Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Mina

Nathan is a much better actor than I gave him credit for. I actually thought he was concerned for me. For this precious moment, he looked like he genuinely cares about me. Like he could tell I'm going through something and wanted to help.

And I liked him looking that way.

After an hour of feeling my core tighten and my nipples pebble every time he leaned over me to adjust the pool cue, maybe that makes sense. I've never had someone flirt so suggestively, so thoroughly, pulling out my chair for me, opening doors, deep, intense eye contact whenever I talk, followed by questions that suggest he was actively listening.

He makes me feel appreciated.

He makes me feel beautiful.

He makes me feel wanted, no, needed, like he's seconds from lifting my skirt, ripping my undies to shreds and burying himself to the hilt. And then, when we're finished, we'd spend the whole night on the beach. He'd play his guitar for me, and we'd laugh and talk and connect until the sun shimmered across the sea.

No wonder I'm confused.

Attention like that would be hard for anyone to resist.

I line up a shot, half wishing for the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the brush of his lips against my ear, when Nathan's phone dings. I glance over in time to see his eyes darken. His jaw tightens. His lips press into a thin line and his shoulders slump. All the light that had brightened his scowl drains away. He is The Prince of Darkness once again.

"Damn it," he mutters, then locks the screen and banishes his phone to a back pocket with a gritty apology.

"What's wrong? Is Ricky having another guitar emergency? Do you need to go?"

Nathan brushes off my question. "It's nothing bad. Nothing good either, but it can wait," he says, his scowl deepening.

"You sure?" I ask, concern tightening my chest.

His mood has done a full one-eighty. Whatever just happened is more bad than good. I cock my head in question and wait to hear more.

He doesn't make me wait long. "I have an alert set for whenever my name gets mentioned online. Apparently yet another article has been published about me."

My initial response is full of long-standing biases. Something along the lines of: Why am I not surprised? Of course he needs to know the second someone mentions him. His ego demands dopamine from spotlights and attention.

Though, that doesn't jibe with the man I'm starting to know. Nathan West doesn't need approval from others the way I assume everyone with fame and money does. And if the pulsing muscle in his jaw has anything to say about it, he's not riding high on a much needed dose of dopamine.

He's pissed the hell off.

Go figure. I can always count on The Prince of Darkness to find a reason to be grumpy.

Meanwhile, my belly tingles with a heady mix of excitement and worry. Fallon said she would mention me in her next article. I've been giddy ever since. Maybe this is it.

"What's it say?" I ask, aware that my excitement clashes with his frustration and consciously take it down a notch. The chances that this has anything to do with Fallon's article are small. I doubt she's even a blip on his radar.

Nathan scrubs his face, then shakes his head. "Nothing good, I'm sure. They never do."

I cringe, thinking of Fallon's mission to make him see how much he's changed. " None of them?"

"Not lately anyway." Nathan sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. It flops into his eyes, transforming his scowl into a smolder before he shakes it back into place. "And it's mostly just one blogger. She's relentless. If I so much as step into the crosswalk a second early, she's there. Yammering away about my villain era."

I inwardly cringe. Fallon's been calling this his villain era too. I've always questioned the validity of her idea to "bring him back to himself." How can pointing out someone's mistakes, without context or caring, spur positive change? If his reaction to this other blogger is any indicator, he has enough people calling him out. I'll have to tell her how much it bothers him so she can take it down a notch.

Nathan sucks his teeth before sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles flex and my libido shouts its approval. I imagine him hefting me onto the pool table, spreading my knees with strong palms sliding up my inner thighs, stepping close, heated gaze, rough touch…

Enough already! His response to me asking for an advance should be enough to shut down all physical reactions from this point forward.

Isn't that what a boyfriend would say?

Dear Mina. This is fake. Sincerely, yourself.

I drag my focus back to Nathan's face and look for something to say, but he sits forward, gesturing as he continues.

"And on the one hand, I get it. A lot about my life has changed, but this woman…she crosses lines. Everything I do, and I mean everything, she twists into something terrible with these clickbait headlines. She's profiting off my misery. Fucking vulture. She has my whole family thinking I'm out drinking myself stupid and sleeping with a different woman every night. I tell them it's not me, it's my friend, but they'd rather believe her. It's the whole reason I came up with this fake relationship idea in the first place, to help them see she's the problem, not me…just see for yourself." Shaking his head in disgust, Nathan shifts one hip to slide his phone out of his pocket, then freezes. "You know what? Never mind. It doesn't matter. Whatever Fallon fucking Mae has to say about me can wait for later. I don't need to drag you into this more than I already have."

Fallon…? She's the reason he's paying me to date him?

"I kind of thought you'd be used to being in the public eye, after growing up in a family like yours."

Nathan picks up his empty glass and glares into the bottom before plonking it back to the table. "There's no way to get used to invasions of privacy like this. This woman can blow a cup of coffee into a three-act tragedy. And then? When something bad does happen? It's blasted to the world, without any context. I'm imperfect, just like everyone else. I'm good and bad and right and wrong. I just get to go through it all with public commentary."

I catch myself chewing my lip and take a drink instead. Damn nervous habits sneaking in to ruin my aura of confidence. Being friends with Fallon makes me feel complicit in his misery. He's so much deeper than she gives him credit for. He's not a two-dimensional character on a TV show. He has nuance and feelings. I need to tell her to back off.

"Humans weren't designed to have this much attention," Nathan continues. "Fucks with your head." His green eyes flash with anger, followed by sympathy. "If this headline is any indicator, you'll see what I mean soon enough."

"Why?" Adrenaline dumps into my system, twisting excitement with concern. This must be the article Fallon told me about. "What's it say?"

And why didn't she let me read it first?

Nathan pulls his phone out of his pocket to read, "Serial dater Nathan West adds another girl to his lineup—and she's a little different from the rest." He rolls his eyes and puts the device on the table. "I promise you, it's better if you don't pay attention."

"That's not bad, though." I smile, curious about the rest of the article, though I'm sure my best friend made me sound ten times better than I am. "I don't mind being a little different."

"That's what I said the first time Fallon Mae put out an article about me. ‘That's not so bad. It's almost complimentary.' Everything went downhill from there. I should have warned you about the possibility of being in the media before I asked you to pretend to date me."

"It's okay, Nathan. It really is. I was aware of the risks."

Mostly because this particular risk comes in the shape of a close friend, but I'll explain that uncomfortable little coincidence later, after I've told her to stop talking about him on her blog and he's less angry. Bringing it up now feels…complicated.

We finish dinner and he pays the bill, then stops to chat with his aunt and uncle. They're the kind of people who feel like sunshine, like Mason, like Angela. I lean close to Nathan just to be close to them, wondering if I'll ever feel like sunshine for someone else.

Nathan says his goodbyes, then walks me to his car, one hand placed firmly on my lower back as he always does. Over the last few weeks, I've grown used to the warmth of his palm, the gentle pressure, the intimacy of his touch.

I know I shouldn't like it.

But I do.

A lot.

We step into a glorious evening and Nathan slides his palm from my back to take my hand. The moon is full and the air is warm, the breeze caressing my skin as it moves through my hair.

"This is my favorite time of day," I say, watching the stars shimmer and shine. "When it's dark out but the energy is high. Expectant. There's no pressure to be or do or conform, but there's this…anticipation…like anything could happen. One minute, you're living your life and the next, everything's different."

There's a heartbeat of silence. Then another. One more and I start to feel judged. Why did I think Nathan would care about my favorite time of day? What's more, why do I want to share that bit of myself with him? This relationship is transactional. It's not real. Getting emotionally involved is a mistake.

But then he stops, tugs my hand to turn me around, then pulls me close, slipping one arm around my waist and nuzzling my nose with his. The look in his eyes is bright, like the moon, filled with promises and anticipation, and maybe he cares more than I thought.

Maybe this isn't an act.

Maybe he's falling.

And I'm falling.

Maybe we aren't faking it.

Maybe, somewhere along the line, this started to become real.

"What are you?—"

Nathan tips my chin and brushes his lips to mine. I return the kiss, helpless, hopeless, tentative then insistent. I grip his back as he cups the nape of my neck, his tongue teasing my lips, then meeting my own. He tastes of whiskey but feels like fire, ready to devour me until there's nothing left but smoke and ash and this one perfect moment.

I groan, relaxing into his strong embrace. Humidity hangs in vaporous clouds around us, softening the moonlight. Crickets chirp and someone opens the door to the bar, letting a rush of laughter escape before silence descends around us.

This is another one of those things I don't want to like.

But I do. Oh, but I do.

His touch is strong yet gentle, confident without being demanding. His tongue dances in luxurious circles and I'm melting. Relenting. Walls come down and barriers shift. Our kiss is filled with the anticipation of endless possibilities, matching the energy of the night, without pressure or expectation. My nipples pebble and my core clenches and I was so not prepared for how much I like kissing Nathan West.

This isn't fake. The attraction is real. His. Mine. I'm losing control of this entire situation and…

A throat clears beside us. "Wow, Nathan. In a parking lot? Classy."

Nathan freezes, pulls back a fraction of an inch, his hand still cupping the nape of my neck as he turns to grin sheepishly at his cousin Angela and her husband whose name I've completely forgotten.

"Oh, Angela…" Nathan says with a sarcastic chuckle. "I'm feeling genuinely sorry for Garrett."

Ah. Yes. Garrett. I commit the name to memory while Angela furrows her brows and leans into her husband.

"And why is that?" she asks with a pout.

"Don't you remember being so overcome with passion that you don't care where you are or who can see? You've obviously let the fire burn down."

Garrett throws an arm around Angela's shoulders and pulls her close. "There's no need to feel sorry for me. Our fire is doing just fine."

Nathan dips his chin and shows his palms. "I'm just saying."

His hair falls into his eyes again and his grin comes fast and easy. This is the real version of him. I know it. The villain is a mask. I wonder how hard it would be to help him remove it…

Angela studies her cousin's face, grinning incredulously. "You know, I've been hearing all these stories about how much happier you look now that you're with Mina and I have to say, I didn't think it was true. But look at him," she says to Garrett. "There's not a glare or a growl anywhere. That might even be an actual smile. It's amazing what falling in love with the right person can do."

Angela pokes Nathan's cheeks and he ducks out of reach. "It's a little early to be talking about love."

His gaze locks onto mine and a jolt of electricity blasts through my veins. His eyes are storm-thrashed, filled with…longing? Loathing? I don't even know.

"Yeah, for you," Angela retorts, "but as an interested third party, I can point out the obvious without making it too weird. And maybe this leads to a conversation that will deepen your relationship and growly Nathan might be gone for good."

The look on her face suggests she thinks I'm a saint or miracle worker. I better set her straight before she expects more than I can deliver. "I promise you; he still glares and growls and snorts…"

"I do not snort," Nathan says, following the statement up with a derisive snort while the rest of us burst into laughter.

"That was just bad timing," he says, trying to look serious, but giving in to a chuckle.

"Bad timing, perfect timing, potato, po-tah-to." Angela bumps her shoulder against Nathan's. "You know we love you, right?"

"Is that what you call it? Because I've been a little iffy." Nathan wraps an arm around my waist. He's relaxed. His boundaries are down. His whole vibe is warm and inviting without a frozen barbed wire to be found. I could fall in love with this version of him.

If only he's willing to take off the mask…

"Are you guys coming or going?" Angela asks with a bob of her head toward the entrance to The Pact.

"Going." Nathan's thumb traces my hip, and a tremble of excitement clenches my core.

"Oh, I see, that make out moment was the lead-in to a night of passion?—"

"You really could use a filter, you know?" Nathan puts his hands on Angela's shoulders and turns her towards the entrance of The Pact. "Why don't you go inside before you ruin the moment more than you already have."

"Going. Going!" She pivots, walking backwards as her husband guides her. "Hey! We're taking the boat out tomorrow. You two should come with us. I need to get to know the woman who's putting Humpty Dumpty back together again."

Nathan huffs a laugh and shakes his head. "We'll be there, as long as you promise never to say something like that again."

After Angela and Garrett disappear into the restaurant, Nathan steps away from me. "I don't even know what to say other than I am really, really sorry."

"It's fine." I wave away the apology, my lips aching from his kiss. No. That's not quite right. My lips are aching for his kiss.

I lick them in case that helps. "I'm fine to add an extra date to our schedule. It's not like we've been sticking to our two-date agreement anyway."

"What?" Nathan pulls back, confusion drawing his brows tight. "No. I mean yes, I'm sorry if I should have talked to you about going out tomorrow first. But I was apologizing for the kiss. I saw them coming and really wanted to sell us being in this relationship and I just kind of did it."

Oh.

Right.

Obviously, that's what I should be upset with him about.

The kiss.

Not a spur of the moment double date with his cousin.

"You don't have to apologize for that," I say, still a little breathless and hoping he doesn't notice. "I mean, it was going to happen eventually, right?"

"Right. I just, wasn't prepared for it to be…" He rakes a hand across his mouth and my brain rapid fires ways to finish that sentence.

Amazing?

Hot?

Intense?

The start of a torrid affair I'll tell stories about from my rocking chair when I'm eighty?

"For it to be today," he finally says.

"At least we got it out of the way." I laugh and it comes out all high-pitched and awkward.

Dear God. Kill me now. Yours truly, Mina Blake.

"Exactly. Now we know what to expect." Nathan clears his throat, his eyes darting towards his car, plotting his escape.

"Right. Now we know." I nod decisively, then let my gaze creep up his handsome face to find him glaring down at me. "You're pretty good at that, you know. Kissing."

A smile quirks his lips and he tilts his head my way. "You know what? So are you, HM. So are you."

After tonight I know one thing for sure:

I really, really like kissing Nathan West.