Page 61 of The Faking Game

“Just what?”

“Maybe we should practice that,” she says. “I’ve never been a girlfriend before. Never engaged in… PDA.”

Everything in my body tightens. “You want to practice the physical part of dating.”

“No.” Her cheeks spread with the most delicious color, and she looks back down at the books she bought. “Well, yes. Sort of. Apart from fighting, we haven’t… touched.”

I’m undone.

By her voice, by her asking for what she wants, and by the openness in her expression. She’s not sparring with me right now. She’s offering up another truth.

“When we’re in public, when I’m pretending to be…”

“Mine?” The word feels better than it should.

“Yes.” She worries her teeth between her lower lip. “What would that look like?”

“How would I touch you?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

I reach for her hand.

I’ve touched her before when we practiced self-defense. I had my hand on her low back at the party. But threading our fingers together between us, in the silence of the large room, feels like the first time we’ve touched.

“Like this. I would be touching you. Often.”

“Holding my hand?” She’s looking down at where we’re joined.

“Yes. I’d have my arm around your waist. Like this…” I do just that with my free arm, sliding it around her narrow waist and flattening my palm against the low of her back. Like she’s actually mine to touch. Like there’s not a million reasons why I shouldn’t.

Nora’s eyes land back on mine. “That’s good.”

“Yeah? It’s good?”

“I mean, it’s okay. I can do that.” She’s nodding a few quick times, now, like she’s embarrassed.

“If we’re sitting next to each other, I might do this…” My hand trails up her back, finding the soft ends of her hair. I wind them through my fingers. “Make sure everyone knows that we’re together.”

“That you’re mine, too,” she says. Her pupils are wide, and her hair is soft between my fingers.

“Mhm. You’ve got pretty hair.”

“Thanks.” She places her hand flat on my chest. Carefully, gently, like she might hurt me. It would make me smile if I wasn’t so dialed into this moment. If it didn’t feel like I might shatter with one word.

“I could touch you too?” she asks.

“Yes. You can.”

Her fingers spread a bit, pressing firmly against me. But not pushing me away. “If we want to sell this, it would be good if we kissed.”

It’s like she’s punched the air right out of me. Want shoots down my body, electrifies the nerve endings it passes by. My eyes dip to her full lips.

If she only knew how much I’ve thought about doing just that.

It would send her running.

“From what you’ve told me, men have kissed you when you didn’t particularly want them to.” I reach up and slowly push a tendril of her hair back. Her eyes are on mine, and the air grows taut, like before a storm. “I’m not going to be one of them. You’re done kissing men just to be nice.”

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