Chapter 24

GHOSTS OF UNDERGRAD PAST

24

A black Lexus SUV pulls into the station just as Killian and I get off the bus. Maggie hops out of the car from the passenger side before it's even fully parked. Excitement and nerves war within me at seeing her after such a long hiatus. It's been an entire year since our last rendezvous, and I'm thrilled to catch up with her. Yet there's a twist in my gut, a cocktail of anticipation and anxiety, as I prepare to introduce her to my fake boyfriend—who might also be an imaginary person.

Killian wrapping his arm firmly around my waist doesn't help, nor does the kiss he just dropped on top of my head. My scalp tingles where his lips touched me, and I have to resist the urge to scratch.

Get it together, Leighton.

I tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear to give my hands something to do and plaster a smile on my face as Maggie approaches.

"Leigh!" she squeals, barreling toward me for a hug. I extricate myself from Killian's grip to return it.

"Maggie, I've missed you!" I say into her shoulder.

She pulls back, grinning ear to ear. "Me too! Oh my gosh, you look amazing!"

I laugh. "Thanks, so do you! Love the new hair." Her formerly straight brown locks are now vibrant waves with caramel and honey highlights.

"And you must be Killian," she says, turning to him with an outstretched hand. "I'm Maggie, Leighton's better half."

Killian shakes her hand, giving her a friendly grin. "It's lovely to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

His gravelly voice makes the words sound almost carnal, causing Maggie to look as dazzled as I feel every time he speaks.

Corey, Maggie's fiancé—a tall, sandy-haired guy—climbs out of the car. "Babe, need any help with the bags?"

"Nope, I think we've got it covered!"

A quick round of introductions and soon we're all piled into the car, heading to Maggie's place in a nice residential neighborhood. In the backseat, Killian's thigh presses against mine and he has absent-mindedly dropped a hand on my knee. The gesture is casual, intimate. Exactly what a boyfriend would do. Except we're not really dating, and it's not like he has to pretend back here.

Not that I wouldn't mind climbing into his lap right now. Which is probably why I should keep some distance.

I'm considering shuffling toward the opposite side of the seat when Maggie turns back with a conspiratorial grin. Her gaze drops to Killian's hand on my leg, and she winks at me. Okay then, maybe it's wiser to keep up a modicum of pretense at all times. Looks like I'm staying put.

Killian squeezes my knee gently and lowers his voice to a tender rumble, intimate and meant for me alone. "Relax, we've already done much worse."

I glare at him, hissing, "I don't remember any of it."

"You don't remember when we kissed after I rescued you?" His fingers dig a little more firmly into my flesh. "Let me remind you, Sugar Spoon." His voice drops to an even lower hum. "I had you on the hard ground underneath me, your hands pinned over your head in the dirt, your legs wrapped around my waist as we?—"

"I remember," I admit.

"Good." Killian smirks.

I keep my gaze trained forward, trying to ignore the wave of heat that is spreading from my knee to all over my body. I have to remind myself this is all pretend, that Killian will probably poof out of existence at any time. All rational arguments, but the tingling doesn't go away. This weekend is going to be pure torture.

We pull up in front of a cute red-brick house with a big front porch. Vines crawl up the outer walls and flowers bloom in window boxes. It's everything I imagined adult life would be like back in our dorm days. Maggie has the whole grownups thing nailed down. Me? Not so much.

"Home sweet home!" my friend announces.

We grab our bags and head inside. The living room is cozy but stylish, with immaculate cream-colored couches that wouldn't last a day in my care, potted plants that all seem to be alive, and a giant marble fireplace at the back of the room.

"You two are in the guestroom upstairs," Maggie says.

By now, I'm the queen of only-one-beds-shared-with-impossibly-sexy-men. I'm not at all fazed by the news that Killian and I will bunk together.

Killian winks at me. "That'll be perfect, won't it, Sugar?"

"Yep! Just great, Bun."

Killian raises an eyebrow at the new nickname, prompting a viciously sweet smile from me.

Maggie gives us a quick tour of the house, just before Corey—a surgeon, obviously—has to head back to the hospital for an emergency. She shoos us upstairs to settle in while she finishes prepping dinner.

Once we're alone, I turn to Killian. "So there's only one bed…"

He grins. "Nothing we haven't handled before."

True. But the bed in Maggie's guest room looks tinier than the one at home. Maybe I am just a little fazed.

I take a deep breath. "Okay, well, at least Maggie bought our story."

"Was there any doubt?" Killian moves closer. "We make quite the convincing couple, don't you think?"

My heart races as his eyes lock onto mine.

Focus.

"Uh, right! Anyway, we should check how much time we have before dinner and see if we can sneak away and go look for the fake ID guy."

Killian nods, the moment broken. "I'll be there in a second."

I head down to the kitchen without looking back. This weekend is going to be the death of me.

I find Maggie working at the island, her sleeves rolled up, hair up in a ponytail, as she chops away at a colorful array of vegetables. The knife hits the cutting board at a precise tempo.

"Need any help?" I offer, leaning against the counter.

Maggie shakes her head, ponytail swishing. "And let my guest cook? What kind of host would I be?"

"An efficient one," I joke. I watch her work for a moment, nostalgia washing over me. "Remember sophomore year, when we tried to make pad Thai from scratch? What a disaster that was."

Maggie laughs. "We nearly burned down the dorm!"

"Worth it for the look on the RA's face alone." I grin at the memory, watching her expertly dice an onion. "And remember that time we thought it was a cool idea to play Sex and the City and make Cosmos?"

Maggie laughs, nodding vigorously. "Gosh, we got the whole floor drunk! I still remember the hangover."

"But it was an epic party," I remind her.

"Agreed." She grins as she tosses some chopped peppers into a bowl.

"You'd gotten the fake ID to buy all the alcohol here in South Bend, right?" I ask casually.

"Yeah, from Spotty, bless his heart." Maggie shakes her head. "I think he still has the operation running down in the Rum Village."

My heart beats faster, but before I can respond, a pair of familiar arms wrap around me from behind. Killian pulls me in close, dropping a soft kiss on my neck that makes my knees weak. Judging from the heat marking the spot, I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a blister tomorrow.

"What are you ladies up to?" he asks, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Reminiscing about college," Maggie replies, giving us a knowing look. "Have you ever been to South Bend, Killian?"

"No, I haven't," he admits.

"Then Leighton has to bring you to campus and show you around!" Maggie exclaims, her eyes twinkling. "Corey won't be back until late evening, so you two should go have fun."

"Don't you want to join us?" I ask just to be polite, hoping she'll say no.

"No, you go, guys. I'll just finish prepping everything and then I have a couple of house showings this afternoon. I hope you don't mind?"

"Not at all," I say. "Is there a bus we can take to campus?"

I've never lived in this neighborhood, so I'm not familiar with the public transportation here.

"No need." Maggie dusts her hands on her apron and fetches a set of keys from a bowl, dangling them in front of us. "Take my car."

"Won't you need it for your showings?"

"No, both houses are just a couple of streets over. I can walk. You take the car. It's the cherry-red Lexus out front."

They're really into grownup cars in this house.

"Thanks, Mags." I grab the keys and almost drop them immediately as Killian's fingers start tracing little circles on my waist.

"Sounds like a plan," he says.

"Alright then, it's settled!" Maggie claps her hands together. "Go enjoy yourselves. I've got this under control."

Moving out of the kitchen allows me to unwrap my unbearably sexy fake boyfriend from my back.

"Aren't you taking your part a little too seriously?" I glare as I shove on my coat in the entryway.

That too-perfect mouth curls at the corners. "I never do things half-heartedly, Sugar."

"Thanks again, Maggie!" I call out as Killian and I exit the house. "We'll be back before dinner!"

"Have fun!"

Killian makes a beeline for the driver's side, but I point out that he doesn't have a license in this world and take the wheel.

As I study the control panel, I feel like I'm borrowing my mother's car—not that we could ever afford a Lexus—as opposed to a vehicle that it's normal for someone my age to possess.

"Alright," I say, after fastening my seatbelt, "time to find this ID guy." I pull up the last-known address for Spotty on my phone and start navigating us through South Bend.

"Is it just me, or is this part of town a bit sketchy?" Killian asks, eyeing the surroundings with a hint of unease.

"Definitely sketchy," I agree, feeling a little tense myself. "But I don't suppose criminals set their lairs in the most respectable parts of town."

"Right," he says, not entirely convinced.

I take advantage of a red light to flick his arm. "What's happened to you? Did you eat grouchy pie?"

"Sorry if I'm still smarting from the last time you tangled with criminals."

He has to be talking about the kidnapping. "That was clearly an exaggerated fictional scenario. And what's life without a little adventure?"

"You don't have to put yourself in danger just to get me an ID. We can find another way."

"There is no danger. Spotty is a local legend, I promise." I turn stations until I find a country-pop song that I'm sure even Killian knows the lyrics to and start singing my heart out.

Killian raises an eyebrow at me. "Are you seriously singing your way out of the argument?"

"Isn't that what princesses do in fairy tales?" I tease and double my vocal efforts.

Killian tries to keep a stern face, but I can still see the twitch at the corners of his mouth.

I sing the rest of the way until the map app informs us we've arrived. I pull up outside a ramshackle house with a dirty siding and a boarded window that scream drug den. The yard is overgrown and half-filled with trash.

But if eighteen-year-old freshmen come here alone to get fake IDs and get away unscathed, we'll be fine.

I knock on the door, and a second later, it swings open to reveal a thin man who wouldn't look out of place as a cast member of Breaking Bad. He has a beanie covering light brown hair and is dressed in layered, loose-fitting clothing—a graphic tee under an open, boldly colored hoodie paired with baggy jeans.

He leans against the doorframe, giving us a once-over.

"Whaddup, you two lost?" he asks, as loud hip-hop music blasts from inside the house, making it hard to hear.

"Uh, hi," I say, trying to sound casual. "You're Spotty, right?"

The dude crosses his arms over his chest. "Who wants to know?"

"We're looking to get a fake ID?"

"Yo, lady, hush. Not outside," he says, opening the door further and welcoming us into the house.

The interior is no better than the front yard. Stained carpet, battered furniture, and rubble everywhere—pizza boxes, a bong, empty beer bottles. The only brand-new fixtures are the giant TV mounted on the back wall and a set of stacked speakers from where the music comes with an incessant beat. A joint smolders away in an ashtray on a nearby table. The place reeks of weed and dirty laundry.

Spotty meanders down a corridor and leads us into a room that's contrastingly sterile compared to the rest of the house. White clean walls. Clean floors. There's a fancy printer on a table and in the corner, a professional camera sitting between two softboxes. A computer setup that looks powerful enough to launch missiles at NASA takes over another table along with other various tech equipment.

"Who's the ID for?" Spotty asks.

"That'd be me." Killian steps forward, trying to shield me with his body.

I find the gesture absurd. Spotty looks as threatening as an overcooked noodle.

"Sure thing," Spotty replies, unfazed. "Standard ID takes twenty-four hours, costs two hundred and fifty bucks, cash upfront. No refunds."

"Actually," I interject, stepping forward from the wall of overprotective man, "we were kind of hoping you could provide us something a little more… uhm… sophisticated."

"Alright, whatcha looking for exactly?" he asks.

"An ID tied to a social security number that can withstand security checks."

"Ah, I see," Spotty says, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "That's gonna cost you extra and it'll take forty-eight hours at least."

"How much extra?" I ask.

"That kind of work. Two grand at least."

"Two thousand dollars?" I exclaim, my heart dropping. I don't have a dime to spare. Killian has already assured me he'll repay me every single penny as soon as he makes the money back at the bar. But I live paycheck to paycheck. I don't have two thousand dollars sitting in my bank account. "Are you kidding me?"

"Hey, quality ain't cheap, lady," Spotty says with a shrug.

"Please, there must be something else we can do, or pay you with?" I plead. "A favor? A service? Anything, really?"

"Yo, lady, you're cute, but I've never paid for sex and I ain't gonna start now."

"Excuse me? That's not what I meant!" I splutter.

My face turns beet red, but I'm distracted by a feral growl to my left. Does Spotty have a dog or something? I turn but only see Killian in the room.

Oh my gosh, he's the one growling.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, bewildered.

He doesn't reply, still snarling at Spotty.

"Killian, stop," I plead, trying to keep my voice steady.

"But he was being disrespectful," Killian answers, his tone protective.

And I know we all love it when men growl possessively in romance novels, but trust me, in real life, it's beyond ridiculous. "Stop it," I tell him firmly. "You sound like a lawnmower with indigestion."

"Fine," he mutters, taking a step back.

"Look," I say, turning back to Spotty, "we're desperate. There has to be something we can do for you."

"For two grand? Yo, lady, that'd have to be pretty big."

"Go big or go home, right?" I cheer nervously. "Isn't there really anything that you need? We could clean your house or mow the lawn…" He's not looking impressed, I think harder. "I'm a computer expert. I could up your security, lock down your IP, make you totally untraceable, whatever you need…"

"You're a computer whizz?"

I nod enthusiastically.

Spotty eyes us skeptically before finally relenting. "I'll tell you what, I'll take the standard two-fifty bucks, the cyber upgrade, and there's something else you could do for me…"