Joel Miller didn’t do pretending.

Not with his time, not with his words, and sure as hell not with relationships. But then again, he didn’t expect to be cornered outside the little coffee shop you worked at by you — his best friend’s daughter — looking up at him like you were seconds away from committing a crime.

“Joel,” you hissed, stepping way too close. “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend. Right now.”

He blinked. “You wanna run that by me again?”

You gripped the front of his flannel, eyes wide and desperate. “I told some people from work I had a boyfriend — someone older. Grumpy. Sexy in that whole ‘hands calloused, doesn’t use social media’ kind of way. I was trying to get them off my back.”

His brow rose. “That sounds suspiciously like me.”

You didn’t answer, because just then, your two coworkers Stacy and Max opened the door, immediately eyeing the handsome older man standing before you.

Joel cursed under his breath. “You owe me,” he muttered, then slid an arm around your waist like he’d done it a hundred times before.

And just like that, the game began.

He played it too well — warm palm pressed low against your spine, voice rough and lazy as he introduced himself. He looked at you like you were the only woman in the room, like he’d just finished doing something unspeakable to you and was already thinking about doing it again.

It was dangerous how good he was at this.

And you weren’t much better.

You leaned into him. Smiled up at him. Laughed at things that weren’t even funny just because your heart was beating so hard you didn’t trust your mouth to work right.

At one point, Max asked how you two met.

“She was trouble the minute I laid eyes on her,” Joel said, voice low, fingers tracing slow circles on your hip. “Still is.”

You almost forgot it was fake.