13. Luke

Chapter 13

Luke

I t feels like the perfect night to take Keke out to debut our new fake relationship. Smokey's Bar is packed just the way I like it, with the kind of easygoing crowd that enjoys watching someone else's business unfold right before their eyes.

Which is precisely the idea.

Keke is dressed more for a business meeting rather than a night out. A navy blazer over a black top, all sharp edges and no softness. It makes her look powerful, but power isn’t what I want her to project. I take her hand, lacing our fingers together. She shoots me a look as if I just took liberties, which, to be fair, I did.

I remind her, “Relax. We're here to celebrate. We're supposed to be having fun.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t pull away. “I know, just give me a minute to adjust to the situation.”

I shake my head and chuckle, steering her toward the bar to order a round. “Let me guess, fun wasn't on the syllabus at public relations school?”

She cracks a smile, one much softer than her usual polished smirk. “They don't exactly teach you how to go with the flow when you're working for a fixer. Crisis management is less hands on than this.”

I lean in close, catching a whiff of her scent, a delicate floral mix that makes her entirely too tempting. “So it sounds like we both have something to learn tonight. How to go with the flow for you, and I get to pretend you're not my parole officer.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” she says flatly. “Don't push your luck.”

“What else are you supposed to do with luck?” I give her a wink.

A few cocktails later and she’s easing up. We stake our claim on a corner booth, close enough to the bar to catch the good music, far enough away to have space to ourselves and be able to hear each other talk.

Some of the guys from the team show up, Lucas among them, but I’m not going to let them interrupt our night. She’s finally loosening up, allowing herself to laugh and have a good time. I can’t help but get drawn into the way she relaxes around me.

“Kenneth? For real?”

She blows out an exasperated breath and whips out her driver’s license. “See for yourself.”

Sure enough, right there in black, green, and peach, her legal name shows as Kenneth Graham. “What the hell? Is English not your parent’s first language?”

“Something like that.” She tucks it back into her wallet. “I was a menopause baby?—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “I thought menopause meant a woman couldn’t get pregnant.”

A devious smile curls her lips. “You sound worried.”

“Well… a little.”

“Who was she?”

“A very hot older woman I met on an airplane.”

Keke giggles. “Let me guess, you hooked up without protection, thinking you couldn’t get her pregnant.”

“I won’t lie, I did consider that.”

“Relax. Menopause babies usually happen when the woman thinks she’s in menopause, but she’s actually not.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “How does she not know?”

“It’s complicated, but basically menopause means she hasn’t had a period for over a year. After that, it’s highly unlikely to get pregnant. My mom was six months without one, so she and my biological father figured she was in the clear. Turns out, not so much.”

“I should call Genevieve but I never got her number.”

She smacks my arm playfully, laughing. “You really are a dog.”

I shrug. “Woof.”

“Anyway, my dad wanted another son like my brother. Hulking, intimidating, a man’s man.” She pauses, something deeper in her eyes, indicating there’s a story there. But I know if I dig she’ll shut down. “Michael had some issues when he was younger so our father wanted a do-over kid. That’s why they decided to have me. But when I came out with all the wrong parts, my father was undeterred.”

“What’s that mean?”

“He still tried to raise me to be the exemplary young man he wanted Michael to be.”

I stare at her for a moment. “So he named you Kenneth?”

She nods and sips her drink. “And he made me go hunting and fishing even though he knew I hated it. Taught me how to work on cars, throw a baseball, all the stereotypical guy shit. I didn’t even have a dress until I was old enough to pick out my own school clothes.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Yeah but it didn’t take. I’d always sneak off to watch cooking shows or make my action figures get married or?—”

“You mean your dolls?”

She laughs bitterly. “Nope. I meant action figures. I wasn’t allowed to have dolls. But I had every superhero under the sun.”

“Damn.” I take a long pull of my whiskey. “You called him your biological father but not your dad. How come?”

“We had a falling out,” she replies with a measured, lifeless tone.

“So that’s why you go by Keke?”

She nods but whatever warmth I’d earned by our earlier conversation had died a quick death. The mood became cold enough that I knew better than to pull at the dad strand.

Instead, I switch gears. “What's with you choosing all the wrong guys?”

She coughs on her vodka soda while I rub her back. Her words sputter at first. “What do you mean by that?”

“I know that question is code for when a girl is stalling for time.”

“Fine.” A faint blush colors her cheeks as she shrugs. “I guess I have a bad habit of finding projects. Guys I think I can fix or turn around. Big egos looking for validation. Sound familiar?”

“Hey.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Well, no,” I admit. “But still. Hey.”

She grins, purely feline. “You're not the man of mystery you might think you are. I've got your number, Luke.”

“Oh, I'm definitely not a man of mystery. Affable, charming, fun, but not mysterious. I'm an open book but right now I'm trying to read you. So let’s continue. Your dating history, what's up with that?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“You could, but right now we're talking about you. No more stalling.”

She sighs. “There’s really nothing more to be said about that.”

“Would you say you've always been a fixer?”

“I suppose so.”

“You're used to doing all the heavy lifting in a relationship, aren't you? All the emotional labor, fixing the problems.”

She stares at me. “How do you know that?”

“I know your type. Fiercely independent, sharp as a tack. Admirable. But you’ll also end up burning out.”

“I will not?—”

“The bonus of fake dating me? All you have to do is pretend to like me.” I smirk, leaning back as if I know I made my point and throw her a challenging look. “Think you can manage?”

“I can definitely manage you, Luke,” she says, a bit of an edge to her words.

Maybe it’s the whiskey or the dim lighting in Smokey’s, but something tugs at me, drawing me closer to her. Her makeup highlights her soft pink lips, her eyes looking more mysterious somehow. Everything about her is pulling me in.

I rest my arm along the back of her seat, letting my gaze drop to her lips. “You know what? You're better at this than I expected. Since you're not an actress, I mean.”

“Every woman is an actress. Guys just don't realize that they're in a play.”

“Prove it. Put on a show.” I’m getting lost in the way she’s looking at me, defiant and daring. I pull her in almost by instinct. Hooking my hand around the back of her neck, my mouth finds hers. Her lips are warm and soft, and as soon as we connect, the rest of the bar fades into hazy oblivion.

Instead of pulling back or keeping it brief, Keke surprises me by pulling me even closer. Her hands slide up my chest as she kisses me back. And the girl knows how to kiss.

Without hesitation she meets my lips full on, giving herself over to the moment just as much as I am. I deepen the kiss, feeling her sigh against me, and I can’t help but lose myself a little. Her moan echoes in my head, and I memorize the sound. I’m hooked.

When we finally pull apart, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes unfocused, like she'd just woken up from a dream. She bites her lip, glancing around as if suddenly remembering where we are, letting out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Not bad. For a PR expert, I mean.”

“Gee, thanks,” she replies with a hint of a smirk at her lips. But there’s no mistaking the shakiness in her voice.

She’s just as affected as I am.

Before I can say anything else, she captures my mouth with another kiss, this one hungrier, like she had given herself permission to go for it. This game is dangerous. She melts into me, her fingers curling around the fabric of my shirt as if anchoring herself to me. My hand slips to her waist, pulling her closer. We’d gotten so wrapped up in each other that I barely register the cheers and whistles from nearby tables.

Someone has probably taken a photo of us by now. Good, let them. That was exactly what we wanted to happen. But as her fingers tangle in my hair and I let myself get lost in the taste of her, I realize this is more than just some ploy. I want her. And by the way she’s kissing me, I’d say she wants me just as much.

Eventually, I force myself to pull back, trying to catch my breath as I brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her chest rises and falls, heavy with each breath. Her eyes are wide and something about the way she’s looking at me makes my pulse race.

Some of my teammates are among those hooting at us. I hear Lucas shout, “Get a room!”

It’s now or never.

I press my forehead to hers, and in a low growl ask, “How about we get out of here?”

She blinks, as if snapping back to reality, and a slow smile spreads across her lips. “Yeah, I think that's a good idea.”

I pay the tab quickly and we laugh and stumble as we make our way outside. The cool night air hit us like a splash of cold water, but even that can’t quell the fire between us. I grab her hand and pull her close as we flag down a cab and slip inside, our fingers still intertwined as if we can’t stand the idea of letting go.

By the time we get back to my place, I’m half convinced I'll be waking up tomorrow wondering if it had all been a dream. I close the condo’s entry door behind us, feeling my heart thundering in my chest. I reach for her, ready to pick up right where we left off. But she takes a step back, her expression shifting, her eyes cold as she folds her arms over her chest. “So, do you think they bought it?”

The question completely throws me off, dousing whatever lingering fire there was. Frustration doesn’t even come close to explain how I’m feeling, but I hide it with a small, easy smile. “Pretty convincing performance, if I say so myself.”

She lets out a breath. “I know you said your family told you that the acting gene isn’t in you, but I disagree. I’d say you did damn well. Goodnight.” She turns to leave and I almost reach out to stop her. Almost.

Instead, I watch as she walks to the foyer, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood as her hips sway. I’m left aching; a little drunk and a lot horny. I take a deep breath, raking a hand through my hair as I lean back against the wall, letting the frustration wash over me.

She had pulled away at the last second but part of me is starting to wonder how much of that kiss had been acting. She didn't have to let out that little moan into my mouth. No one else could hear that.

Something tells me I’m not the only one going to bed frustrated and horny.