Chapter 18

THE ROMANCE RACK

18

The cool morning air feels nice on my skin, I tilt my head up to catch the sun. Have I gone mad? Am I still dreaming?

Just as I'm soaking up the morning sunshine, a herd of joggers barrels down the sidewalk like they own it. Before I know it, one of them clips my shoulder, sending me staggering against a trash bin. They don't even pause, not a single sorry thrown over a shoulder. Instead, what I get as I try to steady myself on the curb is a chorus of chuckles and a "Watch where you're standing, sweetheart!"

Definitely not dreaming. I roll my eyes, check my coat for stains, and keep walking toward the consignment store where I put some of my old clothes on sale last week, Organic fabrics, my ass. Killian will be lucky if I can afford to buy him outfits from this century.

Oh my gosh, am I seriously buying clothes for a person who doesn't exist? He probably won't even be there when I get back home and I will only have wasted money I should save.

Still shaking my head, I push my way into the secondhand store and its treasure trove of fashion relics. The shop is divided into the women's and men's sections, and the racks of clothes are separated by size. Each item on the hangers is unique.

I forgot to ask Killian his size, so I'll have to guess. I'll get only a couple of essential items so when I come home and he's vanished at least I won't have wasted too much money. And if by some weird cosmic happening there's still a naked cowboy in my apartment, then he can come shop for himself. Still, I should ask if they do refunds.

Before I start browsing, I check at the counter if some of my things sold. Thankfully, some clothes I brought in last week have already been purchased. I swap the petty cash I made for store credit and start digging through the racks.

I find a pair of jeans. They're worn, but the wear could pass for an intentional fashion statement. I get two newer-looking flannel shirts that seem to fit Killian's country aesthetic, a couple of plain T-shirts, and black boots. Unfortunately, the only wool sweater available is an ugly Christmas sweater. But I can't afford to buy him a coat and the cold season is coming so he'll have to lower his airs.

On the way home, I stop at a regular store to buy him new underwear because nobody should have to wear used underwear.

When I make it back to my apartment, I pause for the longest time outside my door, chanting, "Please be gone, please be gone."

But when I step into the apartment, Killian is sprawled on the bed, waiting for me with a foxy expression. "Welcome back, Sugar Spoon."

So a hyper-realistic hallucinatory state is the new normal. "Why do you look so pleased with yourself?"

"Found the book." He hops off the bed, tapping the cover.

"Oh, great." I drop the store bag on the kitchen bar. "Did some kind of explanation on why you're here write itself by magic?"

"No, but I found a lot of other interesting info."

I prop my hand on a hip. "Such as?"

"Such as how, according to you, I smell like lust and ruin, am the dark angel of smut incarnate, and have a sinful mouth that just begs to be kissed."

I gape, and his lips twist in a smug grin.

"Those were private, inner monologue thoughts you have no place reading," I say, indignant, making a grab for the book. But he snatches it up over his head, where, no matter how much I stretch myself, I can't reach. But that doesn't mean I stop fighting. "Give that back."

"I don't know, Spoon," Killian muses. "I'm quite enjoying you trying to climb me like a tree."

That's when I realize how close we're standing. In my attempt to reach the book, I've pressed my front to his chest. And he's still only wearing a flimsy satin kimono and nothing else underneath.

I immediately take a step back, scowling.

Killian ignores my glares and peeks inside the shopping bag, holding up the ugly Christmas sweater with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"Hey, beggars can't be choosers," I scold him. "This is the best I can do on my limited budget. I'm surviving on my grad student's wage. I don't have a rich family bankrolling me."

Killian frowns, looking concerned—all mocking gone from his face. "How bad is your financial situation?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm exactly poor," I reply, feeling my cheeks flush. "But I do have to pinch pennies, especially with all my friends getting married lately. Weddings are so expensive!" I gesture broadly, becoming worked up. "There's the dress, and shoes, not to mention all the events leading up to them like showers and bachelorette parties. On top of that, you have to buy a gift, and hotels are never cheap…"

I trail off, realizing I'm rambling. Killian is watching me with an amused smile.

"Anyway," I say, regaining my composure. "Let's just say supporting you is going to be a stretch for me financially. So make the most of what we've got here."

This time, Killian's smile is almost fond. "I can rock any clothes, Sugar."

He grabs the bag and makes to hand me the book, but when I go to grab it, he snatches it back once before actually giving it to me. Then he heads into the tiny bathroom to change.

"The door doesn't lock," I call after him.

"Should I worry about you barging in to get a peek at my perfectly sculpted body?"

I press the heels of my palms over my eyes. "How much did you read, exactly?"

"Only enough to know you've become pretty fond of my coffee order."

Long. Dark. With just a splash of sugar.

A shameful groan rips out of my throat, making him chuckle in response.

After that, I wait nervously outside, trying not to imagine him naked in there. But flashes of what I saw of him earlier this morning come unbidden—his powerful arms, broad chest, washboard abs… I stare daggers at the book in my hand.

"Don't you dare to write any of this," I hiss.

My cheeks flush at the idea of Killian reading even more of my inner thoughts. I should probably hide the book.

I drop it in my underwear drawer, camouflaging it under a layer of bras, and I take out my nervous energy biting down on a few cuticles as I wait for him to change. I'm still chewing when the bathroom door swings open and Killian steps out, looking unfairly sexy even in his cheap secondhand clothes. The flannel shirt may be a little small, but I won't complain about the way it strains against his muscular frame. The jeans are a perfect fit. They hug his thighs in all the right places.

"Not bad," he says appraisingly.

I just stare, pulse racing. Focus, I tell myself.

I shake myself out of my daze and nod approvingly. "Yeah. Not bad, cowboy."

"Wait until I put on the pièce de résistance." He spools the ugly Christmas sweater and pulls it on. "Ta-dah." He flashes me the goofiest smile.

I chuckle. No matter how sexy the man is, even he can't make a dirty-gray merry moose sweater look hot.

"That sweater really brings out your eyes," I tease.

Killian rolls a finger within the collar. "Is this polyester? It's dreadfully itchy."

"A hundred per cent wool, I checked." I roll my eyes.

"Guess I'm more used to cashmere."

"Seriously? You're lucky to have clothes at all, buddy. Maybe next time, don't splash out of magical books into unsuspecting women's apartments."

Killian grins, holding his hands up in surrender. "Fair enough. And I do appreciate it, truly. It's just a bit of an adjustment from bespoke Italian suits to… well, this." He tugs at the sweater distastefully.

"I would've thought switching worlds would be more distressing than cheap clothes."

"What can I say? I'm a practical man."

I move closer, pulling the collar of the flannel shirt out so that the sweater won't chafe his neck. "There, ugly Christmas fashion shouldn't have to hurt." His intoxicating scent envelops me and I have to resist the urge to run my hands over his broad chest. I go for an understated pat.

Killian's eyes lock with mine, his voice lowering. "You know, I could just take all this off if it's so offensive…"

My breath catches, but I manage to extricate myself and take a step back. "Nice try."

He winks and walks past me, brushing my shoulder and lingering the extra second. "I'm always here if you change your mind."

I wheel round to face him. "Isn't there anything you'd rather do other than riling me up?"

He smiles his real smile, no taunting. "Still my favorite thing, Sugar. But if you're not down for the fun stuff, we should probably come up with a plan?"

"A plan for what? To get you back to Lakeville Hills?" Typical man, a few hours in the real world and he already wants to leave me.

"No, Sugar." He beckons for me to come closer. I stubbornly stand my ground. Killian rolls his eyes but continues speaking. "A plan for me to fit into your world."

I can't control the warmth that spreads through my belly and keeps traveling over my chest, up my neck… Please tell me I'm not blushing. Trying to keep a steady voice, I ask, "You're staying?"

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Do you always answer a question with another question?"

"Do you?"

I throw my hands in the air. "You're still impossible."

"A beautiful bastard, right?"

When I don't respond, he tilts his head and gives me a long stare. "Come on, boss girl, let's figure some stuff."

"What stuff?"

"If you're in a financial bind, I should probably start by finding a job."

I cross my arms over my chest. "You can't have a job without identification papers."

"Then we should get me papers."

"How?" I sit at the kitchen bar.

"Let's figure it out together." He pulls up the stool next to mine and sits. "Smile, Sugar, I'm not going anywhere."

His words land in my belly like a small punch. I've no idea what we are, friends, lovers, strangers, but I know never seeing him again would cut deep at this point.

I clear my throat, trying to regain composure. "How do you propose to get papers?"

He shrugs. "A fake ID?"

I ponder for a second. "I'm not sure getting you a fake ID is the best choice."

"Why not?"

"First off, I wouldn't know where to go to get one that could pass any real security checks. And you don't just need an ID but an entire identity with a social security number and stuff."

"What would you suggest instead?"

"What if we go to the hospital and claim you're a John Doe with amnesia?"

"What? I just go in with no injury and claim I don't know who I am? They'd probably send me to a mental facility."

I tilt my head. "I could hit you on the head if you think that'd help to make the story more credible."

"You sounded a little too willing there, Sugar Spoon."

I suppress a smile, my heartbeat quickening. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"What else wouldn't you dream of?"

According to how I woke up naked next to him in my fantasy, my dreams are pretty liberal. But I think it's best not to comment on it. "Let's concentrate on reality here. It's a definite no to the John Doe approach?"

"Yep, we should go with the fake ID."

"I already told you I don't know where to get one."

"You never had one made? Not even before you turned twenty-one?"

"Me, personally, no." I drum my fingers on the bar. "But when I was in college, there was this guy who made pretty legit fake IDs for underage students."

Killian slaps the counter. "Let's call him."

"Forged papers are not something you can ask for over the phone."

He stands up. "Let's go see him, then."

"We can't. Not right away, at least. He operated out of South Bend, where I went to undergrad."

Killian leans forward eagerly. "Isn't South Bend just a couple of hours away? We should hop in the car and get the ID."

"Not so easy, cowboy." I shake my head with a wry smile. "We have to make the request and then wait for him to make the ID. It's not an express service. We'll have to stay at least a couple of days in town, and I can't afford that. I also don't have a car."

Killian's face falls. "Oh. Right." He grabs his chin, lost in thought.

"Unless…" I trail off, an idea slowly forming.

Killian looks at me expectantly. "What is it?"

"Well, my friend Maggie—one of the ones soon to be getting married—lives in South Bend, and has asked me to come visit for a Notre Dame football game. We could go next weekend, stay at her place, and get your ID sorted."

"Would she be okay with you showing up with a random plus one?"

"If I told her you were my boyfriend, probably yes." I flush head to toe even as I say it.

Killian smirks. "Fake dating, huh? This another one of your romance thingies?"

"What do you mean?"

He turns his mouth down, nonplussed. "Like the cinnamon rolls."

"Yeah, sure. Okay with the fake dating, then?"

"I think we should cut the crap and real date from the start, but if that's the way you want to go. We already nailed the enemies-to-lovers, so I don't see why fake dating shouldn't work for us."

I throw my hands in the air. "How do you even talk in romance tropes?"

"According to you, I'm a hero from a romance novel. Some of my heritage must be showing through."

I check on my phone that Notre Dame has a home game next weekend. "We're lucky the Irish are playing next Saturday. Let me call Maggie."

My friend is enthusiastic about the idea. She credits her coupled human's wisdom for the fact that I found a boyfriend so quickly after our call, and agrees to host us for the weekend.

Killian's eyes are twinkling when I hang up. "Do I take it I'm officially your fake boyfriend?"

Oh, boy.