Page 27 of Counterfeit Boyfriend
11Ethan
I’m definitely goingto hell for this.Probably a little faster with each kiss, too—yet I couldn’t stop.
What with the way she fit against me so perfectly, and the amazing things she could do with her lips and tongue, I decided it’d be worth it.
Seriously, how was I supposed to resist this drop-dead gorgeous girl who also made superhero and humping-unicorn jokes?
It was like I’d made her in a lab, only I wasn’t creative enough to mix in some of the awesome things about her. That also sounded a bit too Frankenstein’s monster, so I needed to abandon that analogy. She wanted to be done with thinking, and so did I. I boosted her into my arms, my hands planted firmly on her ass as I rolled my tongue over hers.
She lowered her forehead to mine and made anmmmnoise that made me feel like a rock star. Since there wasn’t anywhere for me to lay her down—probably a good thing, because my self-restraint was crumbling by the second and I’d never be able to resist crawling over her and getting lost for a while—I reluctantly lowered her to her feet.
The slow drag of her body ripped a ragged groan from me.
“Dinner?” she asked, the breathlessness in her voice only making me want to see just how breathless I could make her. “It looks like there’s a burger joint in the middle of that strip of shops, and I bet we could get the ice cream you owe me for dessert, since we survived and all.”
“Maybe now you’ll have a bit more faith in me.” Even as I said it, it stung. Sheshouldn’thave faith in me. She should kick my ass to the curb, and she undoubtedly would if she knew I was an imposter who was standing in for my brother. My brother who had stumbled into a relationship with a perfect girl, but was too stupid to see it, so he was letting her go.
Even worse, I was glad—I couldn’t stand the thought of Gwen being his girl and hugging and kissing him while I stood by and pretended it didn’t tear me up inside. The thought of any guy touching her made toxic jealousy seep into my gut.
Once again, I wondered how I could feel this strongly after knowing her for a couple of days.
How much more fun could we have if we had more time?
But that wasn’t a possibility, and nothing would change the fact that if she found out I wasn’t Evan, she’d be angry, and I couldn’t go on for the rest of my life pretending to be someone else.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, bringing me back to the sidewalk leading away from the carnival and making me rethink whether I could keep on pretending forever. Completely ridiculous, not to mention implausible, but I found the thought more alluring every minute I spent with Gwen.
“I was just thinking this day went by way too fast.”
“I was kinda worried that you’d be sick of me before we even reached Pennsylvania.”
“Sick of you? Pretty sure that’s impossible.”
“Pretty sure it’s not.”
“Oh, are you sick of me, then? Is this your way of hinting you need some alone time?”
She laughed. “Of course not. I just… I don’t know what’s gotten into you these past few days.”
I held my breath.
“But I like it.”
At least that was a small consolation. Did it absolve me? Hell no. I’d always been the rule-follower. The one who did the right thing and walked the line. Evan was the one who left wreckage in his wake, used guidelines as a jump-rope, and took off for this party or that one while I stayed behind to clean up his messes.
I figured if my brother could get away with a lifetime of breaking the rules and doing whatever he wanted no matter the consequences, I should get four little days. One was already mostly behind us, and I wanted to forget all the rules and enjoy the limited time I had with Gwen.
That probably made me responsible for every kiss and touch we exchanged, regardless of initiation. They’d all be admissible in court, so at this point, what did I have to lose? I might as well accept my guilty status and live it up before the sentence got handed down.
* * *
Gwen paused mid-bite, and hot fudge from her sundae dripped off her spoon and onto her lip. The restaurant had that whole fifties-era vibe. Black and white checkered tile, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox in the corner that crooned oldies, which I’d teased was better than her music. Despite being stuffed from our burgers and fries, she’d insisted we still needed ice cream. Who’d argue with that?
She blinked and then swallowed, her hand going to her throat. She rubbed the skin there.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I feel… weird. And my mouth’s fuzzy.” She dragged her spoon through her bowl like she was searching for something. “Like I ate something with peanuts. But I told the waitress about my allergy, so maybe I’m just psyching myself out?” She scratched at her neck, leaving lines of red, and worry bound my lungs.
