Chapter 35 JUNIPER
“S.H.U.T. U.P.,” I hissed, spelling it out like he was five and possibly hard of hearing.
I clutched my notebook tighter against my chest like it was a chastity belt made of paper and shame.
“Can we please just do what we actually came here for? Fake relationship boot camp. Backstory. Details. No more sex questions.”
Knox threw his head back and laughed — a deep, stupidly attractive sound that made the bored barista glance over.
“Alright, alright. I’ll behave,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
But the wicked glint in those gray-blue eyes said behaving was not in his vocabulary.
“For now.”
Before I could even exhale in relief, the barista appeared at our table like she’d been summoned by the scent of fresh testosterone.
Her uniform top had the top three buttons undone — way lower than corporate policy probably allowed — and she leaned forward dramatically, practically serving her cleavage on a platter right in front of Knox’s face.
“What can I get you?” she asked him, voice suddenly sweet and breathy, ignoring me completely.
Knox’s gaze dropped straight to her chest without a shred of shame. A slow, appreciative smirk spread across his lips.
“I’ll have them,” he said smoothly.
I nearly choked on my own spit.
Oh my God. This man has zero impulse control.
The barista’s eyes widened for a second, then she smiled like Christmas had come early.
“Whenever you want…” she purred, leaning in even more, “however you want.”
I stared at the ceiling, begging for divine intervention.
Seriously? Right in front of me? We’re supposed to be fake dating and he’s already eye-fucking the staff?
Knox finally pointed lazily at the menu on the table.
“I meant I’ll have that. The house blend. Black.”
The barista blinked, cheeks flushing.
“Oh… okay. Right.”
She straightened up a little, clearly embarrassed, but her eyes still lingered on Knox like he was a limited-edition snack. Then she finally remembered I existed.
“And you?”
“Another coffee,” I said flatly.
“Same as before.”
She gave me the world’s most disinterested nod, her attention already sliding back to Knox.
After a painfully long second of hovering, she finally turned and walked away, swaying her hips like she was auditioning for a music video.
Knox’s eyes followed her ass the entire way across the café like it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen all day.
I let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh.
“Wow. This fake relationship is off to a fantastic start,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Really selling the devoted boyfriend vibe. Tell me, Knox — is eye-fucking anything with a pulse and a pussy going to be a regular occurrence, or are you planning to at least pretend you’re not a walking hard-on while we’re supposedly together? Because I have to say, the optics are shit.”
Knox dragged his gaze back to me, looking far too amused. He leaned back in his chair, lips twitching.
“Jealous already, Speckles? We’re not even officially fake dating yet and you’re getting territorial. That’s cute.”
“I’m not jealous, I’m practical. If your dad’s as observant as you say, he’s going to notice you drooling over every pair of tits in a five-mile radius while I sit here pretending to be madly in love with you.”
He leaned back, still grinning.
“Relax. I can behave when it counts. That was just… appreciation for the local scenery.”
"Reyes!"
He chuckled, low and lazy.
“Relax. I can multitask. I’ll eye-fuck discreetly. You’ll get the full boyfriend experience in public — hand-holding, smoldering looks, the occasional ass grab if you’re lucky.”
“You grab my ass in public and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing those fingers ever do.”
Knox pressed a hand to his chest, eyes wide with mock horror.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa —” he said, voice dripping with sarcastic outrage.
“You’d maim me just for giving that perfect ass the appreciation it deserves? In public? I thought we were building a loving fake relationship here, Speckles, not entering a hostile situation.”
He leaned in closer, grin turning wicked.
“Besides… if I do grab that perfect little ass in public,” he said, his smirk turning filthy, downright sinful,
“the last thing those fingers will be doing is regretting it.”
“Unfucking believable!” I hissed, my face flaming so hot I was surprised it didn’t set off the café’s smoke detectors.
Knox chuckled, low and rich, clearly living for my outrage like it was his favorite hobby.
“Okay, fine,” he drawled, holding both hands up in mock surrender.
“No grabbing your ass in public…” His eyes dragged slowly down my body before flicking back up to mine.
“Unless you beg nicely first. And by nicely, I mean on your knees, looking up at me with those big innocent eyes while you say please.”
I stared at him, speechless for half a second.
“You are actually deranged,” I muttered, pressing my hands to my burning cheeks.
“Clinical. Certifiable.”
Knox just grinned wider, completely unbothered.
“You say deranged. I say optimistic.”
I just glared at him.
Hard.
He stared right back, completely unbothered, that stupidly cocky smirk still firmly in place like it was glued to his face.
The staring contest lasted way too long. I refused to blink first.
Finally, he leaned back with a dramatic sigh.
“Back to business then.” His expression shifted into something almost professional.
“Let’s start simple. How did we meet?”
I shrugged, tapping my pen against the notebook while my brain scrambled for something believable.
A bookstore scene popped into my head — cute, low-key, easy to remember.
“We met at the bookstore,” I said.
“I was reaching for a book on the top shelf. You helped me get it. Sparks flew. Very meet-cute.”
Knox stared at me like I’d just suggested we met on the moon while riding unicorns.
“A bookstore?” He let out a loud, disbelieving laugh.
“Do I look like a guy who spends his free time browsing bookstores, Speckles? I mean, come on. I look like I bench press small cars and fuck on yachts. I’d look more natural in a strip club or a cage fight than wandering around smelling old paper and pretending to read Hemingway.”
He gestured at himself — the broad shoulders, the expensive watch, the general aura of I could ruin your life and you’d thank me.
“I don’t read books,” he continued, grinning.
“I barely read menus. The only thing I’ve read in the last five years is the back of a protein powder tub...or maybe playboy magazines sometimes....well most times.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Excuse me for trying to make you sound slightly cultured. God forbid anyone thinks you have a single brain cell that isn’t dedicated to flexing or flirting.”
He grinned, unfazed.
“I have plenty of brain cells. They’re just busy with more important things. Like memorizing the exact shade of red your face turns when I talk about grabbing your ass.”
“Fine, smartass,” I muttered.
“You suggest something then. Since apparently walking into a bookstore would shatter your precious fuckboy reputation.”
“We’ll just say you were across the gym, struggling to add plates to the bar or some shit, looking all cute and helpless. I came over, rescued you like the gentleman I am. Very believable. Heroic, even.”
I blinked at him slowly.
“I don’t go to the gym.”
“Nobody needs to know your cardio habits,” Knox said with a casual shrug.
I shook my head, slow and deliberate.
“No. Absolutely not. No gym. Think of something else—”
“Fuck if I know,” Knox cut in, leaning back and spreading his arms wide.
“You’re the writer. You decide. I’m just here looking pretty and providing the raw material.”
I tapped my pen against the notebook for a second, then smiled.
“We already have the gummy bear story. Let’s just stick with that one. If we keep changing it now, people are going to get suspicious that we’re making it up as we go.”
Knox glared at me, the easy smirk completely wiped off his face.
“No fucking way.”
“Yes fucking way,” I shot back sweetly.
He shook his head, jaw tight.
“No.”
"Yes."
I couldn’t stop the smug little smile spreading across my face.
Victory tasted delicious.
Knox sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face like I was physically painful to deal with.
“Fine,” he growled, voice low and dangerous.
“But don’t ever make up shitty stories like that again. I have a fucking reputation to uphold. I don’t get rescued. People come to me for rescuing. I’m the one who walks in and makes everyone else look weak.”
I raised an eyebrow, still smiling like the cat who got the cream.
“Aw, poor Knoxy,” I cooed, tilting my head.
“Can’t handle a little damsel-in-distress role? Does it bruise that big, fragile ego of yours?”
Knox’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
The temperature at our table seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Call me Knoxy again and I’ll give you a very real reason to need rescuing, Speckles.”
"Why Knoxy?"
“Keep pushing it, Speckles, and I’ll give you a very real demonstration of how I handle brats who test me.”
The threat should’ve annoyed me.
Instead, it sent a traitorous little shiver down my spine. I shoved the feeling away immediately.
Do not react.
Do not blush.
Do not give him the satisfaction.
"First date?” he asked
“Late night drive to the overlook,” I said, remembering what he’d suggested earlier.
“We talked for hours. I pretended to hate you.”
“Pretended?” He clutched his chest.
“Speckles, you wound me. In this version, you fell for my charm instantly. You laughed at all my jokes. Practically swooned.”
“I do not swoon.”
“You would if I put in the effort.” He winked.
I rubbed my temple.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into? This man is going to be the death of me.
My phone buzzed violently on the table. Once. Twice. Then it started vibrating like it was having a medical emergency.
Group Chat – The Chaos Coven
Piper: JUNIPER HAYES if you don’t text us in the next 30 seconds I’m assuming he’s murdered you and I’m bringing the shovel AND the good tequila
Katy: Do we need to activate the casserole + restraining order protocol?? I have the duct tape in my bag and I’ve been stress-eating Takis so I’m VERY motivated right now
Piper: Send proof of life or we’re coming. I’m already in the car. Engine running. Ready to commit several light felonies.
I quickly typed back under the table.
Me: I’m alive. He’s being annoying but not murderous. Will update soon. Do NOT come here.
Katy: Define “annoying.” Is it PERVERT-annoying or punchable-annoying?
Piper: Both is an option and I’m fully prepared for either. I’ve got the shovel in the trunk, zip ties in the glovebox, and a very strong alibi already prepared. Say the word and we’ll turn that man into a missing person case.
ME: IM FINE!
I shoved my phone face-down and looked back at Knox, who was watching me with raised eyebrows.
“Emergency?” he guessed.
“My emotional support gremlins. They’re one wrong move from you away from showing up with duct tape and baked goods.”
“Huh”