Page 14 of Fumbled Into Love

“The—The birds?”

“The birds?” I fight a laugh as her face flushes. “You could have picked a type of bird.”

“Eagles?”

“Nope. Do a push-up.”

Nathalie stares.

“I’m changing the rules. You have to do all the push-ups.” She crosses her arms and signals for me to do another push-up. I mirror her posture, holding her gaze, and after a tensemoment, she breaks. “Okay,fine.” She throws her arms up in defeat. “I can’t do a single push-up. I’m weak with twig arms, and I hate working out.”

There’s a small pout on her face, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

I crush my lips together, fighting my smile. This is why she’s so dangerous. My heart thuds in my chest when she fixes her focus on me, like nothing else matters as much as I do, at least in this moment.

It’s lethal for my sanity.

“Just try,” I push. “It was the Longhorns, by the way.” Her nose scrunches. “It's a type of cow,” I amend.

Slowly, Nathalie rises and crouches down on the floor. She glances up, a silent plea in her eyes, and I nod, urging her on. I want to witness this.

Nathalie lowers her body, and as she begins to press up, her arms shake. I’m confident she’s going to throw in the towel and give up, but she surprises me, releasing a low grunt and propelling her body upward. As she completes the push-up, she flies to her feet with a triumphant smile.

“Look at me!” she yells, and when she holds up her arms, kissing each of her biceps, I lose my battle with laughter.

My stomach cramps as she does her victory dance, an obnoxious shimmy that draws my gaze to her jeans and the way they curve around her ass perfectly. She gently shoves my shoulder as she sits, and the laughter starts again, gaining momentum until I can barely breathe.

In group settings, she’s always been on the quieter side. She’s had her moments, like when Declan proposed to her in a dive bar, but I never exactly knew how fun she can be.

The realization is slightly jarring and incredibly concerning.

“I know, I know,” she coos, “I amimpressive.” I lock eyes with her, and the smile she gives me flares that small kernel of warmth lodged in my chest. “Alright, next question. What is my preferred love language?”

I pause.There are love languages?

I glance down at the sheet and the question I missed. This is going to be a long meeting.

As I pull out of the parking lot, my phone rings.

“We need to go on a date.”

I slam on the brakes, my body ricocheting forward.

“What?” I croak out.

Nathalie sighs. “I forgot because of the questions, but we need to go on a public date.”

“Why?”

“To convince people we’re dating.” She doesn’t add theduhto the end, but I hear the implication.

“Why?”

“I know you don’t want to,” I nod my head in agreement as if she could see me, “but if we don’t go out and aren’t seen in public, people might start to question if the girlfriend you say you have is real.”

I’m not a fan of the logic in her statement.

“Look,” I start, but she cuts me off.

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