Page 107 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

“Nooo,” she mumbles, patting the space beside her as she shifts over, making room. “Stay.”

Roxanne raises one brow, but says nothing. She gives me the smallest nod, then mouthsTake care of heras she slips out and pulls the door shut behind her.

I sit, careful and quiet, the mattress dipping under my weight. She scoots over, making more space. Her hand grabs my arm.

“What do you need, Peachie?”

She reaches out clumsily, her fingertips brushing my jaw like she’s trying to map me out in the dark.

“Mmm. Sharp jaw,” she mumbles, nose scrunching the tiniest bit as she draws in a sleepy breath. “You always smell like cedarwood. That’s your cologne, right?”

I catch her hand gently, letting it rest against my cheek. “Nope,” I murmur. “Just me.”

There’s a pause where I think she’s drifted off again.

“How was it?” Her voice is soft, dreamy.

“How was what?” I tug the blanket up around her shoulder, smoothing it down carefully.

“Our date.” Her eyes are still closed. “Was it good? Also . . . did we ever feed the spaghetti to the ducks?”

A smile pulls at my lips. Isla’s always been like this when she’s half-asleep—unguarded, talkative, and somehow managing to say the strangest things. The last time she dozed off like this, she asked me if penguins had knees and then cried because she thought maybe they didn’t.

“The date was perfect.” I shift a little closer, brushing her hair off her cheek.

“Perfect, how?”

“Aren’t you the matchmaker?” I say, letting my knuckles graze her cheek. “Why don’t you analyze how the date went?”

“Mmm. I think it was good,” she hums. “Finally got to see how my best friend dates.”

Hope kicks hard in my chest. She wanted to see that? Maybe this fake dating thing is working.

She stretches like a sleepy kitten, then curls back into me. Her hand finds my wrist and tugs with surprising strength, pulling me down beside her. I catch myself on my elbow, lying half beside her on the bed as she drowsily drapes part of her blanket over my legs.

“Do you know what you just said, Peachie?” I ask, propping myself up just enough to see her sleep-softened face. We’re too close now, the kind of close that messes with a man’s focus.

“Of course.” She tries to squint one eye open.

“What’s my full name then?”

“Ash . . . bear?”

“Close enough.” I brush my thumb softly over her eyelid, closing it gently. “Definitely not awake.”

She sighs, her lips curving into a contented smile as she nuzzles deeper into the pillow, face tilting toward mine.

“Do you think your best friend makes a good boyfriend?”

“Mmm. A good fake boyfriend.” Her nose scrunches adorably. “But . . . missing something.”

“What’s missing?”

Her lashes flutter but don’t lift. “Dunno how he kisses.”

“Do you know who you’re talking to right now?” My voice deepens to a rough edge.

“Mhmmm?”

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