Page 155 of Fake it ’Til Fall

A place to fall.

I bury my face against her neck, because if I look at her, I’ll say something I can’t take back.

The room narrows to her breath, the rain at the glass, the old bed under us, the heat of her wrapped around me. I lose the rhythm I was trying to control. She feels it. Her arms tighten around me, and there is no pretending after that.

I come hard, with my mouth against her shoulder and one hand buried in her hair, holding myself there so I don’t crush her, so I don’t lose the last thread of care in the force of it.

For a few seconds, I can’t move.

Daisy’s fingers move first, slow through my hair.

“You’re very intense for a fake boyfriend,” she whispers.

My laugh comes out rough. “You’re very mouthy for someone who just lost the ability to speak.”

“I recovered quickly. It’s one of my gifts.”

I lift my head.

Her eyes are tired, bright, a little scared.

Mine probably are too.

I brush my thumb along her cheek, and she lets me.

That almost hurts more than the rest.

“Still okay?” I ask.

Her mouth curves, small and real. “No.”

My body goes still.

She touches my jaw. “But in the good way.”

I breathe again.

She sees that too.

Of course she does.

For once, she doesn’t make a joke about it.

She only pulls me down until my forehead rests against hers.

Not sure how fake this can continue or what will happen but I can only hope that we can keep this moment until at least the end of fall.

Chapter Twenty

Daisy

There are several places a woman should not wake up after sleeping with her fake boyfriend.

Her childhood bedroom is high on the list.

Her childhood bedroom while rain taps the window, her mother makes coffee downstairs, and said fake boyfriend is asleep behind her, probably looking far too peaceful for a man who committed emotional arson in her bed less than eight hours ago?

That is less a situation and more a formal inquiry with throw pillows.