Page 150 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“I do not. I’m emotionally horizontal.”

I grin before I can stop myself.

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are pinked, and she’s got the smile of someone who can’t help but give herself away. I kiss her again, soft this time, and smooth her hair back from her forehead. She shuts her eyes, breathes me in.

We stay like that for a while, just heat and sweat, the tangle of our bodies and the slow come-down after something seismic. She’s calmer now, but I can still feel the undercurrent. The want. She’s always been greedy, and I love her for it.

She’s the first to break the spell. She opens her eyes, searches my face like she’s looking for hidden messages, then trails her hands down my chest. I shiver, goosebumps erupting in her wake. She traces the line of my ribs, the cut of my waist, then opens his jeans.

“You are wearing,” she says, voice pitched low, “far too many clothes.”

“Me?” I say, innocent. “You’re the one in socks.”

She kicks me, heel to my calf, but she’s laughing. “Shut up and undress.”

I toe off one boot.

Then the other.

Her gaze tracks the movement, then lifts slowly back to my face.

“You’re taking your time,” she says.

“I’m standing up.”

“You’re making standing up seem suspiciously theatrical.”

“I’m removing boots.”

“With dramatic intent.”

“You asked me to undress.”

“I didn’t ask for a one-man show at a vineyard-adjacent scandal site.”

I almost smile. “You want me to stop?”

Her eyes drop to my belt.

“No.”

That one word does something to the room.

I bend and pull off one sock, then the other, because apparently I’m still civilized enough to avoid getting naked in another person’s childhood bedroom while wearing socks. When I straighten, Daisy is watching my hands.

Not my face.

My hands.

Fuck.

I unbutton my jeans.

Her fingers curl in the sheet.

I notice.

She notices me noticing.