Page 27 of It's Not All Fake

“Not the first time,” I reply with a smile, remembering how she fell against me with that wet paper towel at our first and last coaching session.

She offers another small smile, then retracts her hand as if realizing her touch is crossing some imaginary line.

A ray of sunshine from a hallway window falls across Chloe’s neck and chest, making her face seem to glow as she looks up at me, making no move to pull away further.

She is gorgeous. The chain around her neck glints in the sun, and I notice her skin still looks irritated beneath it.

“Your neck looks a bit raw,” I observe, if only in hopes that I can help her remedy some pain and discomfort today.

Her hand flutters to her necklace. “Oh, it’s my friend’s necklace,” she explains. “It must be fake because it’s all itchy. I guess I’m allergic to fake things,” she adds with a soft laugh.

“Let me help you,” I offer and, when she doesn’t object, I step closer to reach behind her neck. The quiet in the hallway feels charged as I take my time with the clasp. I allow myself to enjoy the closeness, the feeling of her warm, soft skin beneath my fingers. I notice her fresh, light scent, like she just stepped out of the shower. Her eyes meet mine, and she doesn’t look away—there’s an openness and trust that wasn’t there before.

Her mouth is only inches away, and I’m finding it difficult to resist the urge to taste her.

But I don’t make a move. I don’t know if I should cross the line with her. This fake arrangement already feels very real and kissing her would only complicate the situation further.

I undo the clasp and remove the cheap, fake necklace, handing it back to her.

“I’ll get you something real, Chloe,” I promise. I want to do that for her, at least.

She chuckles, then looks at me intently. “Just give me something real when we have our girlfriend-boyfriend chat, Liam.”

Oh, right. It’s my turn to be vulnerable, per our deal.

“You got it, coach.” I wink at her, and she smiles.

“See you tomorrow night.” She pulls away.

“I’ll walk you out.” As I escort her through the foyer, I place my hand on her lower back, and she doesn’t object.

I open the door for her, and she grins, thanking me. I follow her onto the expansive front porch. It's a perfect Southern California day—seventy degrees, sunny, and with just the slightest breeze.

I notice a hummingbird feeding on the pink flowers in a giant flowerpot, and I stop nearby, leaning against the column at the edge of the porch.

Chloe pauses at the top of the porch stairs, turning back to me with a surprised look.

“Aren’t you going to open my car door for me?” She arches an eyebrow.

I let out an exaggerated breath, feigning disappointment. “I think I’m all tapped out on chivalry for today. But I’ll watch you walk to your car to see that you make it safely.” I smirk. I fully intend to watch her closely—and thoroughly enjoy the view—as she walks the short distance to her car.

She narrows her eyes at me, undoubtedly suspecting my intentions, but she can’t hide her smile. “You do that.”

She turns around and glides down the wide steps to the brick-paved circular driveway. It’s warm now and she strips off her cardigan as she walks, revealing her bare shoulders. I wonder if she is doing this on purpose because she knows I’m watching. On the other hand, she could simply be warm.

She makes it halfway to her car before I call out her name.

She turns around, her green eyes searching my face, expecting me to say something. But I don’t, not verbally anyway. There are a million things unsaid.

I’m thankful for her help, for making my mother happy. I’m grateful that she’s here, healthy—that I’m getting a chance to know her. But I also just want to delay her departure a few moments longer, to see that dimple in her right cheek again.

I’m rewarded a moment later when she smiles at me, and I smile back.

As she drives away, I remain rooted in place, leaning against the column on the porch, thinking.

Chloe is captivating and I find myself falling under her spell. There’s no denying it.

But maybe that’s to be expected, given her profession. Somehow, she draws out the more vulnerable parts of me—that’s her job, after all. Naturally, we’ve developed a certain intimacy because of that.

---