Page 104 of The Fake Out Flex

"What about?"

"You. Me."

I suck in a breath between my teeth. "Oh."

"I know this isn't real, Evie. That this whole fake dating thing started because some random fan called you my lucky charm online and it helped your numbers at work—and it stopped the press from endlessly speculating about my love life."

"Uh-huh."

"The press is no longer hounding me about my romantic life, but the first two things are no longer applicable."

That's true. I haven't been considered his good luck charm for months now, and my numbers at work have plummeted back to earth.

His brow furrows, and I wonder where he's going with this. An uneasy inkling settles in the pit of my stomach that it might not be leading to something good.

He takes a breath. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I understand if you want to start thinking about how we end this fake relationship. Just tell me when you want to do that, and I'll pull the pin."

My heart sinks with disappointment. "That's not what I want."

It's literally the last thing I want.

Does he, though? Has he had enough of this and wants to go back to his normal life?

"What about you?" I ask.

"What? No way. I'd rather take you on in a chili dog eating contest than end this. I'm just letting you know—the eject option is always there. Just tell me when you've had enough of all this."

"I will," I say, giving a slight nod as relief washes over me.

But I won't.

I'm enjoying fake dating Fraser way too much to put an end to it. This is, hands down, the best, healthiest, and most fun relationship I've ever been in. I'll psychoanalyze how pathetic that makes me sound some other time.

"So…we're good?"

"We're good," I confirm.

The strain in his neck loosens. "In that case, there's something I've been wanting to do for a while now. I've been unsuccessful on the first few attempts, but I'm determined not to let anything get in my way this time."

"What is it?" I ask, suddenly realizing my whole body is angled toward him like I'm the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Without warning, he gets up and stalks over to the window and closes the curtain.

He collects our phones from the coffee table and takes them into the kitchen.

Finds the remote and turns off the game I'd been watching.

"Fraser." I grab him by the arm to stop him moving. "What are you doing?"

His Adam's apple bobs in his throat. "I want to kiss you, and I don't want any interruptions."

My poor heart jolts into overdrive. I've gone from thinking he wants to end things to him wanting to kiss me. It's a lot to take in.

But I am here for it.

I am so here for it.

"You're not wearing anything that will beep or buzz or go off, are you?"

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