Chapter Fifteen—Lidia

I didn't pry on Scotty and Jace's argument because I was too excited to go to The Honey Art Café. I'd been there before when I was younger, but being broke, I didn't have the extra cash to go in the last few years.

I sat on the edge of my seat on the way there, picking at the fringe of my boyfriend jeans and tapping my foot along his floorboard.

Jace seemed stiff, his fingers tapped roughly against the steering wheel. "Everything okay?" I asked.

"Everything is fine. I wanted to talk about surviving my parents' dinner tonight and find out more about each other. They will ask questions, and if Seth is there, which I'm sure he will be, he will try to catch us in a lie."

Humph. Figures. We pulled into the parking lot, and I hopped out quickly. "Hurry," I yelled.

Jace's dark eyes smiled at me. "Good things come to those who wait, Lidia Lambert."

We walked inside and my excitement tripled. The walls were bare in spots with small tables where your food was brought. The host greeted us, but walked us past all the bare walls and into a bare backroom.

"Why aren't we back there?" I asked.

Jace tipped the host and waited until she shut the door before answering. "This is the private room. I had an idea for us that I thought you might like."

"Are cookies involved?" I asked, threatened by my stomach to ask.

He smirked. "Yes. They'll bring them soon." Jace walked into a back room and brought out a huge rolling wall with balloons pinned to them.

He walked back to a line painted on the floor, picked up a dart from a bucket sitting in the corner and tossed it at the wall. Red paint squirted out of the balloon and onto the white wall.

I yelped. Jace glanced over and grinned at me. Something in his face looked youthful for the first time since I'd met him. Those dark intense eyes sparkled, and he handed me a dart.

"I thought this would be fun. I also had some watercolors brought for you for the wall over there," he said, pointing behind us.

Jace bent down to grab another dart and I found myself loving the way his jeans fit him. The loose T-shirt he wore tightened around his impressive biceps, but he looked so down to earth this way.

I loved it.

I bounded over to him and wrapped my arms around his neck. At first, he stiffened, but after a few seconds, he hugged me back. "My turn!" I yelled.

I grabbed the dart and tossed it, pink paint ran down the way and my excitement soared. "So," Jace said, grabbing another dart. "My parents are going to ask you a million questions. First off, when is your birthday?"

"Actually," I said. "Next week. I hadn't thought about it, good thing you asked."

Jace eyed me while tossing another dart. "You don't think about your birthday?"

I shrugged. "Scotty normally throws me a little party and I go to my parents' house for dinner. Speaking of, I'll probably need next weekend off for that."

Jace nodded. "Sure thing. Do you want me to come with you? Have they seen the magazine?"

I stalled a moment but took my time popping a dark green balloon filled with purple paint. "I guess it's time, huh? They'll find out soon. If you want to come."

We made eye contact and I felt my nerves skating down my spine. "I'd love to," he finally said.

We popped most of the balloons and I took a picture of our masterpiece. A host brought about a tray of cheese, cake pops and cookies before leaving us with two glasses of champagne.

I brought out the watercolors and started on the bare wall. "So, anything you want me to know about you?" I asked.

He sat back in the corner, sipping his glass and watching me paint. His legs were spread wide, in a way I'd never seen him seat, and he looked relaxed.

"I graduated high school in 2004. I graduated from Houston State in 2009. I started working here right after I got my business management degree."

"Fancy," I said, swiping blue and white to make a bright summer day.

"Hmm," he said. "I already know about your schooling. I think we should stick to the truth about how we met in case Seth tries to catch us in a lie. I hired you and fell in love."

I snorted and shook my head.

"What's funny?" he asked.

I turned to face him. Jace looked confused, his brows folded and a grim look on his face. "I'm just—I just don't know if they'll buy it, Jace. We're nothing alike, and admit it, I'm not your type."

He slid his tongue against his row of perfectly white teeth. For several minutes we stood in silence, and then he stood up and put down his glass.

With his hands in his jean pockets, he walked over toward me, eyeing me like a prize that shocked me. When he stopped it was only a few feet away from me.

I held my watercolors in one hand and my paint brush in the other. I knew paint smeared my face because I could feel it, and I'd started to sweat from the closed door in the back room.

"Do you believe that?" he asked.

"Believe what?" I whispered.

"That I wouldn’t like you?" he asked, stepping closer. "Is your self-image that awful that you think someone like me couldn't like you, Lidia? Where does this stem from?"

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable from his stare. "I just don't think I'm your type—"

Jace scoffed and stepped ever closer, slowly cornering me against the wall. I felt his champagne infused breath hit my opened mouth and my heart hammered.

We'd kiss, and it'd been good, but both of those times people were around. That was living up to the deal, but this was different. No one was here.

"Lidia, I think you're," he whispered, "perfect."

I watched his dark eyes, and the way his iris danced along as he took in my face and fingered the braid on my shoulder. "Tell me that you don't believe that."

"I'm—I'm not perfect," I said, clearing my throat. "And you know it. I spilled tampons the first time I met you. I've vomited, fainted, put my foot into my mouth and—"

"You've been you," he said. His spare hand enclosed around my hip, and he pulled me closer to him. "You're not perfect, no, but you're perfectly you. You never pretend to be someone else even when you're pretending with me. That is hotter than anything I've ever been around. All the beautiful women I've encountered lacked one thing that you have in millions—honesty. Truth."

This can't be real. He couldn't really feel anything for me—Plain Jane—could he? Did I want him to? Yes. He made my heart plummet into my stomach with a mere stare.

But I couldn't start a relationship with a man on this kind of note. We were pretending, how did I know that it wasn't still pretending for him? Was this part of his plan to keep me close to him?

"I don't believe you," I said, softly. "You're—we're pretending, aren't we?" I asked. "How do I know that this is real for you? That you aren't just making sure your parents see the connection between us, Jace?"

Jace nodded as if he understood my dilemma. Carefully, he grabbed my paint and my brush, and put them to the side. I watched, stiff as a board, as he retook his place against me. Fingers lacing into my hair and the other gripping at the loops of my worn jeans.

"Lidia," he whispered, rubbing the pad of his thumb down the center of my bottom lip. "You tell me that this feels fake to you, and I'll never do it again."

Before I could answer, he diminished the distance between our mouths and kissed me. To say that I'd never been kissed that way was an understatement.

It was different than the kiss from the party. That had been so magical that I felt numb, felt out of my body. This—I felt every single touch of his fingers and every tug of his hand.

Good thing the wall held most of my weight because I would have tilted over into the paint if it hadn't. Jace mouth pried mine open, and his tongue danced along my lip for entrance.

His hard body pressed against mine, and I found myself tugging on his T-shirt. Jace answered all of the soft moans that escaped my mouth with a deep raspy noise from his chest.

I didn't care that someone would come to check on us. Hopefully, they'd take the hint and leave. Jace's thigh pressed against my leg and found its way in-between.

The pressure formed a ball of melting lust in the center of my stomach. "You taste so sweet," he whispered into my mouth.

I couldn’t answer. I couldn't think. The dizzy whirl of emotions clogged danced on any coherent thought in my brain. I greeted his tongue with mine and tugged harder against his clothes, part of me wanting them off.

When Jace's palm pressed against my bare back from underneath my shirt, I yelped and jumped back from him. All my standards of a first date—was this even a date?—put the brakes on my over hormonal body.

"Wow!" I said, my palms out in defense.

Jace smiled slowly, wiping his thumb against his lip, he slowly placed it inside his mouth and tasted the scent I'd left there. "Tell me, Lidia Lambert. Did that feel faked to you?"

No, it didn't, but I couldn't say it. I stared at him in disbelief. This was not what I had thought it'd be when I agreed to take this little bargain. Sure, I thought he was hot, way hot, but I didn't think I'd be in the back of Honey Art Café making out with him.

"I'm not like this," I said, trying to straighten my hair. "I don't make out with men on the first date."

"It's not our first day, darlin'," he said. "We've known each other for a month."

"Those were pretend," I countered.

"Maybe," he said, walking closer to me. "Or maybe not. Maybe this is all blurring together for me now. Maybe I don't want it to be pretend."

"Stop it!" I shouted, pressing the pads of my hands up first against my eyeballs. "This is so confusing."

Jace swiped paint from my cheek. "It seems pretty straightforward to me, Lidia Lambert. I like you, and you like me."

I crossed my arms, trying to regain my composure. "Don't put words in my mouth."

He smirked. "Would you rather I put my tongue back in it?"

I gasped. "How dare you. How about I put my fist in yours?"

He chuckled and grabbed a cookie form the plate on the side table. "Better eat up," he said. "We're going to my house before we head to my parents. I went ahead and had Gemma bring you over something simple to wear."

"Thank you," I mumbled, popping a cake pop into my mouth. "These are good," I said.

Jace's eyes dropped to my mouth. "Tell me about it."

Oh mercy.