Page 173 of Fake Game

I perk up. “St. Stephen’s Green.”

We begin walking down the brown brick street, and he lets me chatter away, chuckling while I talk nonsense.

As we near Grafton Street, the prattle around us gets rowdier and the road begins to cram up with more bodies. It’s the most touristy path in town and mostly stacked with chain restaurants and shops. My palms start to sweat as my attention bounces between all the people walking near us.

I veer us onto Wicklow Street, which is still busy but not as stifling. It’s lined on both sides with three- to four-story red brick buildings. People walk on both the sidewalk and the black stone road, filling up the entire path as they wade through. They pass in and out of shops, and I’ll admit, what is supposed to be a ten-minute walk ends up taking us close to twenty because my feet drag a little slower.

It’s one of the things that is most confusing. You would think because of how alert I am about my surroundings and the way my heart is beating a few ticks higher, that I would be trying to rush through, but it’s the opposite. I lag, constantly cataloguing everything around me.

The crowds start to thicken again as we near the park, the clear skies and gentle temperature bringing out everyone in a fifty-mile radius. It seems like everyone is watching me, and I make eye contact with more than a dozen people, only confirming the feeling. That telltale crawl of ants over my skin starts to appear, and I step a little closer to Jackson while fortifying my mental walls.

He squeezes my hand, bringing me out of my head, and I realize I’ve been quiet the last few minutes.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. How’re you holding up?”

“Fine. It’s just,” I swallow, “there are a lot more people staring than I expected.”

Jackson hums. He doesn’t try to tell me I’m just imagining it, that people aren’t ogling us as we pass. Instead he says, “Well, that’s what happens when you’re gorgeous.”

“Or when you look like a walking pink highlighter,” I counter.

“Then you’re the most high-end highlighter a stationary enthusiast can purchase.”

“Thank you?” I laugh as the ants on my skin trickle away, replaced by the mild warmth of the sun shining down.

He cringes. “I spent too much time around Parker when you were gone. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Or what? You’ll gag me?”

His eyes heat and he leans down, lightly gripping my chin. “Oh, I’m going to do that anyway, Sparkles. That’s a promise.”

My thighs squeeze together, his words igniting that need deep within me. I push past the flush that’s creeping up my cheeks and raise my brow, taunting him. “Promises, promises. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He smirks before catching me in a quick, blinding kiss, his tongue snaking past my defenses and sweeping inside me with a moan. My mind swims all dizzily as he pulls back and snakes his arm around my ribs, tugging me close, his thumb grazing the fabric beneath my breast.

My body is like a marshmallow on fire, melting under his hot touch.

Being with Jackson is an easy distraction from all my worries. There’s no one else on this earth, in this universe, who is able to clear my mind like he does.

We continue wandering around the park, stopping a few times to take pictures and lingering on the bridge to watch the way the stream bubbles, before we make our way to Dublin Castle.

The gray stone former medieval fortress is less packed than usual, and we’re able to take our time exploring all the history.We head down to the cooler Subterranean Chamber, where all the original fortifications are preserved, before trekking back up to get some fresh air in the gardens. As we amble over to St. Patrick’s Hall, where the ceiling is covered by three large canvas paintings by Vincenzo Waldré, I can’t help but think of Stevie, how she would love this.

I miss my friends.

By the time we leave the castle, my social battery begins to wane again. Being around large crowds for the last few hours has drained me more than I realized, but not once did I feel like I was going to have a panic attack.

That knowledge brightens the sparkles within me, and I know I’m about to make the right choice—that I’m ready for that choice.

We head to a hole-in-the-wall pub on the outskirts of town to grab some pints and food. It’s one that’s dotted exclusively with locals who know the area well enough to find it. The chatter in here is low and the lights are a dim orange. It gives me some space to think and breathe as I prepare myself.

The butterflies brewing in my stomach aren’t from nerves but excited anticipation.

“You’ve been smiling at my beer for a couple of minutes.” Jackson nods. “You good?”

I look up and lock eyes with him.

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