Текст книги "Pretend It's Love "

Автор книги: Stefanie London

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Chapter Five

Libby felt every pair of eyes in the room turn to her in the wake of Leone’s question. The clacking of cutlery stopped, and Paul’s entire family waited expectantly.

“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath. “There’s not much to say. I’m an only child, I was studying medicine, but I’ve put my schooling on hold to work on a business venture. I love to travel.”

Was meeting a prospective partner’s parents always like this? It felt like an awkward job interview and she hated running off the aspects of her life like items on a grocery list. She shifted in her seat, her eyes darting to Paul silently begging him for help.

“Her favorite movie is Die Hard,” Paul added.

“The first one?” Paul’s father, Darren, asked. It was the first thing he’d said all evening.

Libby smiled. “Of course.”

“You know, I don’t know why they made the fourth and fifth ones,” he said, shaking his head. The older man had dark hair with a smattering of gray around the temples, he wore thin wire-rimmed glasses and, though he looked like the stern silent type, his face lit up at the change of conversation. “I didn’t see them.”

Libby’s shoulders relaxed. “You didn’t miss much. I mean, I love Bruce Willis, but you need to know when something has jumped the shark.”

“Exactly!” Darren thumped the table with his fist, making the salt and pepper shakers jump.

The table dissolved into a debate about the prevalence of sequels in action cinema, which lead to an argument about the reboot of Indiana Jones. Libby and Darren were clearly on the same side, while Gracie and Des argued against them.

Paul sat back quietly, tucking into his food though his eyes kept darting over to her. Even silent, his presence radiated, drawing her attention away from everything else…including the dance-in-your-mouth delights that his mother had placed on the table.

Thinking about the way his body had felt pressed up against her would lead to trouble, but how could she forget the hardness of his muscles—and other things—against the curve of her back, and his hands at her waist. He was masculine without being macho, strong without being forceful. The perfect balance.

“If you keep staring at me like that I’ll have to take you home,” he whispered, placing his hand on her thigh under the table.

The rest of the table chatted amongst themselves. Libby scanned the room to see if anyone was watching them. “I’m not staring…and keep your hands to yourself.”

“But we’re supposed to be dating.” His breath warmed her neck, sending a tingle of anticipation skittering down her spine.

“And you like to feel up all your dates with your parents sitting not three feet away?”

“You’re the first one I’ve brought home in a long time, remember? I’ve forgotten how it works.”

She swallowed, ignoring how close his lips were. If she turned her head she’d catch them with her own. “Me, too.”

His hand remained on her thigh, the heat from his palm matching the fire that had started to slow-burn low down in her belly. He traced shapes on her leg, every so often inching his hand farther up her thigh. She could have easily knocked him away, but the insistent throbbing in her sex overrode her desire to be sensible.

“Are you sure you want me to stop?”

His aftershave filled her nostrils as he leaned a little closer, his hand mere inches from where she wanted to be touched. So close and yet the distance seemed unbearable—her body cried out for him to stroke her. To explore her.

She cleared her throat as she noticed that the conversation had died down at the table. Interlacing her fingers with Paul’s, she drew his hand away, relieved and devastated at the same time.

“We should clear the dishes,” she said to Paul, loudly enough that he wouldn’t be able to back out of it.

Without waiting for his agreement, she pushed up from her chair and collected the empty plates.

“You don’t need to do that,” Leone said, reaching out to stop her.

“Please, it’s the least I can do. You accommodated me without any notice at all, I’d like to help.” She sent Paul’s mother her most charming smile, and the older woman sat back down, a pleased expression on her face.

Okay, so maybe she was better with families than she first thought.

Although it was clear that the Chapmans were nothing like her own family. The conversation was filled with in-jokes, playful teasing, and all the love she’d wished for as a little kid. In only one evening she could see herself being part of this family, being accepted and loved and cherished.

All the more reason to make sure you remember the point of this “relationship.” It’s business and you’re lying to these people, which means you can’t get involved.

Paul followed her, stacking the empty plates and bowls as expertly as he did at the bar. “You’re such a girl scout,” he said as they walked into the kitchen, a smirk tugging at his full lips.

They opened the dishwasher and began to rinse and load the crockery. “I was raised to have manners.”

The kitchen was small, and they stood next to each other, working together as though they’d done it a thousand times before. Their rhythms matched as if on some basal level they understood the other person’s movements and habits. Paul reached past Libby to grab a plate, brushing her ribcage with his knuckles.

“Hands off,” she admonished, though she was starting to mean it less and less.

“You seemed to enjoy it when I had my hands on you before.” His eyes swept over her, his lips wearing that predatory smile again.

The same smile she knew would feature in her dreams if she didn’t shut this attraction down now. “And how could you tell that?”

“You got this look on your face.” He leaned closer to her. “Your eyes got all wide and I could feel your thighs clenching.”

Her face flushed hard and fast. “You could not.”

“Could so. You wanted me to keep going.”

She grappled for a protest but none came to her lips. He was right. “Regardless, we have an agreement.”

“That’s the best you can do?” He laughed, cocky and as sure of himself as a guy who was used to charming women out of their pants. “Are you telling me you’re not attracted to me?”

It was no use lying, she wasn’t the best at hiding her feelings anyway. “I didn’t say that, but it’s beside the point.”

“Why?”

She looked behind her to make sure they were alone. “Because this is a business arrangement, nothing more. I don’t want things to get messy.”

Messy was an understatement. She didn’t want to get used and discarded for a newer model the way she had back in university. The way her father had done to her mother years before that.

History would repeat itself if she wasn’t careful, and Paul would only be able to use her if she let him. But she wouldn’t. Their arrangement gave her something precious—an opportunity, a chance—and she would otherwise keep him at a distance.

“But getting messy is so much fun.” He reached out to her and pulled her to him, his hips flat against her belly as he wedged her against the kitchen bench. “Besides, they’re spying on us.”

“Who?”

“My family.” He inclined his head back toward the kitchen door with a movement so subtle she felt as though they were spies communicating undercover. “We should sell it; we don’t want them thinking this is just business.”

His hands touched her hips, his fingers tracing the line at the top of her jeans just under her shirt. The throbbing started up again, insistent. Demanding.

“They don’t think that,” she protested, but her hands came up to his chest as if controlled by a puppet master tugging her strings.

His muscles were hard beneath her palms, and she had to stop herself from rubbing against him. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a flash of red. Gracie.

“Okay, maybe they are watching us.”

“Ready to play the part?” One hand came up to cup the angle of her jaw. “Let’s see what kind of actress you are.”

“This is purely for show,” she said, the breath rushing out of her lungs as his face hovered close to hers.

“Of course.” His lips brushed the space next to the corner of her mouth, so close and yet the distance felt like pure, unadulterated torture. “You won’t enjoy this at all.”

“I won’t.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

He angled her head, coming down over her in a way that was completely possessive and in control. As his lips parted hers, she sighed against him, her body losing the ability to hold itself upright. Every nerve ending in her body sparkled like New Year’s fireworks, and her fists curled into his T-shirt.

The moment his tongue touched hers her mind went blank, the taste of wine on his lips and the scent of his skin driving her to a point of desperation. His fingers thrust into her hair, pulling her head back so he could take more, demand more. Taste more.

Unable to stop herself, Libby pressed her hips against him, gently rubbing up and down until a wonderfully guttural sound came from the back of his throat. He was hard beneath her hands, the muscles in his chest perfectly shaped. The press of his thighs against hers enough to spark wild images in her mind.

“You seem fairly invested,” he murmured against her lips, pulling away from the kiss with a dark fire in his eyes, “for someone who’s not enjoying herself.”

“Just playing the part.” The crack in her voice betrayed just how much she’d wanted that kiss to continue.

“Right.” A cocky smile passed over his lips as he nudged her legs apart with his thigh.

A small gasp came rushing out as he pressed against the distracting ache there. If they’d been alone her restraint would have shattered like glass against stone. Thank God his family was in the next room.

“You don’t look like you want to jump me at all,” he teased.

“I’m a good actress.” Sucking in a breath, Libby pressed her lips together and straightened up. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“It’s one thing I want.”

Paul was not a guy who would be easily fooled. She’d have to be more careful about how much she revealed around him. She’d already made it clear she was attracted to him, but her business came first.

That was one thing she didn’t have to pretend.

“Your family is waiting,” she said primly. “You don’t want them to think I’m some floozy who’s ready to jump their son in the next room.”

“I don’t much care what they think, you just say the word.” He brushed his hand down the side of her neck, tracing her collarbone with a fingertip.

“You should care.” She wriggled out of his grasp and closed the door to the dishwasher. “You have a family who loves you. If you don’t care about that you don’t deserve them.”

A moment later, when they’d no doubt decided that the kissing had stopped, Leone entered the kitchen. “How about some dessert?”

“Why didn’t Libby mention anything about being your girlfriend when she met with me the other day?” Des asked, leaning back in his chair and rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. The bottom of one tattoo peeked out. The colored ink looked even more intense against the white cotton.

“We hadn’t decided that we were going to go public yet.” Paul shrugged, pretending to inspect his coffee so he didn’t have to face his brother’s doubt. Or the churning in his own gut. “She wanted to come to you on her own so you’d focus on her business idea rather than seeing her as my girlfriend.”

The lie tasted sour on his tongue. Paul was many things but he’d always been an open book. Lying wasn’t something that felt natural, but he reminded himself why he and Libby had entered into this arrangement. He was done being second best.

“I think it’s a great idea, but it’s not really something that would suit First.” Des brushed a hand through his hair, a hint of remorse in his voice. “I feel bad saying no, but I have to do what’s best for the business. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Paul nodded, watching Libby’s red hair glimmer under the lamplight as she sat a few feet away in the lounge room chatting to his mother and Gracie.

“I was pretty abrupt,” Des admitted. “But I know when something’s right and when it’s not.”

“It’s fine. She’s a tough one, I don’t think it’s the first time she’s had to deal with people saying no to her.”

Des grimaced. “You should have given me the heads-up.”

“Why?”

“It’s been a while since you brought anyone home. I’m sure you don’t want her to think your family is full of jerks.”

“She doesn’t think that.”

“Good, because I think Ma is already picking out table settings for your wedding.”

Paul held up his hands. “Let’s focus on getting you married. I’ve got no plans to get hitched anytime soon.”

“Anytime soon? That seems like a turnaround from your previous opinion that weddings are a total waste of money and that you’d never even consider it.”

Paul swallowed and pushed back the memory of traipsing around the city trying to find the perfect ring for Sadie. He’d picked it out, too, but his credit card had been deactivated that day. The bank had found fraudulent activity on his account, and he couldn’t pay for the ring. A stroke of luck that saved him the last of his humiliation. That afternoon he’d come home to find Sadie packing her bags, his smug-faced cousin by her side. The stench of her infidelity seeping into the walls of their apartment.

He’d never told anyone about his plans to propose.

Paul’s lips twisted into a grimace. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“There’s a big difference between not wanting to get hitched anytime soon and not wanting it ever.” Des folded his arms across his chest and grinned. “She’s gotten to you. That’s why you brought her home.”

“I was quite content keeping my family and my love life separate…”

“But?”

“Libby’s…different.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “She’s different from Sadie.”

Des chuckled. “You mean she’s not a two-faced, cheating waste of space?”

Paul’s head snapped up. “I thought you liked Sadie.”

He’d never heard a single family member say a bad word about his ex, not even after everything that had happened. Deep down he’d always wondered if they’d wished the two of them had stayed together. Or worse, they blamed him for the breakup…for driving her into another man’s arms.

“I liked her well enough while you were going out, but you can’t really excuse what she did.” Des frowned. “I know Ma always says we have to remember she’s still part of the family but…”

“But?”

“She still cheated on you.” Des shook his head and clapped a hand down on his shoulder. “That’s low.”

“Thanks.”

“I never knew what to say when it happened, and I thought bringing it up would make it worse.”

Paul speared the last piece of his dessert with a fork and popped it into his mouth. “But now that you’re all partnered up you can talk about girly shit like that.”

His brother smirked. “You’re partnered up, too, it won’t be long before you have to give your opinion on flowers and champagne and colors. Honestly, I don’t know how girls manage to look at three pink things and think they’re all different. Salmon, my ass. It’s bloody pink.”

“They should come with an instruction manual.” Paul looked back over to where the girls sat.

Libby threw her head back, laughing at something his mother had said. The tinkling sound sent a shiver through him. At that moment she looked up, her eyes connecting with his. Color spread through her cheeks and her neck, reminding him of how hot she’d felt underneath his hands.

She’d kissed like she meant it. He didn’t believe for a second that she was that good an actress. He certainly hadn’t been acting. The moment her little hands grabbed his T-shirt and she’d thrust her hips up against him he’d gone hard as stone.

Just business. Yeah right.

He was going to convince Libby that her “no sex” rule was pointless. He had absolutely no trouble separating sex from emotion. And if they had to play the part, why not use the real chemistry that already existed between them? It made sense, they’d fool everyone completely. No one would ever suspect it was all for show.

Chapter Six

Libby stared at the calendar on her wall, neat squares with tidy little Xs in green ink. She’d accumulated seven since her visit to Paul’s family dinner. Since she’d set in motion plans to get Libby Gal Cocktails into First. Since she’d kissed Paul.

A whole week and the memory of his lips on hers pulsed within her as though it had happened moments ago.

Distraction plagued her like a dark cloud hovering overhead. Thinking about that kiss, being annoyed and forcing herself to think about something else, then thinking about the kiss again.

Nothing dulled the memory, not sleep deprivation from her vivid dreams nor the fact that no other restaurants seemed keen to take her on.

“You’re acting like a silly school girl,” she said to herself as she paused in front of the ornate mirror in her hallway. “It was just a kiss.”

But oh, what a kiss it had been. The kind of toe-curling, sigh-inducing, heart-rate-spiking kiss you saw in movies. Paul had a kissing mastery like none she’d experienced before.

“That means he’s kissed a lot of girls,” she said to her reflection, frowning. “Don’t go thinking you’re special.”

Afternoon sunlight filtered in through the open blinds in her office, causing rainbows to dance in the antique crystal perfume bottles that decorated her bookshelf. She hefted a box of custom stationery that had arrived in the mail that morning. Pink envelopes, matching “with compliments” slips, and swing tags that would never see the light of day if she didn’t convince Des to take on her product.

She’d stopped by the restaurant once this week to have coffee with Nina, hoping to catch either Paul or Des. But they’d been out, apparently organizing something for the wedding.

Libby set the box down next to the bookshelf and pulled her phone out of her pocket. No missed calls, no texts. No communication whatsoever from Paul.

It would be okay to call him, wouldn’t it? The kiss wasn’t real and therefore the rules of dating didn’t apply…did they? She shoved the phone back into the pocket of her white sundress.

It was just a kiss, get out of your own head! It didn’t mean anything to him, and it shouldn’t mean anything to you.

A knock at the front door broke Libby out of her thoughts. She slipped on a pair of beige heels—she was raised never to greet a guest barefoot—and made her way to the front door.

“Hello?” She opened the door with a smile that died on her lips. “Dad.”

“Hello, Libby.”

Her father towered over her, his physical height nothing compared to the intimidation wrought by his sharp hazel eyes and stern mouth. He wore a sports coat over a white shirt and chinos and, despite the fact that it was sweltering outside, not a drop of perspiration glistened on his skin.

Kirk Harris was ever the cool cucumber, totally in control…even of his sweat glands.

“Please, come in,” she said, her stiff lips struggling to get the words out.

“You haven’t been taking my calls.” He walked past her, looking around the room as though surveying enemy territory.

“I’ve been busy,” she said, letting the door close behind her. “It’s nothing personal.”

“You don’t do anything without purpose, my dear.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“Like I said, I’ve been busy.” She forced herself to appear relaxed. Undaunted.

Shoulders down. No fidgeting. Move slowly as though you have all the time in the world.

Her father sensed fear, so the best thing she could do would be act like everything was peachy. No mean feat, but she’d fooled Paul’s parents with her perfect girlfriend act. A flicker of guilt swept through her, but she shoved it aside.

“How is the…” He swallowed. “Business?”

“Don’t say business like it’s a dirty word, Dad.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m making cocktails, not porn.”

“I heard you’ve got a competitor.”

“All businesses have competitors.” She stood her ground, kept the emotion out of her voice, and maintained eye contact as he’d taught her to do when she needed to deal with a difficult patient.

His gaze swept over the room as if searching for clues that she was failing. “So it hasn’t affected you?”

“I’ve had a few setbacks but nothing I can’t handle.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“When are you going to give up this charade and go back to your studies? You were so close to finishing.” He shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over one arm, picking at some imaginary imperfection in the fabric.

“I’m giving this a shot, Dad. One setback doesn’t mean I’ve failed. I’m not going to run back to med school with my tail between my legs.”

“Don’t be so stubborn. You had everything laid out before you. I could have gotten you into any hospital in the country.”

She turned away from him, trying to control the anger swirling like red mist in front of her eyes. “I’m not going back.”

“How can you throw away everything I’ve done for you? All that expensive schooling, the strings I pulled to get you into the best university in the country.”

Libby glared at him. “I never asked for your help.”

“You’re throwing away a bright future for nothing.”

“A bright future?” She laughed, the humorless sound echoing in the quiet room. “Will it be filled with failed marriages and abandoned children like yours? If so, I don’t want it.”

“I never abandoned you.”

“I’m twenty-five years old, you can stop lying to me now.” Tears pricked the back of her eyelids, much to her disgust.

The angry silence radiated off her father like a toxic fume. “You never wanted for anything growing up. I gave you the best education, the best toys, the best food.”

“What I wanted was a mother and father who could stand to be in the same room and who didn’t bad-mouth each other.”

“Your mother and I divorced years ago, you can’t hold that against me.” He waved his hand, shooing away her concerns as if they were nothing more than an irritating insect.

“No, especially since it’s clear marriage means nothing to you. Speaking of, how is wife number five?”

“Julianna is my fourth wife,” he said, cold eyes raking over her. “And I will not have you talk to me with such disrespect.”

“You turn up unannounced to berate me. What did you expect?” The words rushed out of Libby before she could stop them; goading her father would do no good, but the clench of his jaw gave her a millisecond of satisfaction.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I own this house. You live here practically rent-free. That means I will turn up whenever I damn well please.”

The chilly tone of his voice rankled Libby. She hated that he could sound so emotionless when talking to her. But that was exactly the point, her relationship with her father had never been about emotion. She was merely a trophy for his collection.

“I want you to leave.” She would either scream or cry or hurl something at him if he didn’t vanish from her sight in the next thirty seconds.

“I will leave when I am damn well ready.”

“She wants you out of here.” Paul walked through the entranceway into the living room, his face hard. “I suggest you do it.”

Libby’s breath caught in her throat. Having Paul here was going to make it worse. The last thing she wanted was for someone else to witness this humiliating exchange with her father. “How did you get in here?”

“The front door was unlocked. I heard yelling.” He looked from Libby to her father and back again. His forehead creased, and his shoulders bunched around his neck as though he sensed the tension in the air and had embodied it.

“And you are?” Her father turned to Paul, his brow quirked in disdain.

“Libby’s boyfriend.” He folded his arms across his chest, unflinching in the face of Kirk Harris’s legendary withering stare.

“Seems you’ve chosen your men as well as you’ve chosen your career,” he said, looking back to Libby and shaking his head. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because you’re not trying to help me.” Her head swam, and she pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You’re doing this for yourself.”

“How can you say that?”

For a moment she wondered if there was a hint of emotion in his voice, a small crack in the tough outer shell that might allow her a peek inside. Did he really care about her deep down? She hated that even now a part of her still hoped it might be true.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Dad. Please just go.”

Paul took a step toward her father, his six-foot plus frame giving him an inch or two. Dressed all in black, he seemed even bigger. Stronger.

“Do I need to make you leave?” Paul asked. Unlike her father, his tone was filled with undisguised emotion.

Kirk tilted his chin. “I own this place.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to talk to Libby like that. Apologize to her and then leave.” His dark eyes flashed like black fire.

“I will do as I please.”

Paul grabbed her father by the shoulder. The grip wouldn’t be enough to do any serious damage, but the message was clear. He leaned in close and whispered something that made the blood drain from her father’s face.

When Paul released him, the older man glared at Libby before stalking toward the front door.

“You should start looking for somewhere new to live,” her father said in his usual ice-cold tone just before the door slammed shut behind him.

“What did you say to him?” she asked, wariness spreading through her system and making her limbs heavy.

“I simply reminded him that as a father it’s his job to take care of his daughter, not to treat her like a piece of meat.”

“I’m sure you said it so eloquently as well.”

Paul smirked. “I may have colored outside the lines a little.”

She shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her sundress. Having Paul witness the truth behind her family—especially after seeing how loving and caring his family was—made her feel exposed, like he could see the fabric of imperfections that she’d tried so hard to cover up.

She was unlovable, and it shamed her.

“I wish you didn’t see that.” She sucked on her top lip and turned away from him, needing a moment to gather herself.

“Why?”

She shrugged, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Heat burned in her chest and neck. She walked to the fridge, her heels clicking against the tiled floor, and reached for a bottle of water.

So much for keeping Paul at a distance. The image of him standing there—protecting her, defending her—rolled around in her brain. No one had ever done that for her before…and it felt good.

“The guy’s clearly a jerk. It’s not a reflection of you.”

Libby didn’t turn around, so Paul had full view of her copper hair as it tumbled down the back of the white dress she wore. The sharp contrast struck a chord in him; she looked like a painting. Unreal.

Perfect.

Except that her guard had shot up the minute he walked in the front door. No surprise there, her father was a Grade A prick. If it had been anyone else they’d be sporting a broken nose for talking to her in such a demeaning way.

Getting him out of the house before he caused the guy some serious damage had been tough.

Tightness gripped his chest. She wasn’t his to protect, in reality, she wasn’t his at all. So why did he feel that roar of desire to pull her into his arms and comfort her? He did not comfort women.

That was a job for real boyfriends.

But the question hovered on his tongue, needling at him. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “You’re right. He’s a total jerk…sadly, I’m used to it.”

“So this isn’t just because you’ve dropped out of med school?”

“No, it’s not. He treated my mother like crap for as long as I can remember.” She turned and closed the fridge, leaning back against it while she sipped water from a bottle. “They only got married because she got pregnant at nineteen. They fought most of the time while I was growing up, and they ended up divorcing when I was ten.”

He listened as her history tumbled from her mouth in a rush of words as if she’d been trying to get it out for a long time. Normally this would be his idea of hell—being a shoulder to cry on wasn’t exactly his forte outside the sob stories he occasionally got at the bar.

But he found himself wanting to listen to Libby, wanting to be the person she turned to…not that he had even the slightest clue as to what to say to her in return. He’d always been better with actions than words.

“Mum got nothing out of the divorce. Dad had made her sign a prenup, and she ended up working crazy hours to make rent in the area where I went to school. Dad paid for my education, but he made it hard for her whenever he could. I think by the time she remarried and had another kid she didn’t want to see me much because I reminded her of all that.”

“And your Dad remarried?”

“He’s onto his fourth wife. It’s no wonder I don’t believe in marriage.” She rolled her eyes.

Paul let out a long, low whistle. “Fourth? At some point you just have to admit that something’s not working.”

“I swear, each one gets worse than the last. It’s like he purposefully tries to find these vapid, gold-digging wenches without a brain in their head. This current one could be on one of those Real Housewives TV shows.”

Paul cringed.

“My mother wasn’t like that, but she has a new family now.” The sadness in her voice hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’re probably bored to tears.”

“Not even a little bit,” he said, motioning for her to continue.

She picked at the hem of her dress, her brows burrowed into a deep frown. “Dad’s good at forcing people to do what he wants. It’s one of the reasons I want to make this business work. If I make my own money I can do what I like. I never really wanted to be a doctor.”

“What did you want to be?”

“You know, I have no idea. I poured so much energy into trying to please him I never thought about what I actually wanted. Then by the time I decided I wanted to do my own thing I had no idea which direction to take.”

“It’s not too late, you’re still young.”

“So are you,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine so long as I can get the family off my back.”

“They don’t seem that bad.”

“It’s more the extended family. They’re old school, they think anyone who doesn’t have a degree or some form of qualification is going to be a loser their whole life.” He leaned back against the couch, reducing the space between them. “I don’t care, I do what I like.”

“Obviously you do care, since I’m playing the role of happy girlfriend.” She paused. “Unless there’s more to the situation than you’re telling me.”