Page 55 of The Faking Game

“We’re innovators.”

“Apparently.” Her lips tug. “Let’s try the thing you did earlier.”

“Grabbing you from behind?”

She nods and turns like she’s walking away from me. I move closer and sling one arm around her waist; the other covers her mouth. My movements are slow, and I don’t hold her hard. I wouldn’t even if she asked me to.

We’ve done this several times already.

She’s soft against me, and warm, and her lips part beneath my palm on an exhale. There’s a brief second where I wonder what that would feel?—

And then her hands come up to grip my arm. She drops beneath me into a wider stance and puts all her weight into pulling down my arm. Then she swings her leg back and bends it into the back of my knee.

I’m pushed forward, off balance, and can’t hold on to her anymore or I’ll fall. She dances back and out of my arms with a wide smile. “That was the best one yet!”

“That was magnificent,” I tell her honestly. “And now? What would you do?”

“Run. You know I’m fast.” She’s still grinning.

“Yes, you are. You’ll run and you’ll call for help. You’ll call me.”

“And you’ll come?”

I push up the sleeve of my shirt. “Always.”

She glances away, out the windows and toward the green spring lawn. But just as quickly, she looks back at me. “Okay.”

“Promise me,” I say. “You’ll call me if you need help.”

“Yes, I promise.” She rolls her eyes. “Sometimes you’re worse than Rafe.”

That feels like a barbed spear in my chest. I haven’t reminded myself of just how much sheshouldbe like a sister to me in days. It has been futile, since I clearly can’t see her that way. I’ve never been able to.

But maybe she does.

I switch tactics and study the fire in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks. She’s comfortable around me, at least.

“You said you don’t like arguing with people,” I say. “But you must have done it plenty of times.”

She rolls her neck, like the question annoys her. “No, not really. I guess I just never learned how to. I never argue with anyone—not with my family, not with friends.”

“You have siblings,” I say. “You and Rafe never argued?”

“No.”

“Funny,” I say. “I argue with him all the time.”

“We’re five years apart, and then he was away at boarding school with you and Alex and James. And after the accident, when we lost my oldest brother… it felt like my job to keep everyone happy.” Behind her, the ocean is stormy today, the sky gray. “My two younger siblings weren’t born until Dad was on wife number three, and the age gap in that direction is large, too.”

I cross my arms. “What about friends? Guys you’ve dated? Have you ever argued with them?”

“Ever?” Her voice comes out testy, like she’s embarrassed by the question. She runs a hand through her ponytail. “No. Not really. I avoid it; Itold you.I give them what they want, or I remove myself from the relationship entirely.”

“Right. Either it’s a hard yes or a hard no.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess you can teach me how to argue, then.”

“Weird kink, but okay,” I say. “If you want to, we can fight all day long.”

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