those gray eyes of hers and meet mine. “We’re a couple. Isn’t that what you told him? Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Kissing. Touching. The whole nine yards.”
Fucking.
Her eyes narrow as she realizes she’s just been screwed by her own game. “I know what I told him.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
“That you’re a firefighter.”
“And you’re going to be leaving in a few months. So?” I shrug as if she’s making more of this than she is, but I won’t deny I hate saying the words. I’ve gotten used to having her around. “This is make-believe, remember? Me being a firefighter has nothing to do with it, and even if it did, whoever you’ve pegged me to be because of my profession, I assure you, I’m not him.”
I glare at her and see something pass through her expression that I don’t understand. It almost looks like guilt, but she clears it away as soon as it’s there.
“I’m not sure if we can pull it off.” She shakes her head.
“You’re a songwriter who writes about make-believe happiness. And a woman who I’m sure would love to see her ex be put in his place, so why won’t this work?”
Why am I talking her into this?
“True.” She’s caving.
Because the woman can kiss. And that might just be a side benefit of this situation.
“What do you say, Dylan?” Please. Use me. “We can always make Petunia sleep with him too.”
“Oh my God,” she says through a laugh.
“Right?”
“He’s going to die when he meets her.”
