“Sources at the club say the couple were dancing closely and seen canoodling in the VIP lounge. They barely looked at me when I took their order, a waitress says. They only had eyes for each other.”
“Exactly,” Knox says with a laugh. “After we are seen canoodling, we’ll go to another club. We’ll let it slip that we’re headed there next, but it’s much more private. We can just have fun. It’s when we leave there that will matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are we drunk? Are we kissing? Do we look high? Are we in a fight? Am I taking you home? Are we going back to my place?”
“I clearly didn’t think far enough ahead.”
The car pulls to a stop. “You ready for this? I’ll get out of the car, put my hand inside to help you out, being the gentleman that I am. Come out slowly. Let them get a glimpse of those luscious, long legs first. Then gracefully get out of the car.”
The photographers are there, just like Knox said, and we do exactly as we planned.
Sort of.
Once I’m out of the car, the reporters yell, “Who’s your date tonight, Knox?”
Knox slides his hand down the side of my face and under my chin, gently raising it upward as the cameras flash.
“All I’ll say is she looks a whole lot like her mother.”
I decide to give Knox and the cameras the works, moving the corners of my mouth upward, curling my lips into a little smirk, and then giving them the full smile that people say is just like my mom’s.
He shakes his head at me, leans in, and whispers loudly, “Beautiful.”
I toss my head back just a little and laugh, like he said something funny, as he grabs my hand and pulls me into the club, his bodyguard leading the way.
Even though I know Vincent is in California, I still find myself on edge, searching faces for one that looks like his. Looking for someone who might be watching me a little too closely.
A guy in a suit leads us to the VIP area that rings the dance floor and is very visible from the rest of the club. Our section will seat a party of twenty, even though it’s only the two of us. There’s a chilled bottle of Don Julio waiting for us along with a full bottle service set up.
We haven’t even sat down before a group of girls bounce over, calling out Knox’s name. The VIP bouncer stops them by putting up his thick hand. “I’m sorry, ladies. You’ll have to leave.”
“But we partied with him last week,” a pretty brunette pouts. “Knox!” she says again. “It’s Marcy, remember?”
Knox surprises me when he leaves my side and joins her.
“Marcy,” he says, giving her air kisses. “Of course I remember. Have you ever met Keatyn?”
The girls don’t look thrilled, but are polite as he grabs me, kisses me square on the lips, and then drags me over to meet them.
“Ladies, this is Keatyn Douglas. Bet you can’t guess who her mom is.”
It’s then when I realize why he talked to Marcy.
And that I should play along.
I lay my hand on his chest, pushing away from him just like my mom does to Tommy. It’s adorable because she never leaves his arms. Then I use her voice. Older, more mature, with a slight southern twang to it. “These girls don’t care who my momma is.”
Marcy’s smile fades. “Oh. My. God. You sound just like Abby Johnston.”
I roll my eyes at Knox like I’m irritated he spilled the beans then give him my pout. “Knox, baby, I thought it was going to be just us tonight.”
He hugs me tighter, kisses my neck, and says sexily, “Oh, it most definitely is,” as his bodyguard stands shoulder to shoulder with the VIP bouncer and says, “Sorry, ladies.”
Knox sits down and pulls me onto his lap, snuggling with me. “Am I good or what?”
“You’re devious, that’s what you are.”
“Shots, then dancing?”
“Absolutely.”
He raises a finger and a waiter rushes into our section. “We’ll have some tequila shooters.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Daniels,” the waiter replies, pouring shots and lining them up in front of us.
Knox clinks my glass with his and we down the first shot, then the second.
“Let’s dance.”
He leads me out to the dance floor and pulls me into his arms.
It’s at this point I realize that sometimes I’m not very good at pretending.
Because sometimes my real life gets in the way.
And it’s because I’m not dancing with Aiden.
As much as I want to pretend that I’m into dancing with Knox, I’m just not.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m dancing with Aiden. But Knox doesn’t move the way Aiden does. His leg doesn’t fit between mine like it should. His hands don’t grip my hips like he owns them.
“Uh, I need to pee,” I say, suddenly coming up with a way to get off the dance floor and quickly fleeing.
I don’t even think about my safety or Vincent until I’m rushing out of the bathroom and a brick wall of a man is standing in front of me, blocking my way.