Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I grinned at how confused he sounded. “I did send you things.” In fact, I’d found a place near his clinic that did all kinds of gift baskets. I’d called them up and they’d put together a small basket that included craft beer from a place upstate, packets of different nuts, a cheese board, and gourmet chips. “I want you to go home tonight and relax with some beer and some snacks, and just try to let today go. Because you might be used to it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect you.”
Rafe was quiet so long I had a horrible moment when I thought I might have crossed some invisible line between us. But then he spoke. “Thank you, Star. I really appreciate it.”
I smiled down at my feet, those damn butterflies flapping around in my belly. “You’re welcome.”
“No one has ever sent me craft beer before.” There was a teasing note to his words.
I grinned harder. “Or gourmet chips, I’d bet.”
“Or gourmet chips.”
Biting my lip against a giddy, overwhelming feeling, I tried to physically shake it off with a shrug. “It was nothing.”
Rafe’s voice was gravelly as he promised, “It’s not nothing to me.”
My impulse was to tell him I knew a few very explicit ways he could thank me, but I remembered at the last second he wasn’t actually my lover. He was my fake boyfriend. “Uh . . . well, I’m glad if it cheered you up a little. My line is moving, so . . .”
“So I’ll let you go.” Was that laughter in his voice? “I’ll pick you up on Saturday.”
“Right. See you then.” I hung up, shaking my head at myself and muttering, “You were the one that sent the damn basket.”
The problem was that Rafe had started texting me daily and we’d begun swapping little anecdotes about our days. It was confusing to me. Hence the sending of the basket, which had led to him getting that sexy, grateful tone in his voice that had led to my body forgetting the facts.
Rafe Whitman was off-limits for so many reasons.
Only last night, on a call with Kendall, she seemed to need assurance this was just a business deal. When I asked why, she told me she was worried Rafe might fall for commitment-phobic me.
“Let’s face it, Star, you’re very lovable and almost all the guys you’ve been in a casual thing with have fallen in love with you and gotten their hearts broken.”
I didn’t want to break anyone’s heart.
So I had to find a way to rid myself of this impossible attraction to Rafe Whitman.
* * *
• • •
Saturday had been scheduled into our app from almost the beginning of our ruse. Rafe’s family’s friends were celebrating the wife’s sixtieth birthday. They lived in Harrison, near Rafe’s parents’ house. It had rained most of the week, making line sitting extra fun, but today upstate, the sun was shining. Since it was a garden party, I’d chosen to wear a slimline sleeveless maxi dress with a halter neck. The design of the dress left my back bare to the top of my ass. It turned a pretty summer dress into something a little sexier. I’d piled my hair into a messy knot at my nape and was wearing the biggest hoop earrings known to humanity, lots of bracelets that jingled as I walked, and gladiator sandals so I could be comfy. They also took the edge off the sexiness of the dress.
Rafe picked me up in his Pontiac and I was a little ashamed of myself at how excited I was to be back in the car. So materialistic of me! I couldn’t help myself. His car was freaking cool.
As he opened the passenger door for me and I slipped by him, he sucked in his breath so harshly I heard it. I glanced at him over my shoulder and found his eyes glued to my lower back. “What?” I strained to see what had caught his attention. “Is my underwear showing?”
Squeezing his eyes closed as if he were in pain, Rafe gave a shake of his head. “No. Get in.”
I narrowed my eyes at his sharp tone but slid into the car. I’d barely gotten my legs in when he slammed the door shut and rounded the hood.
What the hell?
Really? We were back to Mr. Grumpy Whitman? He’d seemed fine five minutes ago.
As soon as he was in the car, I spoke calmly though my words were blunt. “What has crawled up His Majesty’s ass today?”
His teeth clenched as he side-eyed me and gritted out, “Nothing.”
That might have been all he’d said for the entire journey if I hadn’t pestered him with questions about this family friend’s birthday party. The questioning had the desired effect of loosening him up. The friends, the Van Beeks, had known Jen and Greg Whitman for thirty years. I didn’t think my parents had ever held on to friends for longer than a few years before they moved on to the next place.