Fake Dating The Billionaire Actor
I hate how my heart speeds up.
“Fine,” I say, trying to sound bossy. “You start at the register. Just hit the big buttons. Don’t steal the tips.”
He palms the register, giving it a once-over as if he's about to hack into NORAD. “Easy enough.”
“Then work that, and catch up the orders.” I slide him an apron. It’s pink and has a cartoon muffin stitched in the middle. He puts it on without comment, tying it over his black workout shirt and too-big muscles. The sight does something to me that I don’t want to unpack.