Page 21 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

“What do you think?” he asked suddenly. “Was it good for you?”

She didn’t miss his teasing inflection or the slight curve of his lush lips.

“Oh, it was great for me,” she purred, just to watch that little smile of his turn into a grin. He didn’t disappoint, his eyes lighting up the way they always did when she took his shit and gave it right back. “By the way, thanks for not getting my hair wet in the pool.”

He laughed. “You noticed that?”

“Of course I noticed. It was kind of impressive, actually. But this is a sew-in. You can get it wet. I mean, I’d rather you didn’t, but I won’t throttle you if you do.”

“Ah,” he grinned, tapping her on the nose. “You might regret telling me that.”

She scoffed to hide the fact that a single nose tap had turned her mind all rosy and fizzy like pink champagne.

“Now, I was going to ask this in the morning,” he went on, “but I suppose it is morning now, and we’re talking, so.” He shrugged, and his shoulder brushed hers ever so slightly. After a night of dancing with him, holding his hand, and hanging off his arm whenever admirers got too close, the touch should’ve felt like nothing.

Should’ve.

“If there are any boundaries that you want to shift,” he said, “let me know. I mean, anything we’ve discussed that you want to change now. Like the touching.”

She blinked, surprise corralling her scattered thoughts. “You’d be willing to change things now, after we’ve already started?”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I thought I should check in. And I wanted to tell you: if I’m ever out of line, don’t think you can’t stop me just because everyone’s watching. Just tell me to fuck off. I mean, that’s what you’d do if you were really my girlfriend.” He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “But if you don’t want to do that, we could have a… a safe word, for when we’re in public. Something you can work into conversation, to let me know if I’m doing shit you don’t like.” He finished that baffling speech with a sweet little smile that, if Aria wasn’t mistaken, was supposed to reassure her.

She wasn’t reassured. Well, she was sure that Nik meant everything he said. His consideration was genuine—but all that did was make her worry, because he was so fucking sweet. Sweet enough to ruin all the little boxes she’d stored her neatly wrapped-up emotions in. Aria knew she’d grown up starved of affection, knew she inhaled love like it was oxygen, knew that all too often she gulped down toxic, poisoned air in her quest for a connection. But despite all that—and despite knowing how badly she’d fucked up last time—the hole in her chest had started to whisper that surely this man would be the one to fill her up.

No. No. This man is not for us.

“I’ll remember that,” she said finally. “Thank you. And as far as the safe word goes…” She ignored, with difficulty, the sexual implications of that phrase. This was business, dammit. “I’m thinking banana split.”

“Banana split?”

“Yep. But, really, so far, I’m fine with how things are between us.” So, so fine. Almost as fine as your perfect fucking face.

Nik’s smile was soft and pleased, his happiness glowing like the bedside lamp behind him. “Good.” Then he reached out and ran the tip of one blunt finger over her lower lip—over her lip ring, she realised. He didn’t seem seductive; just curious. Which was galling, because that small touch had her nipples tightening within seconds. If he looked down, he’d see them poking holes through her vest.

Please don’t look down.

“You can really hold your liquor,” he said, pulling his finger away.

“Yeah,” she managed. “Of course I can. I’m British.”

He grinned. “I like that.” Then he rose up on one elbow, his biceps bulging right in front of her face as he reached over for the lamp switch. “We should really sleep, shouldn’t we? You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

The light winked out. “Night.”

How can this thing between us feel like more of a connection than every relationship I’ve ever had? How can an acquaintance and a few fake kisses be more solid than any ephemeral love I’ve chased? Why does everyone else taste like crappy corner shop sweets in my memory, but you taste like brown sugar melting on my tongue?

“Night,” she said.

And lay there in the dark, burning, burning, burning.

Chapter 5

Lay It Like a Chicken

Nik had been hoping that Aria snored.

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