Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Zena

As I waited inside Lucha Libre Taco Shop for Nolan to arrive, my eyes darted around the interior. I felt like I'd stepped through a portal into some kind of psychedelic wrestling dimension. The hot pink walls were plastered with gold-framed pictures of masked, professional Mexican wrestlers, posing and flexing, their muscles bulging and capes billowing. A life-sized cardboard cutout of a famous luchador stood guard over a salsa bar. The wonderful smell of grilled meats, melted cheese, and warm tortillas made my stomach rumble appreciatively, but the decor was still doing a number on my brain. A part of me wanted to laugh, while another part couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer commitment to the theme.

The bell over the door chimed, and I looked up, half-expecting to see a masked wrestler burst in and body slam me to the floor. Instead, Nolan limped in, looking slightly bewildered as our eyes met. According to Dad's research, this was one of his favorite places to eat, so his mystified state obviously had to do with the fake-dating plan, not the taqueria. To be honest, I thought our scheme was extreme, but I was confident it would work like a charm.

"Hey," Nolan said.

He wore black jeans, solid charcoal Skechers, and a form-fitting V-neck T-shirt that showed off his muscular frame. I was impressed he felt comfortable enough in his own skin to dress casually on our pseudo first date. Yes, it was just a taqueria lunch, but most men tried to impress me with thousand-dollar suits, Rolex watches, and Ferraris when they knew who my father was, which was always their first big mistake.

"Hey there, sweetie." I stepped closer and kissed him on the cheek, then fought to keep a straight face as I took in his shell-shocked expression. "You need to loosen up if we want this to work."

"Oh, I, uh, didn't realize we were already starting," Nolan whispered into my ear.

"There's no time like the present." I grabbed him by the hand as we followed the masked hostess to the centerpiece of this quirky taqueria, "The Champion's Booth."

A sight to behold—the gaudy gold table surrounded by a wrap-around booth was fit for wrestling royalty, complete with red velvet ropes cordoning it off from the people dining nearby. Hanging on the wall above it, gleaming under spotlights, was a championship wrestling belt that looked like it had been bedazzled by a squad of overenthusiastic cheerleaders.

The hostess removed the "Reserved" sign from the table and said, "Your ringside seats await." She unhooked the velvet rope with a wink, and then with a theatrical sweep of her arm, she waved us toward the table.

I slid into the booth, then glanced back at Nolan, who sat on the other side of the table from me.

"You're in another zip code—sit closer," I told him, patting the spot right next to me. "We need to always look convincing wherever we go. You never know who's watching us. We are a fun and flirty couple. Starting now."

"I can handle that." Nolan scooted so close he was practically on my lap, his leg and arm brushing against mine. He leaned closer, his breath warm on my ear. "Is this close enough for you?"

I glanced up into his big brown eyes, fighting back a smile. "Look at you, going from zero to hero."

"Just playing my part, darling." Nolan slid his hand along the back of the booth, then ran his fingers through the hair behind my neck. "Fun and flirty, that's us."

I was impressed by his newfound boldness and how natural he was at pretending. "Not bad, Romeo. But remember, this is a family restaurant, not the back row of a movie theater."

Nolan's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Noted. I'll save the steamy stuff for our fake anniversary."

He slowly removed his hand, and his fingers grazed the back of my neck. The physical contact sent an unexpected jolt down my spine, and I felt my cheeks flush. I hadn't expected him to slip into character so convincingly.

"What's the matter, my love?" he asked with a grin. "Cat got your tongue?"

I narrowed my eyes, both impressed and slightly annoyed at being outmaneuvered. "My tongue is right where it needs to be. For now."

His gaze shot down to my mouth, then he swallowed hard. "Maybe we need to go over the rules, so there are no … misunderstandings."

"Later—I'm starving," I said, glancing at the menu. "Are you going to get your usual? The surf and turf burrito with extra chipotle sauce, plus a horchata to wash it down?"

He just stared at me, his mouth ajar.

"Sounds good—me, too." I closed the menu, and we placed our orders.

As we waited for our food, Nolan shared the history of Lucha Libre Taco Shop and the two brothers who started it. He raved about the food, especially insisting that the surf and turf burrito was the best on the planet.

"I'll be the judge of that," I said.

Not long after that, we had our food, and I didn't wait a second to take a bite, nodding my appreciation as I chewed.

"Okay, you're right," I said. "It's amazing."

"Glad you like it," Nolan said, diving into his burrito with gusto.

I watched him for a moment, an idea forming in my mind. With a mischievous grin, I leaned closer and opened my mouth.

"Let me have a bite of yours," I said.

Nolan froze mid-chew, his eyes darting from his burrito to mine, then back to me. "Um ... why?"

"Why not?" I countered.

"Is this a trick question?" Nolan asked, squinting at me suspiciously.

I shook my head. "Nope. It's a simple request between two people who are madly in love. That's me and you, in case you already forgot." I batted my eyelashes at him playfully.

Nolan looked utterly bewildered. "But ... we ordered the same thing. Identical burritos. No substitutions. You have yours and I have mine."

I rolled my eyes. "What's your point?"

"My point is," Nolan said slowly, as if explaining quantum physics to a toddler, "if I have a mug of beer, and you have your own mug of the same beer, there's no logical reason for me to offer you a sip of my beer. The same applies to burritos, tacos, or any other food or drink in the known universe."

"Ah, but you're missing one crucial element here, Mr. Logic," I said, leaning closer to his burrito, then watching him push it farther away from me.

"And what exactly am I missing?" he asked.

"Romance!" I said, throwing my hands up dramatically. "It's called sharing. That's what couples do, and you don't need a reason to do so."

Nolan shook his head. "Not true—I need a reason."

"Are you sure you've been on a date before?" I asked.

Nolan sighed. "This is not a date—I'm being held hostage."

"And lucky for you, I left my handcuffs at home." I nodded subtly to the window. "There's a photographer on the patio documenting our date. I thought it would be cute if you gave me a bite, since we need to post photos on social media."

"Seriously?" Nolan's eyes widened, and he turned his head to the patio. I quickly grabbed his leg under the table to stop him, causing him to jump.

I leaned in, lowering my voice. "Come on, play along."

Nolan's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You know, we could just eat our food like normal people. Crazy concept, I know."

"Nobody knows we're eating the same thing, and the last thing we want is a boring date," I explained. "Let's give them something to talk about. Give me a bite. Now."

"Pushy," he said with a playful tsk-tsk. "I was warned that you always get what you want."

"True," I replied without hesitation, then quickly added, "But I'm not a spoiled rich girl, which I'm sure is what you're thinking."

Nolan nodded. "To be fair, it only crossed my mind about a hundred times on the way over here."

His candidness was a breath of fresh air, and I couldn't help but get a kick out of it. He might have some preconceived notions about me, but at least he was upfront about them. He would also learn the truth soon enough. Too often, people silently judged me because of my family's wealth, their eyes filled with disapproval and resentment, as if I'd committed some terrible crime. This life chose me the day I was born, not the other way around. They assumed my only goal was to spend Dad's money, never bothering to look beyond the surface or realize that kindness and compassion aren't limited by bank account balances.

Nolan's glances were different, there was no doubt about it. There was a mix of reluctance and intrigue in his eyes, like he didn't want to be there, but was also curious about me and also interested to see how this would all play out.

"The things I do for fake love," he said with a melodramatic sigh, then picked up his burrito and tilted it toward my mouth.

I smiled and leaned closer, but as I was about to take a bite, Nolan pulled it away. I raised an eyebrow, then moved in for another attempt. He yanked it back again with a sexy low laugh. Wow. He really committed to this fake date thing.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" I said, unable to suppress my giggles.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Nolan said.

On the third try, I was ready. As he pulled away, I grabbed his wrist firmly, guiding the burrito to my mouth. I took an exaggerated bite, my eyes locked on his, while we both cracked up. Hopefully, the photographer got at least one good picture out of it.

"Was that so difficult?" I asked.

"Extremely," Nolan said, eying my burrito. "Now, I have less burrito than you. Give me a bite of yours and we'll call it even."

I was pretty sure he was being serious. I shook my head in amusement, then reached for my burrito and held it in front of his mouth. Nolan took a bite that was three times the size of my bite of his.

"Hey!" I said, pulling my burrito back. "What was that?"

"Payback with interest, plus punitive damages," he said as he chewed, then chased the food down with a sip of his horchata.

I giggled, thinking Nolan's humor was unexpectedly charming, but then a strange feeling washed over me. It was hard to describe, but it almost felt like we were old friends catching up rather than two strangers thrust into a bizarre fake-dating scenario. First dates tended to be awkward and hesitant, but there was a natural rhythm to our interactions right out of the gate. This unexpected comfort both intrigued and unnerved me.

After eating in silence for a few minutes, I said, "Okay, you wanted to know about the rules."

Nolan wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Please."

"It's simple," I said. "There are none."

He was staring at me again. "There have to be rules."

I shook my head. "For this to appear as realistic as possible, we need spontaneity. Rules only create rigidity, limited expression, predictability, and, many times, artificial behavior. We want a natural rapport because that's when the magic happens, the effortless state of two people just enjoying the present without over-analyzing things. That's what it will take to make this look real."

"I didn't realize I was fake-dating a relationship guru." Nolan leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms with an amused smirk. "Do you have a degree in pop psychology, or did you just binge-watch a season of The Bachelor last night?"

I smirked. "Both."

Nolan chuckled. "Things could get interesting real fast with no rules."

"If we're going to do this, there's nothing wrong with having fun," I said. "As long as you don't break the law, of course. If you feel like doing something, do it."

"Anything at all?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes!" I said. "What do you feel like doing right now that does not involve eating my entire burrito?"

Nolan eyed the door. "Fleeing across the border to Mexico and never coming back."

I huffed. "I'm being serious."

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving mine. "So, hypothetically speaking, if I wanted to kiss you right now, I should ... go for it?"

I was surprised he asked me that, but there was nothing I loved more than open communication between adults. I knew he wasn't going to kiss me, but I also wouldn't tell him not to, because that would be a rule. Nolan was searching for the boundaries, obviously, and I had read enough research about him in the report to know he was a respectable man.

I leaned in, matching his playful tone. "Exactly. Think of it as improv for our little charade. Actors kiss on television all the time. It's not like they have romantic feelings. They're working, that's all. We are two consenting adults, and this is our current job. No scripts, no rules, just pure, spontaneous acting."

"Interesting theory," Nolan mused, his voice low and teasing. "Care to test it out?"

Before I could respond, he closed the distance between us and grabbed a few strands of my hair, twirling them in between his fingers, before tucking them behind my ear. His smile got wider as he eyed my mouth.

Wait, was he actually going to kiss me?

I didn't believe it for a second.

Still, he wasn't backing down.

"What are you up to?" I asked.

His lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Being spontaneous, of course."

I swallowed hard, my heart suddenly racing. "Okay …"

The air crackled with tension as he inched even closer. The scent of his cologne—a tantalizing mix of citrus and spice—filled my senses. He licked his lips, and I unconsciously did the same. My mind raced with curiosity and a touch of nervousness, which was ridiculous, because there was no way he would be bold enough to kiss me after we'd just met. I had no idea what was going on, or if someone had spiked the horchata with tequila, but just when I thought he might close the distance and press his lips against mine, he gave a little smirk, settled back against the booth, and picked up his burrito.

I blinked, almost out of breath, both impressed and slightly frustrated by his little game. "Quite the tease, aren't you?"

"You asked for fun and flirty—I'm delivering the goods." Nolan smiled satisfactorily, then took a big bite of his burrito.

Two could play that game.

I reached over and plucked a jalape?o from his plate, biting into it and savoring the spicy kick with a moan. Next, I licked my lips deliberately, my gaze locked with his.

"Tell me, Nolan … how do you like your fun?" I asked as I ran my fingers down the length of his arm. "Mild, medium, or ... extra spicy?"

Speechless, his eyes widened, his burrito forgotten mid-chew.

I picked up my burrito, taking a casual bite as if I hadn't just thrown down the gauntlet. "Your move, Romeo."

Nolan's lips curved into a slow, appreciative smile. "Game on, Juliet."