Page 35 of Falling

“What?”

“How are you going to say all that and not expect me to fall for you, Wrenny? You’re perfect and I think it’s ruining my life,” he says. I laugh because that is the weirdest reaction I have ever gotten to someone hearing about my childhood stories. “Well, I was definitely a lot tamer than you. I don’t think I went through any real phases. The only thing I can really remember loving as a kid was hockey. Carter and I lived and breathed it. It was all we talked about. We could go weeks at a time talking about the same game over and over. I guess I’m still in that phase though.”

I see the way his eyes dim when he talks about Carter, and if I could do anything to help, I would. He might make me see red and annoy me on a day-to-day basis, but he’shurting.

I don’t think about it, and I reach over and put my hand over his. It’s the least I can do after I sobbed in his arms the other day.

He flips over his hand, his palm facing upward. We both stare at our hands as if daring each other to make the first move. I slip mine into his and instantly regret not doing this before. It feels strange and unknown, but so welcoming at the same time.

“Sorry. That didn’t really answer the question,” he murmurs, still staring at our hands.

“That’s okay,” I whisper, stroking my thumb against his hand. “I can tell you miss him. We don’t have to talk about anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m not going to push you on that just for the sake of this fake relationship.”

“Thank you.” He swallows, nodding. His hand is warm, his touch gentle, and it sends a strange, comforting warmth through me. I’ve always hated feeling emotions so intensely, but right now, feeling connected to him, I don’t mind it as much. “Hey, Wren?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I dreaming right now or are you willingly holding my hand?”

I chuckle. “Just shut up and let me be nice to you.”

“Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

His gaze meets mine, and I swear I could get lost in those eyes. “I know.”

The restof the workout goes smoothly, and I think I might have finally found a workout buddy. The journey home ends up being more chaotic than the one there. Miles sings horribly the entire time, and I’m too tired to even fight him on it. When we pull into the driveway of his house, he stops the music and looks at me.

I look back at the house.

Then back to him.

Back to the house.

And then back to him.

He’s still staring.

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

“How many guys have you slept with?”

His question startles me, but I don’t show it. “Is that one of the questions?”

“No.”

“Then why do you need to know that?”

He lifts one shoulder and then drops it. “I’m your boyfriend. I think I’m meant to know.”

“Fakeboyfriend,” I correct, “And I’m not answering that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s none of your business.” I laugh when he pouts.

“You’remy business, Wren.” I stare at him, and he doesn’t miss a beat, grabbing my hand out of my lap and pressing the stupidest, sloppiest, most ticklish kiss to my wrist. He blows a raspberry, and I laugh, the sound so ridiculous in the confines of my car that he just keeps on doing it until I’m writhing against my will. “Please, princess.”

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