Page 32 of The Faking Game

But I’m not adding that. It feels like far too much of an ask, and glancing up at West, the idea of pressing my lips to his makes my entire body tighten.

I wonder what he’d be like as a kisser. I wonder if I’d even be brave enough.

When I’m done, there’s almost no space left on the back of the sheet of paper, and West’s mouth has pressed into a thin line.

“That’s it, I think.” My voice is casual, like I haven’t just written a bullet-pointed essay.

He holds out his hand. I hand back his pen but don’t let go of the note. I hold it between us instead. “This is everything I want to practice. If you agree to all of this, then… I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend, including in front of your family.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t you like to keep your mother’s matchmaking at bay?”

“You’re better at this than you give yourself credit for.” He heads to the bar cart in the corner. It’s only noon, but he pours himself a finger of whiskey. “Want some?”

No. Not really. But if we’re going to talk about this, I need something in my hand. Something to do. “Yes. Please.”

West’s lip curls, like he sees my reasoning. But he pours me a drink. I curl up on one of the sofas, but he stays leaned against the desk.

And then he starts to read my list.

I take a long sip of whiskey. God, I don’t like it. Never have. I tap my fingers against the crystal and look away from him. To wall after wall of books. The whole place is dark, but in a comforting way. It makes me want to stay here longer. Curl up on one of the armchairs.

The wooden door to the side must go to his home office. The one Ernest told me was off-limits.

The silence is deafening.

I take another sip of the whiskey just to give myself something to do. “Is this Alex’s whiskey?” I ask.

West doesn’t look up from his list. “Yes.”

“Mhm. Thought I recognized the flavor.”

His eyebrows are drawn together, a furrow between them. A few more long seconds pass, and I click my fingers against the crystal tumbler again. The whiskey doesn’t work well with a stomach tied in knots.

“Just say something,” I ask him.

His lips quirk. “It’s a long list.”

“It’s not that long.”

He lowers the piece of paper. “This is everything involved in dating.”

I shake my head. “No. Not everything.”

His eyes snap to mine. Warmth floods my cheeks, and my stomach lurches the way it always does when anxiety comes knocking.It doesn’t include sex.

“No, I suppose it’s not everything.” His jaw works, and he looks back down at the list. “But damn near. So you want to practice this.”

“Yes,” I say. “And like you said… rejecting you. Or arguing.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Good thing my ego can take it.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I am,” he says. “But there’s only one way to see if I’m wrong. So this is what you want, then. In return for us pretending to be a couple.”

My fingers tighten around the glass. “Yes.”

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