Page 68 of Faking It with the Bad Boy

“Are they feeling any better?”

“Better because you’re here,” he laughed, looking up at me with a softness that made me blush. One hand came up to brush hair from my face, lingering against my cheek. "Though my dignity might need medical attention."

"Your dignity needed attention way before this," Mike said, skating over to help us up. "But maybe keep the romance off the ice? Coach will kill me if you reinjure yourself making out with the museum girl."

"Academic pursuit of proper skating technique," Jack corrected with dignity, but his hand stayed tangled with mine.

"Right." Mike's grin was evil. "That's why Sophie's wearing your practice jersey?"

I looked down, realizing I had indeed grabbed Jack's jersey instead of my sweater when we rushed out earlier. It was too big, smelling of ice and cedar and him, and I'd been wearing it more than I'd care to admit.

"Historical research," I tried.

"Into what? The evolution of hockey-related wardrobe malfunctions?"

We were saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of the maintenance crew, sending us all running like guilty Victorian teenagers caught in the conservatory.

Later, tangled together on Jack's tiny bed (ribs finally healed enough for careful proximity), he traced constellations on my skin. We'd been reading about nineteenth-century astronomical medicine - the belief that stars affected healing - but his fingers had wandered from academic demonstration to something more intimate. “If I’m your medicine, we need to up the dosage,” I said.

"We're terrible at secret relationships," he murmured into my hair. His other hand played with my fingers, examining them like rare artifacts. Their closeness ignited a spark of hope and love.

"Terrible," I agreed, watching his hands - the same hands that scored playoff goals and handled first editions with equal care. "Though your team's surprisingly good at keeping quiet."

"They like you. Say you make me less..." He gestured vaguely.

"Less what?"

"Less carefully constructed. More real." His fingers stilled on my wrist, finding my pulse. "Like I don't have to pretend to be anything except exactly who I am."

I propped myself up to look at him. In the dim light, with his guard down and his hands gentle on my skin, he looked nothing like the bad boy of Preston University. Just like Jack - my Jack - who quoted Victorian poetry, handled rare books like treasures, and looked at me like I was something precious.

"I've never..." he started, then stopped, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm. "With anyone else... it was always roles, you know? Being what they wanted. But with you..."

"With me?"

"With you, I'm just... me. The guy who gets excited about medical history and organizes books by date and significance and falls more in love with you every time you explain proper preservation techniques."

My heart did complicated things in my chest. "Even when I hide under beds?"

"Especially then." He smiled, soft and real. "You're adorable when you're being covert. Terrible at it, but adorable."

"I love you," I said, because it was true and because I could and because some things needed to be said even if they made you vulnerable. "Even with terrible hiding skills."

His kiss was gentle, unhurried like we had all the time in the world. Like some things were worth any risk of discovery. Love could be as simple as borrowed jerseys and midnight skating lessons and how his hands felt mapping constellations on my skin, memorizing every curve, and making a map to my heart.

Another knock sent me rolling off the bed with practiced ease.

"Clear!" Dex called. "Though you might want to stop letting Sophie borrow your clothes. People are starting to talk."

I looked down at my - his - Preston Hockey sweatshirt and felt myself blush.

"Let them talk," Jack said softly, pulling me back to him. His hands found my waist, warm and steady like they'd been on the ice. "Some things are worth the risk of discovery." The world faded away until it was just the two of them suspended in a bubble.

And there, in his too-small bed, wearing his clothes, breaking visitation rules, and falling more in love by the moment, I had to agree, and my heart swelled.

Some things - like boys who taught you to skate at midnight and traced stars on your skin and loved you exactly as you were - were worth any risk at all.

Chapter twenty

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