Page 170 of Faking the Goal

"Like what?"

"Like she's become your center of gravity." She watches me for a moment before smiling. "No... that's not quite right." Her eyes drift to Taylor. "It's more like you're a planet that's finally found its sun. You don't chase her. You simply revolve back to her, over and over, as though that's where you're meant to be."

"And you can tell that just by the way I look at her?" I arch an inquisitive brow, my eyes betraying me by drifting toward Taylor once again.

"Mm-hmm." Mom gestures toward me with an open palm, as if I'd just proven her point for her. "You don't even realize you're doing it. No matter where you are or what you're doing, somehow you always end up looking at her."

I lean back in my chair, letting her words settle. There's no point trying to hide it from Mom. She's always been annoyingly good at reading me, sometimes better than I am at reading myself.

"You can keep calling this relationship fake if you want," Mom says gently, "but your eyes tell a very different story, Ken-chan. Every time you look at her, it's obvious there's nothing fake about the way you feel."

I don't answer immediately.

Instead, I watch Taylor slide another volume onto the shelf before stepping back to admire her work with a little nod of satisfaction that makes me fight another smile.

A slow breath escapes me.

"I do like her," I admit quietly. "More than I did yesterday. Probably less than I will tomorrow."

Mom's expression softens. "Then why don't you tell her?"

"Because it's not the right time."

"Why not?"

I rub my thumb absentmindedly along the side of my coffee mug, trying to figure out how to explain something I've spent the last few weeks trying to untangle myself.

"Because we didn't exactly get off to a good start. I was cold. Judgmental. I made assumptions about her before I even knew who she was." A humorless chuckle slips out. "And every time she gave me a reason to realize I was wrong about her, I somehow found another way to be an asshole."

Mom stays quiet, letting me continue.

"By the time I finally pulled my head out of my ass, she hated me. And whatever little trust she'd started to have in me was pretty much gone." I glance down at my coffee. "I've apologized, and I'm still trying to make up for it, but saying I'm sorry doesn't automatically undo everything I said to her."

Especially the things I said that night at the club.

I still fucking hate myself every time I think about them.

"Before all this happened with the stalker, she barely wanted anything to do with me anymore. Then I found out what was happening and suggested the fake-dating thing because I thought it might help keep this asshole away from her." I pause, because that's true. It's just not the entire truth. "But I'd be lying if I said that was the only reason I offered."

Mom's brows lift slightly, but she doesn't interrupt.

"It gave me a reason to be around her again. A chance to fix some of what I fucked up without asking her to forgive me just because I want her to."

I look across the café again.

Taylor has moved on to another shelf, completely oblivious to the fact that we're talking about her.

"If I'd told her how I felt right away, she probably wouldn't have believed me anyway. And honestly, why should she?" I say. "I spent weeks acting like I couldn't stand her, then suddenly I find out some psycho is stalking her and tell her I have feelings for her? That would look fucking terrible."

Mom's mouth presses into a thoughtful line.

"She could think I'm taking advantage of the fact that she's scared. Or that everything I'm doing for her now has some ulterior motive because I want something from her." My jaw tightens. "I don't ever want her wondering that."

"So what are you going to do?"

"For now?" My eyes find Taylor again. They always fucking do. "Nothing."

Mom gives me a look.