"Our engagement doesn't have to be that long. Two weeks, very public. Then we can break up. With any luck, Frannie will have found another man. And even if she hasn't, I can claim a broken heart and the hope of reconciliation. She'll leave me alone," he says with certainty.
"And that's it? That's all I have to do? Pretend to be engaged?"
He nods. "You in? I'm willing to pay."
"Damn right, you are," I say. "This is going to be an arms-length transaction or not at all."
He laughs. "Well, then name your price."
I think about it, then nod. What the hell, right? I might as well go for broke. "Sixteen thousand, nine-hundred seventy-four dollars."
"Well," he says with a small frown. "That's a very exact number."
"The amount I need to pay off the loan, minus the ten I already applied, and the five you paid me for our date. I'm not applying the value of the thousand-dollar bill, because I think it's cool, and I don't want to sell it. And I'm not applying the two grand I've saved because that would clean me out. Or the money I could get as a cash advance off my credit cards. Because then I'd just have more debt." I shrug. "So that's the number. Take it or leave it."
"Done."
"Really?" I grin. I was expecting more of a battle.
"Really," he acknowledges. "You're my adoring fiancee, in public and in private."
I take a step toward him. "Fair enough," I say. "As long as we're clear on one thing. I'll be your girl, and I'll put on a show for whoever's watching. As for the private part? You can sleep here, or I'll sleep at your place. And we can take day trips together and put on quite the show for the media. And if you really want me to, I'll even do your laundry."
I'm right in front of him now, and I press my finger to his lips, then trace it down, down, down, all the way to the fly of his jeans. "But that's as far as private goes. This," I add, cupping his crotch, "isn't part of our deal at all."
I back away as I feel his cock stiffen under my hand, then smile sweetly. "Those are the terms," I say. "Take them or leave them."
16
Lyle caught himself smiling as he walked toward Totally Tattoo. The kind of big, goofy grin that spreads across a guy's face when the cute girl in fourth period agrees to go out with him. A happy smile, chock full of possibilities and promise for the future. Or, at the very least, one really awesome night in a parked car.
A smile that, in Lyle's case, was nine kinds of ironic considering Sugar had pretty much shut him down cold.
But he didn't care. Or, more accurately, he considered no sex a small price to pay to have her at his side for the foreseeable future.
And that was ironic, too, considering that just this morning he'd practically bolted from her house with his tail between his legs.
But that was when it had been a free-range type of situation. Without rules or parameters or expectations. Now, they both had roles to play. Which meant he was back in his comfort zone. He was a guy in love. A guy planning his wedding. A guy happy to finally have it out in the open that he'd found the girl he wanted to marry.
He could play that role. Hell, he could play that role so well they'd give him a damned Oscar even without an actual movie.
With a chuckle he rounded the corner and came up the alley behind Totally Tattoo. As he approached the low brick wall that blocked his view of the parking area, he slipped his hand into his pocket for his keys, only to remember that they weren't there.
He frowned, hoping Greg remembered to put them under the mat like Sugar had said. Surely he had--what else would he do with them, especially since it wasn't as if Greg had borrowed the Volvo to go joy riding.
But they weren't there.
Lyle checked all four mats, and there was nothing. Not even a loose coin or a cellophane wrapper from a mint. The car was completely pristine, just the way he liked it. And it was also completely absent of keys.
Well, hell.
He considered calling the guy, but he didn't have his number. And, he realized with a frown, he still didn't have Sugar's. He'd meant to get that at her house--it would have been a hell of a lot easier to warn her about the possible flood of reporters if he'd been able to make a call--but after their negotiation, he'd totally forgotten.
Most likely, Greg had left the keys inside with Cass, so Lyle headed toward the back door, surprised when it opened and Greg stepped out.
"I was just coming to look for you," Lyle said. "Well, you or my keys. Do you have--"
But he didn't get the last words out. Mostly because the rock solid punch that Greg landed in his gut knocked all the wind out of him.