Chapter 20 – Pretending You Are Mine Novel

He grips the back of his neck, causing his bicep to pull at his shirt fabric. “I’m just trying to figure you out. This is platonic, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah. Why?” I tilt my head to the side. “Oh my God, Silas Tater Tot—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are you falling in love with me?”

“Jesus.” He folds the map and puts it in his back pocket while pushing off the fence.

“You are, aren’t you?” I loop my arm through his. “It’s okay, you can tell me. I promise I’ll be gentle with your heart.”

“You’re fucking annoying, you know that?”

“I can tell you’re trying to deflect, and it’s cute.” I hold him close as we walk down the pathway, shrouds of jungle-like plants lining either side of the walkway. “But I need to remind you, dear Tatery Totty—”

“Seriously, enough with that shit.”

Ignoring him, I continue, “We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh. And do friends usually taunt their other friends with their asses in saunas?”

“You thought that was taunting?” I pat his arm. “That was just an artful way to show off the human form. Also, we all have butts, nothing new to see.”

“Trust me, that was something new.”

“Are you saying I have a nice ass, Silas?”

“You have a really nice ass.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Well, thank you. That means a lot coming from the king of asses.”

He pauses and looks down at me. “King of asses?”

“Oh, have I not mentioned that before? Your glutes are so tight, they could easily crack a walnut.”

He chuckles, and I feel him loosen up. “Not sure about that, but thanks.”

“See.” I shake his arm. “You just needed to loosen up a bit. Anytime you need a compliment to get that fun-motor revving, you let me know. I have a bunch stocked up.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know, just things like you have the most amazing pecs I’ve ever seen in my life. Your shoulders are carved like stone, and not to mention the forearm porn you’re offering up today.”

He glances down at his forearms. “They’re pretty nice, aren’t they.”

We both chuckle, and I push him lightly to the side. “Okay, no need to inflate the ego. We have a whole zoo to visit, after all.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have invited me then,” he says, his mouth close to my ear. “Because now I’m going to be insufferable.”

* * *

“I could definitely haul morethan that camel,” Silas says as we stare at the very large and beefy camel in front of us.

He has said the same thing about the rhino, claiming he could charge faster.

And the elephant—he could lift more.

And the freaking cheetah—he can run faster.

It’s been terribly annoying.

Maybe this is how he feels when I pester him.

“Yes, my dear Tater Tot, you sure can.” I pat him on the cheek.

“What did I tell you about calling me that?”

“Do it more?” I ask with a charming smile.

“No. Do it less.”

We move away from the camels and head down the path toward the moose. “You can’t tell me no one called you Tater Tot growing up.”

“People did, and I shut them down too.”

“Like who?”

He sticks his hands in his pockets and says, “My grandpa.”

“Stop, you did not shut your grandpa down.”

He smirks. “In my head, I did.”

“Uh-huh, and how did that work out for you?”

“Not great.”

“Can’t imagine why.” We move in front of the moose exhibit and take in the sturdy beast. “Why would you hate that your grandpa called you that? I think it’s adorable.”

“Because I’m a hockey player and back then, I was scrawny when all I wanted was to be big. The nickname Tater Tot wasn’t exactly what I was looking for when all I wanted to be was a big, burly hockey player.”

“Aw, you were scrawny?”

“Very,” he answers.

“For how long?”

He thinks about it for a second, then answers, “When I was a senior in high school, I started to gain some weight, and college helped me pack on the muscle. I was super fast. That was how I got around the ice without getting hurt as much.”

“Are you still the fastest?”

“Sadly, no,” he answers. “Holmes is the fastest on the team. I’m second. That dude floats on the ice. Not sure how he does it.”

“Probably his good looks carrying him around the ice.”

Silas gives me a side-eye that makes me laugh. “What about you? Any nicknames?”

“Just Ollie, which quickly became my regular name. I guess Oliana would be my nickname now, one that you shouldn’t use.” I lift my brow at him.

“You like that I use it, don’t even lie.” He drapes his arm over my shoulder, pulling me in tight and, for a moment, I relish it.

Silas is all kinds of tight-lipped and earnest. He takes things very seriously, holds his cards close to his chest, and never shows weakness, but it’s times like this, when he’s loose and doesn’t mind showing platonic affection, that I truly enjoy. Because I can see his true self, the man he is past the high walls he’s erected over the years to protect his heart.

“I might like it a little.”

He chuckles. “I fucking knew it.”

* * *

“Here we are,”I say as I walk up to the most prestigious domestic donkey I’ve ever seen. “Thought you could use this.” I hand him a small cardboard tray of chicken tenders. “I even made the special sauce you like.”

He doesn’t take the tray. Instead, he just stares at it, and with one brow lifted, he looks up at me. “Is that what you were doing when I was going to the restroom?”

“You should never leave me unattended. You never know what I’ll get up to.” I gesture to the donkey and add, “Isn’t it perfect, though? You, me, donkeys, and chicken tenders. Now if only your fly was . . .”

My voice fades as I glance down at his crotch.

My eyes widen right before I let out an ugly, uproarious laughter that shakes the very ground we stand on.

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