Page 99 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

The playful glint in his eyes shifts. “Want me to show you?”

“Oh, you don’t—I mean, only if you want to. I’m just curious because we never talk about this stuff, and isn’t it sort of friend code to know these things? For future reference?”

His hand finds my waist first and tightens slightly. The simple contact sends electricity skittering across my skin. With the faintest pressure, he walks me backward. One slow step at a time until my back meets the wall with a soft thud. The cold surface jolts me, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him.

“You can stop me,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.

“Show me.” The words tumble out breathlessly, my lungs seemingly forgetting how to function properly. “I’m curious.”

Before I can gather a single rational thought, his other hand finds my face. His palm cradles my cheek gently, contradicting the intensity in his eyes.

A couple passing by does a double-take, and I hear Betty’s distinctive squeal from somewhere in the distance.

I turn toward the commotion, but he tilts my face back toward him.

“If this was real.” His thumb starts tracing slow, dizzying patterns along my cheek. My hands find his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath.

“I’d tell you how beautiful you look tonight.” He leans in closer until his lips skim the edge of my temple. “How that dress makes your eyes shine like stars.”

“I’d make sure everyone knows you’re mine, but more importantly, I’d make sureyouknow it.” He presses a kiss to my temple. Not like the one for the photo. This one is slower. Warmer.

My finger curls, gripping the fabric of his dress shirt just beneath the lapel of his suit jacket. A slow exhale leaves him, and I feel his chest expand and contract beneath my fingertips. “I’d memorize every little thing that makes you smile, like how you scrunch your nose when you’re reading or that victory dance you do when you make a perfect match.”

My heart is performing a full Cirque du Soleil routine. “Good . . . good memory . . .”

He dips his head, and his lips hover dangerously close to my cheek. “I’d trace constellations on your skin until you fall asleep, and wake you up with kisses every morning.”

My pulse stumbles. “Do you really do that to your real—”

His finger presses gently against my lips, stopping my words mid-sentence. He replaces the touch with a soft, lingering kiss on my cheek that makes my skin tingle.

“And I wouldn’t stop kissing you—morning, noon, and night—until you forget there was ever a time when we weren’t like this.”

Someone drops a plate nearby, the clatter making me jump. But Asher doesn’t move away. Is the room spinning, or is that just me?

“Should we stop?” It comes out embarrassingly breathy.

“I think we should continue. For future reference.” He pulls back just enough to search my eyes.

“Your turn. Is this how you’d act with a real boyfriend?”

“I—” The words stick in my throat. I’m already acting too real. But this is all fake. Isn’t it? At least, that’s what he thinks. That’s what he assumes I’m doing.

“If this was real,” I tighten my grip on his shirt, fisting the fabric between my fingers, and tug him a little closer. “I’d tell you how your smile makes my whole day better.”

His muscles go taut beneath my fingers, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I’d probably drive you crazy with my romance novel collection and my inability to make coffee without spilling it everywhere, but I’d make up for it by . . .”

I rise onto my toes, tipping up just enough to press a light kiss to his jaw. “By kissing you when you least expect it. Like when you’re mid-workout, or explaining proper form, or—”

His hands suddenly grip my wrists, tighter than usual, and his breath shudders just like mine.

I loosen my grip immediately.What am I saying?

If I keep going down this path, there’ll be no Ctrl-Z, no safe exit, no way to pretend I didn’t just basically confess to wanting to kiss my best friend senseless.

“Sorry!” I blurt out, yanking my hands back. “You didn’t hear any of that. Let’s just pretend I temporarily lost my mind. Maybe it’s the sugar cookies. Or the glitter fumes. Is glitter poisoning a thing?”

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