Page 105 of The Fake Dating War

If only it could be that easy, the not thinking about him. But I can’t seem to box him or this week up and wrap it away tightly so it’s not sothereinside me, bursting at the seams.

“More than that,” he says, “you earned it. You have forty-five million in your portfolio. You’re brilliant and scrappy and murdered the competition. The bonusisyours.”

This is why nothing should happen between two people gunning for the same prize. Why our Coliseum battles can’t survive if feelings start to spread. Because here I am, feeling like garbage if I don’t tell him?—

“You are going to hate me for how I did it. It… wasn’t all within normal working hours.”

I suck in a breath, waiting for regret to boulder into my stomach, because why did I confess that? He could report it to Mr.Davies. It would be in his favor to do that, especially if he needs the money like he does?—

He seems to be shaking his head. “I was right about something going on. Not surprising.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything!” I blurt out.

“Why? It’s not like there seems to be a limit when it comes to being impressed by you.”

I simply look at him.

He shrugs. “I’d have done the same. We don’t like to lose.”

“But you’ve lost to me.”

“Did I?” He bends his head to kiss the exposed skin on my thigh.

“Don’t do that,” I say, trying not to tremble. “It’s not fair. It’ll give me shaky legs.

Dark green eyes peer up at me. “… And what else do I do to give you shaky legs?

I thread my fingers through his hair and grip. “As if I should feed your ego more, Coleman.”

“It’s Coleman now, is it?”

Well… no. I suddenly realize he hasn’t been Coleman in my head this whole time. I’ve been thinking of him asJake.

“Depends.” I feel a blush try to stain my cheeks. “What’s my name?”

He slowly smirks. “Whatwasyour name?”

I pull at his hair, and it makes his chin go down. “Goosebumps,” he says, noticing the pebbles on my skin. “You’re cold. Get under the covers.”

He’s bossing me around again. I could push back, but I would like to be wrapped in warmth. Preferably his warmth. We disentangle, and I crawl under the blanket, watching him get up. For a second, I think he’s heading toward the door and my heart seizes in my chest.

It only starts beating again when he loops around to join me.

What was that sheer panic?

Hurriedly, I rest my head against his chest when he gets into the covers. No one speaks until I do again.

“Thank you. I know you’re trying to make me feel better. Even though I know there’s more we should talk about—but I’m not complaining. Let’s—stay like this for now? In our bubble?—”

And focus on how easy and good it feels. Not how this week is over after tomorrow.

Jake agrees. As we sink in the pleasure of holding each other, lighter stories come loose under the waning light of the setting sun. As if we need to heal after everything we’ve shared with each other. He talks to me about his childhood. That his brothers are open scoundrels, so growing up he had to be a more clever scoundrel. That his mother is too kind, and soft, and that it brought them all to heel. That his father was a businessman who took Jake to buy his first suit, not losing his patience even when Jake tried on every single one in the store. How he’d been crowned runner-up at prom for Hottest Dude (he tells that one with smug arrogance), narrowly losing to the football quarterback.

And I tell him about how my first experience with boys and intimacy was at a school dance where I first saw teenagers gyrating on each other. That I couldn’t bring myself to join in since the teachers were watching. How my parents loved going to India during our winter, so there were periods when I was left alone with Esha. That we’d have so many silly adventures in our own world, and that my parents weren’t worried about anything happening since I was there. My hyper-conscientious brain wouldn’t let anything go wrong.

After we talk about movies, I learn Jake is the type to read spoilers before watching them (blasphemy), and I’m the madwoman (his words) who can go to a theatre for a triple-feature without a break. We talk about snacks, hobbies, hopes, and dreams.

For our dreams we speak of vacations. I tell him I’ve never seen the ocean. He says he can operate a sailboat, but has never tried to steer one on the sea. A hum of a promise thuds in our hearts, surging at the possibility there is a future where we both get what we want. It’s unspoken, but not silent, that it could be together.

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