Page 102 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

“Are you thinking about Mochi or thinking about getting more dogs?”

“How do you know?” I whip my head toward him. “I didn’t tell you about my dream, right?”

Asher raises an eyebrow. “Well. I’m still waiting on that one.”

A heat wave crawls up my face, curling into my cheeks.

“Nothing too special,” I mumble, hugging my arms like that will somehow protect me from further embarrassment.

We stand in silence for a moment, looking out over the twinkling lights of Frosthaven. The town seems impossibly small from up here, our worries and responsibilities far away.

“Let’s dance.”

“What?” I blink.

He pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and a moment later, the soft strains of Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight” float into the night air.

My heart skips a beat. This is the song his mom insisted on playing while she taught us to dance in their living room when we were little—me stepping on Asher’s toes every other beat while his dad counted “slow-slow-quick-quick.”

Asher extends his hand, a smile playing on his lips. “Real dance. Just a friendly dance.”

This is a bad idea.

Afakedance would be better. Safer. At least with a fake dance, I could pretend it didn’t mean anything. That there were no consequences if I liked it too much, if I did something I absolutely shouldn’t.

“Don’t worry.”

Easy for him to say.

I hesitantly slip my hand into his. Warm. Solid. Big enough to make me want to stay right here forever.

He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles. And far too effective at making me forget every single worry I had just moments ago.

His hand settles on my waist, while mine finds his shoulder. The slight pressure of his fingers guides me through the familiar rhythm.

It’s all familiar yet somehow brand new. Because the little boy I grew up with is nothing like this tall, strong man, and little Isla hadn’t yet dreamed of spending her whole life with him. That same little girl hadn’t yet learned that people would always abandon her.

The moonlight bathes him in silver, making his eyes brighter and his jawline more defined.

I want to step closer. I want to trace my fingers along his jaw, across his lips, and memorize every inch of him before I lose the chance. Not an appropriate thought. Totally inappropriate. But it should be fine, we are still technically dating. And as long as we haven’tbroken up.

“Did you dance with your girlfriend?”

Asher tilts his head. “Fake one or real one?”

“Sounds like you have a lot.”

“I’ve only ever danced with you.”

He spins me out suddenly, then pulls me back in, closer than before. My breath catches in my throat. We’re so close now that I can see the slight stubble on his jaw, count each of his eyelashes, and feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine.

“You’re better than before,” I say, a bit breathless.

“I’ve gotten better at other things, too.”

Like what?

“Look up,” he murmurs.

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