Page 63 of The Relationship Clause

He smirks in this way that I’m starting to become familiar with where his head tilts and his lips curl on one side, revealing his perfect teeth. It’s a somewhat new look on him, and a girl could get used to this view.

“Good. On another note, I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but I think we need to talk about how we’re going to handle this whole fake relationship thing in front of my dad.”

“Ha, okay.” I say, unable to meet his gaze. “Or we could awkwardly skate around the issue for the next four days so we can skip this weird topic altogether.”

He sexy-smirks again and rounds the plush leather couch where he sits and pats the space beside him. “Talking is a better idea. Unless you want the possibility of my dad cornering us into another kiss?”

I almost choke on my own spit. Want? Do I want the chance to be semi-forced to kiss Mr. Ferguson again? Absolutely I do. But I also need that not to happen again in my entire life. I don’t think my heart would be able to take it.

So I sit on the couch, but not in the spot he indicated. Instead, I move as far away as physically possible so there’s a good three feet of space between us. Mr. Ferguson gives a sly smile like he knows exactly what’s going on in my head.

“Fine. What exactly do we need to talk about?”

“First of all, we’re going to have to come up with a story. My dad is known for grilling me about all my dates, so sooner or later, he’s bound to ask us how we met and stuff like that. I think we can do that while sticking as close to the truth as possible.”

“Makes sense. So…we met when you came into my job at the coffee shop, you asked me out a while after that, and we’ve hit it off since then?”

“Perfect.” He grins, and my heart skips a beat. There are so many things I think I could agree to if he smiled at me like that. “I think we’re also going to have to get to know each other a little better. Things like where we grew up, where we went to school, you know, stuff people would normally know about each other after dating for a while.”

“Right, cool, makes sense,” I say, telling the happy little butterflies in my stomach to calm the heck down.

“Good. Third, we should establish clear rules about…” He pauses. “You know. PDA.”

The butterflies go on a riot. I clear my throat. “PDA?”

He nods as if he were informing someone the sky is blue.

“Um, I’m not usually a big fan of PDA.” At least I didn’t use to be. Suddenly, the idea of a little display of affection with him doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, public or private.

“Well, then it’s good we’re talking about this. This weekend, there’s going to be skiing, but there are also going to be meals like the one tonight, down time, etcetera. I’m going to do my best to keep these things to a minimum, but we need to be prepared. My dad will expect us to do more than sit beside each other like statues. Even drunk, he noticed something was off at my place.”

He pauses and scoots closer on the couch so that the three-foot safety buffer between us shrinks down to a measly foot. He reaches across those twelve inches and gently takes one of my hands in his. “How do you feel about holding hands?”

The hairs on my arm stand up and do the wave. “Ummmm, I think holding hands is fine.” It’s seriously the least we could do. I can handle a simple hand-holding.

“Good. What about arms?”

“Arms?” I squeak. Actually, at this point in time, I forgot my hand was connected to an arm, so I’m glad he brought it up.

“We might sit close to each other at dinner. How would you feel if I put my arm around you?”

Then, the confounded man moves even closer and puts his arm around me. My nerves scream out for more of his touch. I swallow hard. I can handle this, I can handle this, I can handle this. “Uh, I think that should be fine.”

“Excellent.” He shifts a little so he’s gazing down at me. His lips hover closer to mine, and I can feel the question he’s going to ask next. “What about kissing?”

My breath catches. “W-what?”

“I said, what about kissing?” His deep-brown, bedroom eyes are suddenly extra bedroomey, and I’m taken back to that first kiss like it just happened. My heart races, and when he sweeps his fingers down my cheek and under my chin, I almost burst into flame.

“N-no, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I manage to breathe.

“You don’t?” His dark eyes caress every inch of my face, seeing way too much of me. “Why?”

Why? That’s a good question. What was my why again?

“W-well, um, th-this is a fake relationship, right? Kissing would probably make things a little confusing.”

“True.” He shifts closer, his fingers trailing further down my skin. His touch leaves little trails of fire on my neck, down toward my collar bone, then back up near my jaw, down and up, down and up. Despite the risks, I tilt my head back.

---