Page 20 of The Best You've Ever Had

I make my way over to her, suddenly aware that I should be greeting my fake girlfriend instead of completely ignoring each other like we typically always have as grumbly kids.

I smile and say hello to her mom, and then kiss Layla on the top of her head. I know she’s going to kill me later for that one. But under the guise of ‘faking it,’ there’s absolutely nothing she can do or say.

“Hi, Benny,” she replies, with a challenging blaze in her eyes.

“Hi, Lay.” I can’t stop grinning from ear-to-ear, knowing she absolutely loathes that nickname. Throughout school, I had heard her tell more than one person that Layla is already a short name and doesn’t need to be shortened further.

I pull her into my side, and though she’s small and tense, she lets me do it. I don’t miss the way she jabs me with her elbow when no one is looking though.

Our parents begin to talk and reminisce, drawing their attention away from us. My hand trails up the soft fabric of her dress, over her shoulder, and threads into her hair. I tilt her head up to meet my eyes.

“You look fucking gorgeous,” I mumble into her ear.

She wriggles under my touch, causing my mind to flick to much dirtier thoughts of how I could make her squirm more if my fingers were buried inside of her.

Through gritted teeth, she whispers back, “You can drop the act. No one is even paying attention right now.”

“It’s not an act.” My hand trails back down her arm until I reach the curve of her hip, tracing my thumb along its arc.

She’s silent, without a rebuttal for perhaps the first time in her life.

I don’t miss the slight shiver she can’t control before stepping out of my hold. Feigning an excuse to grab a glass of the fancy micro-winery Chardonnay she brought with her, she leaves the room. Her heels click like the ticks of a metronome, rhythmic and confident.

Half of me worries that I’ve gone too far. This is the woman that once tried to put me in a headlock when I accidentally ate the last brownie that she had called dibs on. We don’t do this. I shouldn’t be telling her she looks gorgeous, and I definitely shouldn’t be touching her when I don’t have to.

She walks back into the family room with two tall glasses of wine in her hands. Extending one of the crystal glasses to me, I take it, surprised she even brought me anything from the kitchen. I down the entire drink in three gulps, while she takes a small sip, watching me with the intensity of a researcher evaluating an experiment.

“That wasn’t for you. I was going to tell you to bring it to your mother.”

I freeze, feeling like a dick. Guess I called her random act of kindness too soon.

The side of her mouth quirks up. “Kidding. It was for you.”

“I think that’s the first joke I’ve ever heard you make.”

“Well, don’t get used to it. I just figured since you’re the one decorating the tree, you needed it more than me.” She makes this little grimace at the thought of hanging ornaments, and it’s strangely adorable.

I nudge her. “Not a fan of tree decorating, I’m assuming?”

“It’s all a bit pointless, isn’t it?” she says. “You dress up a tree, make it all pretty, but in the end, it all comes down, and you’re left with this big old mess.”

Something in her words feels heavy, but I decide not to press her on it. “Sounds like another one of those times you’re trying to get out of helping again,” I tease.

She rolls her eyes. “I haven’t decorated a tree in fifteen years. Don’t think I’m going to start now.” With a hand cupped round her wine glass, she looks over at a freaky looking vintage Santa on the side table next to her. “Is it just me or does this thing look like a night demon?”

“A what now?”

“You know, a night demon…from folklore or whatever. He gives off some serious going to kill me in my sleep vibes.”

“Um, you know,yougive off some serious ‘going to kill me in my sleep’ vibes,” I quip. “No offense.”

She raises her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter so her wine doesn’t shoot out. After she swallows, she responds, “Surprisingly, that might be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”

We exchange smiles, like two people who genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Of course, we still have our usual banter,but now it feels different. We’re on the same team, bound by a common goal, yet still poking fun at each other and never keeping our mouths shut.

The wind howls outside, so fierce it shakes the windows and rattles the walls. Everyone in the room turns to look, watching thick snowflakes swirl and make quick work of blanketing everything in sight.

My stomach drops because I know that in weather like this, with nearly no visibility, driving home safely is out of the question. This means one thing: being stuck in the same house with my fake girlfriend for an indefinite amount of time.

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