“He’s a stage-five clinger,” she whispered. “I guess it would be pretty obvious if I just turned around and ran, right?”
“Considering he’s waving at you, I’d say it would be a bit obvious,” I agreed, my grip adjusting on Skye’s stroller. “How long has it been since you broke up?”
“A little over a year,” she muttered as he came our way, cutting in front of a lady with an armful of fresh flowers in his pursuit of Fiona.
If I’d had hackles, they would have risen.
“Stalker?”
“More annoying and insistent than intrusive,” she whispered, sidestepping closer to me. “He calls every couple of weeks, and I always turn him down. He’s only left me alone when—” Her face whipped toward mine. “I will seriously give you anything you want if you pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“Your boyfriend?” My eyebrows jumped.
She nodded. He was almost to us. The plea in those blue eyes nearly took me out at the fucking knees.
“Fine,” I whispered. Not like it was going to be hard, or anything. I snaked my hand around her waist and tugged her closer.
“Fiona?” The excitement in the guy’s eyes was palpable as he stopped just to the side of Skye’s stroller.
I automatically watched his hands and pulled Skye farther away.
“Hi, Carl.” Fiona offered him a forced smile.
“I’m just so happy to see you. You haven’t answered my calls in what?” His light brown brows furrowed. “A few months?”
“Yeah.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Sorry about that.”
I blinked. She wasn’t sorry and she didn’t have to be. He was the inappropriate one here, constantly pressing for contact she obviously didn’t want.
“I was just hoping—” he started.
“Have you met my boyfriend, Brogan?” she interrupted, snuggling in closer.
Damn, the woman felt good against me. She fit perfectly, tucked in just under my arm, right where she was supposed to.
“Brogan, huh?” Carl’s eyes flew wide as he glanced between us for a moment, but then a small smile lifted his lips. “You guys make it past the three-month mark, yet?”
Fiona tensed.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, my voice low.
“Oh, Fifi here is famous for never making it past the three-month mark in any relationship.” The fucker smirked. “She cuts and runs as soon as it gets close.”
“That is not true,” she snapped.
His smirk slipped. “I guess I just always thought I’d be the one to break the streak, to be honest.” The way he looked at her, with such open, desperate longing, made me both pity him and want to shake some damned sense into him.
“Carl, it’s been over a year—”
“But I guess you two must have figured something out,” he pointedly looked from Skye’s stroller to Fiona, and neither of us corrected his assumption. “Or maybe it was just me. Huh, Fifi?”
“One, it was obviously you,” I said, low and slow. “Because when a woman doesn’t answer your calls for months, that generally means she’s not interested, and continuing to call her is just fucking creepy.”
Carl drew back like I’d slapped him.
“Two, what the hell do you call her?” My fingers splayed wide, reaching over the side of her hip.
“Fifi—”
“Like a fucking dog?” My muscles went rigid.
“Brogan—” Fiona whispered.
“What do you call her?” Carl challenged.
“Mine,” I growled, leaning his direction.
Carl went pale and backed up a couple of steps.
Good.
“That means, don’t call her.” I stared him down, which wasn’t hard considering he was a good five inches shorter than me. “Don’t email her. Don’t text. Don’t DM. Don’t send a fucking fax. Leave her alone.”
We stared at each other in uncomfortable silence until he got the message. Then he nodded once to me and once to her before scampering off into the crowd.
I relaxed my shoulders and found Fiona staring up at me, her lips slightly parted. “Was that too much?”
She shook her head. “You are a god.”
“Seriously, then Carl ran away like dog with his tail tucked between his legs!” Fiona said into her phone as I came into the kitchen about an hour later.
Skye was down for her afternoon nap, and I had exactly two hours before I needed to head out for the airport. It was a little bittersweet putting her down, knowing that I probably wouldn’t be here when she opened her eyes again, but Fiona and I had gotten really good at Facetiming with her.
“I think he might actually leave me alone this time,” Fiona continued, pausing when she locked eyes with me. “Oh, I told him he’s a god.”
“Hardly,” I scoffed.
“He seriously is,” she continued, a smile spreading across her beautiful face. “Daisy, I’m going to have to call you back later, okay?” Another second, and she ended the call, putting her phone on the counter.
“I’m not a god for telling a guy to leave you alone, and you shouldn’t have to feel sorry about not picking up his calls, either.” I leaned back against the counter and crossed my ankles.
Her smile widened, and fuck me, she was stunning. Hair up in a ponytail, yoga pants and a T-shirt, and I’d never seen a more beautiful woman. She was effortless, honest, and so naturally sexy that my pulse skyrocketed just looking at her.
“Well, thank you,” she said, striding across the kitchen floor, her arms open, and her smile beaming. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight.
I laughed at how happy she sounded over something so easily accomplished. Most women I knew wanted expensive dinners, lavish gifts, and tagged Instagram posts. Fiona just wanted me to scare off a clingy ex. She was entirely too easy to please.
“It was no big deal—”
“It was!” She pulled back slightly, her arms still looped around my neck. “Thank you!” She kissed me, hard and fast, just like I’d done to her in the hallway all those weeks ago. It was nothing, just a hard peck of her lips, and yet my entire body went stiff. “Thank you…” Her voice dropped off as her eyes widened, and she stepped away quickly.
Somehow we’d found ourselves in the exact damned situation.
Because you’re attracted to each other.
“Fiona—”
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head slowly. “That was entirely unprofessional of me, and I just…” She squeezed her eyes shut, scrunching her nose. “I’m sorry.”
But what if she hadn’t been? What if I wasn’t? Where the hell was the line between feeling a connection to someone and denying it because of the lines we drew?
“Brogan?” she asked, slowly opening one eye.
“Are you?” I asked, my voice coming out like I’d just run it through the garbage disposal.
“Am I what?” She questioned, blinking.
“Sorry?” I gripped the counter. “Because I’m not, and I’m trying to tell myself to keep my feet planted right here. That I can’t kiss you like I want to because that would be fucked up given our power dynamic—”