Page 80 of The Fake Out Flex

That's not something you slip into a conversation. That's something a coward like jerkface would do.

No.

If…when…the time is right and Evie and I have that conversation, I'm going to do it properly.

"You ever think about selling them?" I ask, staying a safe few feet away from her. "I'm sure people would buy 'em up."

"Nah. It's a passion project. Nothing else."

"Keep it in mind," I say. "If it's something you enjoy, why not make a living out of it? That way work won't ever feel like work."

She shoots me a peculiar glance.

"Sorry. I flicked through a bunch of Hallmark cards while I was waiting at the flower shop on my way over. The cheesiness must have rubbed off on me. Don't worry, Hannah already roasted me for it. Said she had to get a few jabs in on your behalf. Something about girl code."

"You know it's rare…" Evie moves away from the desk. "Incredibly rare, actually…" She gets closer to me. "For me to meet someone on my level of…" She narrows her eyes and looks up at me in concentration. "Quirkiness. But you, Mr. Rademacher. You're up there."

I take a step toward her. Barely a few inches separate us. "I take it that meets with your approval?"

"It does."

"I like the way we banter," I say, aware that I've told her this a few times already over the course of the past few months.

She brushes her hand down the side of my arm. "I like the way we banter, too."

I move in closer, curl my fingers around the back of her neck, and widen my stance.

Her face tilts up.

My face angles down…

The doorbell rings.

Evie lets out a squeal and jumps back. Her pupils are blown out, her lips are parted, and she's breathing heavily.

And dammit, we didn't even kiss.

"Food," she croaks.

"Uh-huh." I run my hand through my hair as she dashes out of the room to answer the door.

Okay, so much for reining in my feelings for Evie.

Maybe getting interrupted is a sign.

A confirmation that I shouldn't do anything that even looks like I'm pursuing Evie—aside from whenever we're in public, when we hug after a game, or walk hand-in-hand from the arena.

Because every time we almost kiss, we get interrupted.

That's twice now, for those keeping score.

First at the beach after jerkface's wedding, and now, tonight.

Every single other time we've hung out, I've tested the limits of my self-restraint, and all we've ever done is talk like we did back in the day.

I've never wanted to mess with the good vibe we've got going, and maybe I'm imagining things, but I'm picking up that Evie might have some boundaries when it comes to intimate contact like kissing. I can't explain it. It's just a feeling I've got.

All the more reason to keep my hands—and my lips—to myself and stay on the correct side of the imaginary line I've drawn in my head.

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