Page 39 of Fumbled Into Love

I tighten my grip to keep her standing and raise an eyebrow, leaning forward.

“I vividly remember having to feed you french fries because you tried to go shot-for-shot with Maren. She is eight inches taller than you.” Nathalie bites her lip, pulling my gaze to her lips. I know what it’s like to kiss her, and I want it again and again.“There was also the drunken proposal I had to stop…” I trail off. “Admit it, Nat.”

“Admit what?”

“You’re a lightweight.”

She scoffs but sways ever so slightly, proving my point.

“Tell him he’s wrong,” she demands, pointing at Maren and Sawyer. “I don’talwaysget tipsy at Book Club.”

“Yes, you do,” Sawyer says, falling onto the couch. “Then you spend half an hour monologuing about the fall of romantic gestures in everyday life, and then Declan drives you home.”

“I like ‘monologue Nathalie’,” Maren says, “She’s insightful.”

Maren winks in my direction. I return a look of bafflement.

Why is she winking at me?

Maren slides into an armchair, pulls out a laser pointer, and aims it at the whiteboard.

“Now, we have much to discuss. The book ended on a cliffhanger, and we don’t know what man she’ll choose.”

“She’s going to pick the Shadow Daddy,” Nathalie says, spinning in my grip and plopping onto the floor between my legs.

I stop breathing.

My eyes dart to Declan, who’s focused on the whiteboard, but I’m freaking the fuck out. Nathalie sighs and leans back into my chest, the crown of her head right below my chin.

She scoots so our entire bodies are flush, and that’s when I’m confident this is a dream, and any minute I’ll wake up alone in bed.

Maren and Sawyer debate an easter egg the author left in the book, and I catch Declan’s attention, flicking my eyes downward to gesture to my fake girlfriend, who chimes in on the conversation as if her small action hasn’t sent every nerve in my body on high alert.

Declan laughs at the look on my face.

“You’ve never noticed how touchy she is?” I frown, and Declan huffs. “I have never met someone who likes physical affection more than Nathalie.” Declan misreads my scowl. “She doesn’t mean anything by it. It brings her comfort.”

The issue isn’t the touch; it’s what it does to me.

It muddles my thoughts and quickens my breath, making it infinitely harder to navigate this insane situation because I can see myself growing comfortable with her.

Because she makes it so damn easy.

The teasing, the casual touch, and the nights watching dating shows are what I’ve craved for the last five years. It was missing from my last relationship, only I didn’t realize until I met Nathalie. Her friendship has been more fulfilling than my entire relationship with Savannah.

The difference between her and me is she can separate her emotions from physical touch, but I can’t. My emotions areconnected to everything I do and all I am; I’ve just done the best I can to hide it.

Admitting I crave touch—admitting I’m starved for a connection with someone—gives another person power and control to take when they want and give when it suits them.

Nathalie’s body shakes, pulling me back to reality. Her hand lands on my thigh, and she brushes her palm back and forth in a soothing motion.

“What do you think?” she asks, head leaning back against my chest. Her glasses tip onto her forehead.

“About?”

I wasn’t listening, too busy compartmentalizing her touch, reminding myself it meansnothing.

“You’re the only one who didn’t read the book, so you get the deciding vote on who the main character will choose: shadow daddy or rogue prince.”

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