Page 66 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
I rest my hand on his shoulder, and he cuts short like a record scratch. “The last time you surprised me, you asked me to pretend to be your boyfriend.” When he doesn’t recoil from the touch, I press my luck, running my thumb along the collar of his shirt. “Anything will be cooler than that.”
He runs his hand along my arm, letting it rest on top of my hand, holding it down to his heart. His is beating faster than mine. My hands tremble as he takes them in his, losing the confidence that kept me afloat two seconds ago.
“Close your eyes?”
“O-okay.” Tentatively, I close them, leaving my lips slightly parted.
My heart echoes in my ears, pounding so loud I’m surehe can hear it, but all he does is take my hands and tug me forward. I close my mouth, pressing my lips into a tight, thin line, and let him guide me. We haven’t gone very far, probably not even past the kitchen, when Julian lets go.
“Don’t peek,” he warns, and I can hear his padded footsteps against the tile.
“If the surprise is that you’re going to murder me, I should warn you that my Fitbit has a GPS tracker. The police will know exactly where to go.”
His voice sounds farther away, likely from across the room. “If I wanted to murder you, don’t you think I would’ve done it by now?”
I rock on my toes, palms beginning to sweat. “You could be playing the long game.”
We must be in the kitchen, based on the sound of drawers opening and utensils clattering. His voice returns, whispering in my ear. “You’re too entertaining to kill off yet.”
I wipe my hands on my jeans. It’s the only thing I can think of to keep them from shaking. My eyes fly open the second he tells me I can look, scanning the room to confirm that we’re in the kitchen. Julian’s on my left, nothing on my right. He nudges his head forward, telling me to look down.
“Is this…” I can’t manage the last few words.
“It’s probably not as good as your aunt’s, and I know it’s a few days late, but I thought I’d take a stab at it.”
There’s probably something cool or eloquent that I could say, but I’m at a loss.
Julian, someone I hated with every fiber of my being three weeks ago, has made me a tres leches cake.
“W-why?” The cake looks so much like the one Mamiused to make, down to the cherry smiley face, it makes me want to cry.
“You said Christmases are always hard, and…I thought it might make you smile.” His own falters when I look up at him. Tears cloud my vision, blurring him at the edges. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I thought—”
I don’t let him finish. Fuck caution, fuck sides, and fuck who we are and who we’re supposed to be to each other. I’ve spent long enough afraid of pursuing what I want, so I do the one thing that scares me the most. The one real thingI’vewanted to do since I first saw him at the grocery store.
I kiss him.
And it is so much better than the aimless daydreams and 3:00 a.m. musings, because Julian tastes like espresso, whipped cream, and endless possibilities.
Before I can doubt myself, Julian loops his arms around my waist and kisses me back with everything he has. The force of it knocks me back, so I wrap my arms around his neck, and trust that he won’t let me fall.
“Hi,” he whispers when we pull apart, as giddy and playful and smitten as I am.
“Hi.” I would kiss him again, but I want to keep looking at those eyes.
This time, he kisses me. His fingers curl at the base of my neck and his thumb tilts my chin up until my lips meet his. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he says against my lips.
The hesitation is gone when I take the lead, kissing him again, and again, and again, spelling the words I didn’t get to say with lips and fingertips.Me too.
We kiss until the bitter tang of espresso on Julian’s lips fadesinto the sharp sting of my peppermint lip balm. From slow to fast to too much to too little until all that’s left is the thrum of our hearts and the hitch of our breath. When breathing becomes too necessary to put off, we stop and hold still. We’re the type of people with the worst kind of luck, so I brace myself for the sound of footsteps or a jingling doorknob.
When we’re left with nothing but silence, Julian pulls me back in. He presses soft, chaste kisses to my shoulder, up to my neck, and settling in the curve of my jaw. Lips on bare skin isverydifferent from what I imagined it would be like, and six hundred times better. My lips part in a silent gasp when his teeth graze my skin, sharp but gentle. Like the start of our story.
There are so many games we still have to play, but it’s enough for me to win this one. Our game was the longest, and our reward the sweetest.
“Do you want to—”
“Yes.” I don’t need to know what it is. I want everything Julian has to offer.
