Page 63 of Fake

“I… Well… What do you…” Nathan’s voice is low. His eyes search mine. He adjusts his pants to make room for an impressive erection, laughing quietly as he runs a hand over his head. “I clearly have no idea what to say. Should I apologize?”

I shake my head and press my palm to the mirror to steady my suddenly wobbly legs. “No.”

“Good.” A secret smile. Made for me and no one else. “Should I go?” He jerks his chin toward the door.

A growing part of me votes I make Nathan as naked as I am so we can finish what we started and the bulge in his pants suggests he’s as game as I am. But Nora could return any minute.

Besides…

Going further would only confuse things more.

So I lick my lips, cover my breasts, and say, “Probably.”

Nathan nods to himself, balls his fists and moves to the door, then pauses, turning to meet my eyes. “Was that a mistake?”

The question charges the air.

If things between us are supposed to be fake, then yes, that was a mistake.

But if what I’m feeling is real…

If what I think he’s feeling is real…

Then no. That was beautiful. Meaningful. And so freaking hot I can’t believe it happened.

I work to untangle my twisting thoughts and wait too long to respond. Nathan misinterprets my silence. He drops his gaze. Shoulders slumped. Head nodding as if he understands what I haven’t said.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

Not when I don’t understand it myself yet.

“I don’t think that was a mistake,” I finally say, desperation speeding through my words.

Nathan steps in my direction, his eyes softening. “I don’t want it to be.”

“Me neither,” I say and mean it.

“Good.” A quick smile dashes across his face, filled with boyish, gleeful energy, and he pulls me in for one last kiss before he cracks open the door and slips outside.

I sag against the wall, staring at the stranger in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips swollen. Her eyes are wild, and her hair is a mess. I smooth it back into place, my gaze memorizing the path of Nathan’s mouth, gasping slightly when I find a purple mark on my breast. I trace it with my fingers and a shiver of pleasure sends goose bumps prickling across my skin.

“So that happened,” I whisper, and the stranger in the mirror grins.

“Hot damn, Meens!” Fallon turns to me with wide eyes. “This is the dress Nathan bought you?”

I meet her gaze through my vanity mirror. It was my grandmother’s, once upon a time. I like to imagine her sitting here on the bench-style chair, fussing with her hair in the mirror with the floral crown molding, pulling toiletries out of the drawers, fingers pinching the vintage ring-pull handles, maybe getting ready for her day, or maybe a night out with a hot date. I never got the chance to know my grandma, but sitting here, where she sat as a young woman, helps me feel connected.

Fallon lifts the dress from its place on my closet door and holds it against her body. “No wonder you had him on his knees. I’d be on my knees, and I prefer a little more penis in my relationships than you have to offer.”

“You promised we wouldn’t talk about that.”

I didn’t intend to tell Fallon what happened in the dressing room at Blush. I wanted to spend tonight with Nathan, to talk about where things are going, to get a feel for how we are together. I don’t need her thoughts and feelings tangling up with my thoughts and feelings and making this more difficult than it already is. But I had to explain the dress, and once I started, I couldn’t stop. The story needed out whether it was a good idea or not. Though I did make sure to remind her about best friend code, since the last time I didn’t, she published that stupid article about the day I spent on the water with Nathan and his cousins. Nothing in the story was bad?—

I take that back.

The headline was downright cruel and a total violation of the trust I’ve placed in her.

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