It was good advice, but it didn’t seem to sit right with either of them. Brady wasn’t about to voice that, though.

The truth was that he didn’t want Felicity back. That much he knew.

But he did want something from her.

An apology?

Her admitting that she made a mistake?

Closure?

He wasn’t sure, but that itch was there.

He also wasn’t sure what Sloane wanted with Marcus.

Everyone was freaking out because she hadn’t told him how she felt, but did she still actually feel that way now? Was her saying she didn’t have the hots for him just another lie?

Did Sloane De Carlo still hopelessly love Marcus Robertson?

Brady could have asked—maybe should have—but he didn’t. It didn’t matter. Their fake-dating arrangement was born of necessity, and that was it. She needed a cover; he needed press.

That’s all it was.

Brady shook out the tension that had crept into his shoulders. “How about, worst case, I’ll just flip a table. Give everyone something to talk about.”

Sloane actually laughed. It surprised him.

“I’d rather you just kiss me again before you flip any tables. More enjoyable, way less messy.”

Brady knew she hadn’t meant to say what she had, at least based on how quickly she turned toward him and how red her face went, but he couldn’t help but answer with a laugh. Businesslike agreement or not, he wouldn’t turn that down.

“I think that could be arranged.”

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Sloane was just going to have to accept the fact that her existence post–viral blog would be a hot one. Cheeks, neck, and ears always nearing lava-hot from embarrassment, self-consciousness, or lust.

Yeah, she thought it.

Lust.

Because that was normal to feel around an attractive man, right? And that’s what Brady was. Sure, he wasn’t a Marcus Robertson–type of good-looking. No, he was a darker, cockier type of mmm-mmm good. A rough-and-tumble character you couldn’t help but think about having a rough tumble in bed with.

Normally, Sloane wouldn’t blush so hard because of someone simply looking at her and making her imagine what it would feel like hugging him sans shirts, but add in the fact that they were going to have to sell a romantic relationship to others? Well, how-do-you-do crapsticks.

Fire, meet Sloane’s face, body, and soul.

Stepping out of Brady’s truck, she barely felt the heat and humidity trying to test her hairstyling mousse’s strength. It would have to get a lot hotter to compete with what her nerves were already cooking up.