Chapter 91 JUNIPER

Chapter 91 JUNIPER
“We should probably head back to the group now,” I said, already moving, already putting some much-needed distance between us before my brain could come up with a reason not to. 

“I think Katy's probably already filmed the whole thing for posterity, so.”

Something flickered across Knox's face—disappointment, maybe, or simply surprise at how quickly I'd escaped the moment—but he didn't argue.

He just fell into step beside me. Then, without asking, his hand found mine.

His fingers threaded through mine with ridiculous ease, like we'd been doing this for months instead of minutes.

I glanced down at our joined hands.
Then at him.

“You know, for a fake boyfriend, you're getting dangerously committed to the role.”

“Occupational hazard.” His mouth curved. “I'm annoyingly good at whatever I do.”

“Modest, too.”

“I try.”

I snorted. His thumb brushed absently over the back of my hand.

“Besides,” he added, still facing forward, “Tracy hasn't taken her eyes off us since we left the dance floor.”

I glanced over my shoulder.
He was right. She was still watching.

I looked back at him. “So this is still part of the performance?”

“Obviously.”

“Right.”

He squeezed my hand once, casual enough to pretend it meant nothing.
“Just doing my fake-boyfriend duties, Speckles.”

“Your dedication is truly inspiring.”

“I know. I should get an award.”

“For what?”

“Outstanding commitment to the role.”

I rolled my eyes. “Pretty sure that's just another way of saying you're enjoying this.”

His grin widened. “Maybe.”

“Knox.”

“Fine...I'm enjoying it a lot.”

I tried very hard not to smile.
It didn't work.

He kept walking, thumb brushing absently over my knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I focused very hard on breathing normally.

It's fake, I told myself, the words arriving in the same flat tone I'd have used to remind someone not to touch a hot stove. 

It's fake, it's fake, it's fake. The dance was choreography, not chemistry. 

The hand at my spine had been for Tracy's benefit. The way he'd looked at me right before the dip-steady, certain, like there was nothing else in the room worth looking at-that had been part of the show too. All of it had a purpose. None of it was actually about me.

Except my body apparently hadn't received the memo. The warmth still lingered beneath my skin.

My heart was still beating far too quickly, and every time I remembered his expression when he'd pulled me upright, something inconvenient fluttered low in my stomach.

That hadn't felt like acting. Neither had the way he'd kissed my forehead. 

Doesn't matter, I told myself firmly, weaving through the crowd a step behind him. 

Even if it's real for him in that specific, chemical, dance-floor kind of way-that's not the same as this being real. Guys get worked up over a good song and a willing partner all the time. That's basic biology, not a declaration of anything.

It was a solid argument. Airtight, almost. I didn't believe a word of it.

We reached the group, and something about the way Katy and Piper looked at me stopped me short. 

It wasn't the reaction I expected-no immediate squealing, no phone shoved in my face demanding a replay. 

Instead, Katy's eyes did a slow, deliberate sweep-from my face, still flushed, to Knox's hand still wrapped around mine, to the general direction of the dance floor we'd just left-and something passed between her and Piper that I caught only the tail end of. A look. Quick, loaded, gone almost before I registered it.

"What?" I said.

"That was..." Katy started, something careful in her voice. "Something."

"Something good, or a lot concerning?" I aimed for casual and landed somewhere closer to defensive.

"Impressive," Piper said, which wasn't really an answer. She was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite place-not judgment, more like the specific attentiveness of someone doing quiet math in their head. 

"Genuinely. Didn't know you had that in you."

"I didn't either," I muttered.

Hunter, oblivious to whatever silent conversation was happening two feet to my left, launched immediately into commentary.

"Okay, first of all-I've seen you grind against half the girls on this floor more times than I can count. Hands, hips, the whole shameless routine. But actual dancing? Never. Not once. Fuck, man. It was hotter than the grinding."

Knox's eyes flicked to me for half a second before he rubbed the back of his neck. There was something almost sheepish in his expression, which caught me off guard. Almost.

Then the familiar cocky smile slid back into place, erasing it.
His fingers tightened briefly around mine..

“Yeah, well.” He tipped his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Grinding is easy. Anyone can throw their hips around, grab a waist, pull some girl in flush against them and just—”

He stopped himself short, a faint flush creeping up his neck as his gaze flicked to me, then away again.

The rest of the sentence died unfinished, hanging in the air like something he hadn’t meant to let out.

“Actually dancing,” he continued, smoother now, though the cockiness had thinned a little, “takes a little more skill.”

Hunter snorted. Knox ignored him completely.

“I figured Tracy needed a proper demonstration. Since apparently watching me grind against random girls every other night wasn’t enough of a lesson.
Besides, if I'm going to have a girlfriend, fake or otherwise, I'm not exactly going to give her some half-assed performance."

Slate, unmoved as ever, took a slow sip of his drink. "Very generous of you, honestly-teaching Tracy the difference between a hookup and an actual relationship, free of charge, no tuition required."

"I contain multitudes," Knox said, shrugging, his thumb still moving idly over my knuckles.

I laughed along with the rest of them, the sound coming out easier than I expected, but underneath it something small and cold settled into my chest anyway.

Of course, I thought, watching him laugh at his own joke, easy and confident in that specific way he always was. 

The typical playboy, grinding against a rotating cast of girls on this exact floor, probably more times than he could possibly remember. I wasn't special. I wasn't different. I was just the fake girlfriend-the prop-to prove a point to Tracy.

"Fuck, Reyes." Hunter shook his head, grinning. "You contain a shockingly good sense of rhythm, apparently, which nobody bothered informing the rest of us about." He turned to me, delighted.

"And you survived the dip. Do you understand how many people don't survive the dip? I've personally watched grown women go down like dominoes."

"There was a solid two seconds where I genuinely thought this was how I died," I said. "Local girl, killed by a dance move, tragic headline."

"It did look like your soul had briefly left the building," Slate offered.

I forced a laugh, aware the whole time of Katy's eyes still on me, quieter than her usual commentary, more assessing. 

When I glanced over, she gave me a small, tight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and mouthed something that might have been we need to talk\-or might have just been my own paranoia inventing subtitles for an expression that was probably nothing.

Hunter clapped Knox on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him, which somehow didn't loosen his grip on my hand.

"Man. I don't think I've ever seen Tracy go that quiet in the two years I've known her."

His eyes flicked over my shoulder.
"And, fuck me, she's coming this way again. Does that girl ever give up?"

Knox glanced past me, his eyes landing on Tracy as she continued making her way toward us.

He let out a long, suffering sigh.
"Apparently not," he muttered. "I'm beginning to think she's physically incapable of taking a hint."

I bit back a laugh. His gaze dropped briefly to me, and that familiar mischievous glint returned to his eyes.

"I'm so sorry in advance for this," he murmured, already leaning closer. "But desperate times and all that."

"Huh?"

I never got the chance to ask.
His hand came up to my jaw, fingers warm against my skin, and before my brain could catch up, he pulled me gently toward him and kissed me.

For one stunned second, I forgot how to react. My entire body went still. Heat rushed straight into my face.

Of course. Of fucking course this was Knox's solution. Apparently, when faced with a persistent ex-girlfriend, his strategy was to deploy increasingly convincing demonstrations of affection until she finally surrendered.

I should have pulled away. I meant to.
But then his hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, gentler than I'd expected, and the kiss changed. It wasn't rushed anymore. 

There was something softer in it. Something that made the noise around us seem to fall away.

My fingers curled instinctively into the front of his shirt. That tiny movement seemed to change something in him. 

His other hand settled at my waist, drawing me closer, and suddenly I wasn't thinking about Tracy. Or the club. Or the fact that half our friends were probably watching.

My lips parted all on their own, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in lazy, practiced strokes. God, he was a good kisser.

When he finally pulled back, it was only a fraction, his forehead resting lightly against mine. For a moment, neither of us spoke. His breathing was uneven. So was mine.

His eyes searched my face, and for once there wasn't a trace of his usual smug amusement.

"Still sorry," he murmured.

I swallowed. "Still?"

His mouth curved faintly. "Yeah." He glanced past me toward Tracy, then back to me. 

"But considerably less sorry than I was five seconds ago."

I stared at him. "You're unbelievable."

"I've been told."

"And that was your plan? To shut her up?"

He shrugged, though his hand was still resting at my waist. "Worked, didn't it?"

I glanced over his shoulder. Tracy had turned away, suggesting she'd just witnessed something she'd very much like to unsee.

"You're such an asshole Reyes."

His grin finally returned. "Yeah." His thumb brushed lightly against my side. "But I'm your asshole tonight."