Page 42 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

“But what?”

“You’d probably watch them once and forget about them. Or try it wrong and hurt yourself more. Or, most likely, you wouldn’t do it at all. Just like you never got it checked out when I asked you to.”

The warmth of his hands lingers as he steps back. “That’s why I’ve wanted you here, with me. Because I know you’re hurting, and I’ll make sure you don’t ignore what you need.”

Oh.

My whole body goes still, every nerve tightening at once. Like a wire pulled too taut, ready to snap.

This is why?

Asher turns to adjust the weight setting. His focus shifts to the machine, words spilling out about form and muscle balance, but I can’t hear them. The sound blurs. The gym around us blurs.

All I can see is him.

The crease between his brows when he concentrates. The way he knows exactly what he’s doing. The care in everything he says, the way he notices what no one else does.

And something inside me tilts. Cracks open. I feel it rush back, quiet at first, like the flutter of wings, then louder, heavier, impossible to ignore.

This thing I buried. The thing I told myself I’d outgrown. The childhood crush I buried deep under logic and time.

It’s back.

And it doesn’t feel like a crush anymore. Back then, it was all innocent daydreams about holding hands and maybe sneaking a kiss behind the bleachers. Now it’s his smile making my knees go rogue, and my brain suggests things like waking up to his sleepy grin every morning, sharing keys, growing old together on a porch swing while we watch our grandkids play.

What if I didn’t bury the crush this time?

What if I let myself want him?

What if I just forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t want it?

“Isla?” His voice cuts through my spiral. “You okay? You went somewhere else for a minute there.”

I blink. My hands slip, forgetting I’m mid-exercise. The cable slips from my grip with a loud clang, and I stumble backward. Asher tries to catch me, but my momentum sends us both tumbling. He’d managed to cradle my head, shielding me from the fall.

My body lands against his. Chest. Hips. Thighs. All of it.

Every inch of him, solid and warm beneath me. My hand is somehow trapped between us, and—oh my goodness—it’s splayed across his abs. His shirt is rucked up just enough that I’m touching bare skin.

Warm. Bare. Definitely not part of the training plan.

I don’t move. He doesn’t either.

Our eyes lock, and something unreadable in his holds me still. My pulse stumbles. Is he looking at me the same way I’m looking at him?

Does he feel it too?

Something tightens under my palm. Wow. His abs. Those workout routines are definitely paying off. Firm and sculpted. I shift my hand the tiniest bit.

Pull your hand back, Isla. Now would be good. Actually, five seconds ago would’ve been better.

Stay. Just for a second longer.

Asher shifts, thumb brushing softly across my chin. A warm jolt shoots straight through my chest, all the way to my knees. My eyes go wide, breath catching. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pull back. The room tilts slightly, or maybe that’s just me, because everything inside feels buzzy and soft and off-script.

“You okay, Peachie?” His voice is low. I feel it vibrate through his chest, right beneath me.

“I’m fine.”

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