Page 20 of Counterfeit Boyfriend
I stomped on the concrete under my feet. “Feels solid to me.”
“Ha-ha.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me close, and I probably liked him yanking me around more than I should. I did make him pose for a selfie that we could be in together, even if we got the white brick instead of the ocean view.
He tapped a finger to his cheek. “Why don’t you plant your lips here so we can get one more?”
Since it wasn’t a difficult task, I did as he asked. I loved the way his woodsy cologne invaded my senses, and I couldn’t help reaching up and running my fingertips along his jaw.
His sigh carried so much happiness it echoed through my chest.
When we turned, I noticed a few of the newcomers staring. I tensed, ready for a lecture on not being respectful, and guilt rose. I hated to hamper someone else’s enjoyment, and for all I knew a group of kids could’ve come up and caught us making out. Or more.
Instead of scowling, though, a woman with wind-whipped cheeks smiled and spoke in a heavy Italian accent. “It’s good to see young people so happy. Enjoy.”
The guy accompanying her gazed at her like the world revolved around her, and it sent even more happiness cascading through me. “Thank you. You, too.”
With some more huffing, puffing, and thigh- and lung-burning, we made our way back down the spiral staircase. As we walked over to Evan’s car, I hooked my arm through his and leaned my head on his shoulder. Every little thing reinforced how comfortable I suddenly was with him. I’d longed for this kind of relationship for months, and I could kick myself for not realizing what I had.
Or maybe it just took time to get here. After all, when I’d asked, he’d said it was never like this, so maybe it’d required me fully committing to the idea of us.
Whatever catapulted us to this place, I was grateful for it, and from now on I was going to focus on the positives. Like how I was positive I hadn’t been this deliriously happy in years. Even when I was with the douchehole, he’d never shown as much tenderness and protectiveness as Evan had up on the deck of the lighthouse.
Evan opened the passenger door of the Camaro for me, tucked me inside, and then circled the hood and climbed inside. He fired up the engine and dropped his hand on my knee. “Where to next, navigator? Virginia or bust?”
“Virginia or bust,” I said. But I was thinkingImight bust if my thoughts kept dipping into the gutter. If a fully-clothed make out session could turn me on so much, how amazing was a naked one going to be?
I crossed my legs, and while I was usually a sit-back-and-enjoy-the-ride girl, I found myself wanting to fast-forward to checking into our hotel room for the night.
