Page 44 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
Julian slumps back into his seat and rests his head on his arms. My hand goes to rest on his shoulder, but I catch myself in time, shoving my hands under my thighs.
A red mark cuts across Julian’s cheek when he picks his head up, an imprint of where he was pressed against his watch. “You up for a bicycling lesson?” He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans closer toward me. “Please, Dev?”
He’s never called me Dev before. The gentle way he says it, the soft cadence of his voice, forces a kneejerk reaction inme.
It makes my stomach flutter.
Which makes me sick.
Focus, you moron.Your most promising sketch is down the drain, time is very muchnoton your side, and this is probably just his way of playing mind games. I see you, Julian Seo-Cooke.
Wasting a productive afternoon on something that feels like a guaranteed loss isn’t in my best interest, but Julian can still play dirty. Bowing out of the hike gives him grounds tocall off our agreement. No fake boyfriend duties, no reentry. As much as it hurts to admit, I can’t lose him now. Not yet, anyway.
Putting on a brave face is easy enough; keeping my voice level is a different story. “How hard can it be?”
It’s hard as hell.
Julian had reassured me that riding a bike would feel like second nature once I got the hang of it. We made our way over to a nearby park to start our lesson, and I’d naively thought I’d be Tour de France worthy by lunch. But “getting the hang of it” is the hardest part.
I roll over to clutch my searing forearm after I tumble tothe pavement for the fourth time. Thankfully the pasta sauce wound is healed enough to be sore but scabbed over. If I wasn’t wearing a helmet, my skull would’ve cracked open like an egg.
Julian hoists the bike off me, propping it up on its kickstand before helping me back up. “Maybe try that again, but I’ll hold on to you this time.”
“Donotlet me fall. Helmet or no helmet, my brain can’t handle that kind of jostling.”
He bites back a grin, brushing dirt off my shoulder. “The ten-year-old in me really wants to call you a pea brain right now.” He holds his hands up when I stick my tongue out at him. “But I won’t, because I’m amatureadult.”
“A mature adult who still uses a night-light,” I say under my breath as I mount the bike again.
Julian pouts. “I told you that in confidence.”
“And I kept it between us.” And Maya.
Julian scoffs, but thankfully takes hold of the back of the bicycle seat. “Ready, champ?”
I swallow down the lump in my throat and tighten my grip on the handlebars. “My ears are ringing, but sure.”
One hand grips the seat, the other rests on top of mine on the left handlebar. He leans in, cheek nearly pressed to mine, his chest flush against my arm. “I won’t let you fall this time,” he whispers, so close I can feel his breath.
It’s too much and too close, and Julian smells like a pinewood-scented candle today, and my heart is going to beat out of my chest if he doesn’t back off in the next ten seconds. I want space, but I don’t want to fall, and maybe there’s a tiny, tiny,tinypart of me that doesn’t really mind him being so close. And that scares the absolute shit out of me.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, I have bigger things to worry about. Like keeping my balance. I clutch the handlebars for dear life after Julian pushes me, realizing too late that I should’ve asked him how to brake. The breeze stings my sweat-slick skin as my feet scramble to find the pedals. My left foot accidentally knocks into one of them, sending the pedal into a spinning frenzy.
“Shit shit shit,” I mutter under my breath as I try to get it under control.
Julian kept his promise—he didn’t let me fall.
I crash into a tree instead.
“Pedaling would help.” Julian jogs over to me, holding his hand out to help me regain my balance.
“Gee thanks, I hadn’t thought of that,” I reply.
“You need to relax. It’s all about centering yourself until you can get situated on the pedals, and then following through.”
We pick the bike up, setting it against a tree while I clean blood off my skinned knee at a nearby water fountain. “Why can’t your dad just be a regular embarrassing parent instead of a tyrant?” I ask, limping back toward Julian.
He stays silent, frowning at something on his phone. “I’ll be right back,” he says, so quiet I almost miss it.
