Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
His hand slides to the small of my back. “Doesn’t look humiliating from where I’m standing.”
“Of course not. You look smug.”
“I’m not smug.”
“You’re very smug.”
He glances down at me, expression unreadable. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I pull my hand free. “Because that wasn’t just performance.”
“No,” he agrees.
“It crossed a line.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You’re the one who said public affection.”
“Not like that.”
“You want me to kiss you like I don’t mean it?”
The question makes my chest tighten.
“You meant it?”
“Yes.”
My breath catches. “You weren’t supposed to.”
He leans in, just enough that his mouth hovers near my ear. “Then maybe we need new terms.”
My pulse spikes. “We had rules.”
“We did.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he says quietly, “we figure out if we’re still pretending.”
The bar erupts in cheers again as our KissCam moment replays on the screen inside.
I watch it for half a second. The way I melted into him. The way he pulled me closer. It doesn’t look staged. It looks inevitable.
I turn back to him. “This is dangerous.”
His hand slides back to my waist. “I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The honesty steals my breath. “Levi…”
He tips my chin up gently. “You wanted ninety days.”
“I did.”
“You still have them.” His thumb brushes lightly along my jaw. “But I’m not kissing you halfway again.”
Heat floods my veins. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a promise.”
The gossip page continues to explode. The church ladies are probably already drafting invitations for our wedding.
But standing here under the fading summer sky, with Levi’s hand warm against my skin and the echo of that kiss still humming through me—the fake part feels like the least believable thing of all.
And that’s what scares me most.
Because if that kiss was real—then we’re not just playing with fire anymore.
We’re standing in it.
Chapter 5
Sadie
If the church ladies wanted spectacle, they got it.
The annual Spring Firefighters & Foam Charity Car Wash is chaos before it even starts. Folding tables sag under trays of lemon bars. Hand-painted signs wobble in the breeze. Children run in sticky circles around orange traffic cones. Mrs. Dottie Henderson stands front and center like a five-foot general directing battle.
And Levi Kane is shirtless.
I stop mid-step in the church parking lot and forget how to function. My lips are still tingling from our KissCam performance yesterday and now this.
He’s leaning against Engine 3, a sponge in one hand, sunlight cutting across his shoulders like it was designed for him specifically. Water slicks down his chest. His turnout pants sit low on his hips. The muscles in his arms flex as he wrings out the sponge.
The whistle from somewhere near the bake sale booth is not subtle.
“Lord have mercy,” Mrs. Dottie breathes beside me. “That boy is raising money just by breathing.”
I swallow.
“He’s aware of that,” I mutter.
As if summoned by my internal crisis, Levi glances up and spots me. His mouth curves into a smirk. Slow. Dangerous.
He pushes off the engine and strolls toward me like this isn’t public torture.
“You’re late, Hotshot.”
“I’m supervising,” I reply smoothly. “Someone has to maintain professionalism.”
His gaze drags down my sundress. Then back up.
“Professional,” he repeats, low.
Heat flares under my skin. “You’re supposed to be washing cars.”
“I am.”
“You’re posing.”
He leans closer, voice dropping so only I can hear. “You’re staring.”
“I am not.”
His brow lifts.
I lift my chin.
“Okay,” I concede. “Maybe a little. It’s ninety degrees and you look like a firefighter calendar.”
He smirks. “You always did appreciate community service.”
The church ladies swarm past us carrying buckets of suds. The high school cheer team squeals at something near the front line. Music blasts from a portable speaker—some upbeat country song about trucks and heartbreak.
I grab the nearest hose before I say something reckless.
“Where do you want me?” I ask.
His eyes darken. “Careful.”
“For the car wash,” I clarify sweetly.
He nods toward a muddy pickup pulling into the lot. “Front left.”
I stride over, flip the nozzle, and blast the hood with water. The spray kicks back harder than I expect. It arcs sideways.
Directly onto Levi.
He doesn’t move as water drenches his chest, beads rolling down the sharp lines of his abs. His hair darkens, plastering slightly at his temples.
The cheer team goes feral.
“Oh my God,” someone shrieks.
I freeze as he stalks toward me.
“You did that on purpose,” he says calmly.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
I adjust my grip on the hose, trying not to laugh. “You were in the splash zone.”
He steps closer.
Too close.
His hand wraps around my wrist.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “That thing’s powerful.”
The nozzle jerks under the pressure and water sprays wildly, drenching both of us.
My dress clings instantly. Cold fabric sticks to my thighs, my waist, my chest.
The parking lot erupts in whistles.
“GET A ROOM!” someone yells.
I’m soaked. He’s soaked. And he’s still holding my wrist. Water runs down his collarbone and drips from his chin.
“This is dangerous,” he says, voice low enough that the words skim over my skin instead of through the air.