At least, I hoped I did.
“I just mean that if you do something I’m uncomfortable with, I want a way to tell you.”
“Why don’t we just go through what is okay?” he suggested.
I tilted my head, considering, and then nodded.
“Holding hands?”
“Of course.”
“Kiss on the cheek, forehead, etcetera?”
My cheeks warmed. “Yes.”
Clay arched a brow. “Kiss on the mouth?”
Again, my heart was beating out of rhythm, but I tucked my hair behind my ear, lifting my coffee mug to my lips for a sip of the foam that had gone cold. “I suppose it would be weird if we didn’t.” I snapped my fingers, pinning him with a glare. “But no tongue.”
“No tongue?” Clay sucked his teeth. “Who’s going to be envious of a peck on the lips? Certainly not your boy Shawn over there, I can promise you that.”
I grunted, and like a bucket of ice water being thrown over me, I realized how incredibly stupid the whole premise was. I didn’t live in a freaking book — I lived in real life, where there was no plausible way any of this would turn out in our favor.
“This is absurd,” I said. “It’s not going to work. And it’s weird and desperate, and we should just forget the whole thing.”
I started gathering up my things, but Clay reached out, his hand folding over my wrist so softly it surprised me given the mass of that calloused hand.
I stilled, swallowing as my eyes crawled the length of his toned arm, finding him watching me with a deep sincerity. It unnerved me, that gaze, how steady and yet somehow… terrifying it was. I wondered if this was what his opponents felt on the field, fear spiking the hairs on the back of their necks.
“Meow.”
I cracked a laugh. “Meow?”
“If I go too far, if you’re uncomfortable and want me to back off, just meow.”
“Oh, my God.”
“But you won’t have to,” he added quickly. “Regardless of all the research you’ve done on me and what you think you know, I’m a gentleman.” He sat back, finally removing his hand from where it held my wrist, and I didn’t realize I wasn’t breathing properly until him removing his hold on me brought a sharp inhale through my lips. “And I want to make Maliyah want me back, not you fall in love with me.”
I snorted. “Trust me, no worries there.”
“Okay, so,” Clay said, sitting up and counting on each finger. “I behave on camera, guide you through all the steps to get Mr. Emo Guitar Guy to fall for you, and you play along as my fake girlfriend to make Maliyah jealous.”
“And if I meow—”
Clay smirked. “Now I kind of want to make you uncomfortable just to hear it.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
“Fine. If you meow, I back off.”
I nodded, considering all the terms. “One more thing,” I said, clearing my throat as I picked at the paper frills stuck in the spiral of my notebook from tearing pages out of it. “What if things get… messy.”
“Meaning?”
I scratched the back of my neck on a shrug. “I’ve seen enough movies and read enough books to know that sometimes, these things can get… complicated.” My eyes found his. “What if one of us wants out?”
“You can’t just back out,” he said, frowning. “That would be breaking the deal.”
“But what if…”
I couldn’t say it, not with my pulse hammering so loud in my ears it was like a whole drum line in there.
Clay smirked. “So you are worried about falling in love with me.”
My face fell flat. “Ugh, thank you for reminding me how impossible that is.”
A barrel laugh left his chest as he extended his hand over the table. “If at any point you want out, just say so. I’m not holding you hostage. But,” he said, taking his hand back when I went to grab it. “Don’t quit on me just because you feel like it. I’m committing to the cause. Are you?”
“Trust me — if helping you get Maliyah back means I don’t have to deal with another disaster like yesterday, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
A satisfied smile curled on his lips, his hand back in place. “Then we’ve got a deal, Kitten.”
I slid my palm into his, a hard steady shake sealing the ridiculous plan.
And up on the stage, Shawn Stetson watched us with a curious look on that beautiful face of his.