Page 35 of Skating and Fake Dating
His chuckle tumbles softly from his chest.
In the distance, the chapel bells ring.
I say, “I guess we should go.”
Carson studies me for a long moment. “Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Show me how I should look at you,” he says, his expression unreadable. “If we’re going to sell this, I need to know what I’m aiming for.”
Going still, I swallow hard. “You mean like in the hypothetical scenario where we fake a relationship?”
He gives a short nod.
So this is happening. Okay. I feel like we should’ve shaken on it like we did when agreeing on a time allotment before entering the flea market. Then again, look how that turned out.
“So we’re pretending through the holidays at most?”
“If that’s what you want.”
Rolling my shoulders back ever so slightly, I say, “You’d have to look at me like this.” I demonstrate, softening my gaze and letting vulnerability show and sincerely hoping I don’t look psychotic as I gaze at him with so much affection in my eyes, I could be as molten as the earth’s core and no one would know the difference.
Carson’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s ... convincing.”
“Your turn,” I whisper.
He takes a deep breath and transforms before my eyes. The seriousness and cynicism melt away, replaced by something that looks remarkably like longing. He licks his lips and pulls the bottom one between his teeth. My stomach flips.
“How’s that?” he asks, voice rough.
“Too good. You’re a better actor than you let on.”
“Maybe I’m not entirely acting,” he says, then immediately looks at the vista in the distance. “For the sake of practice, I mean.”
Without me realizing it, the space between us narrows like invisible currents cause us to drift together. “Totally. Practice.”
He wags his finger from himself to me. “We should practice being together. Your sister seems like the type to scrutinize. She might suspect something.”
“You’ve got that right. Wait. So we’re doing it? Fake dating?” I ask, still awash in uncertainty.
“Call it whatever you want.”
I extend my hand. “So, partners in deception?”
He looks at my hand, then back at my face. Instead of shaking it, he takes it gently, turning it over in his hands and twining ours together.
The warm ball in my belly grows, spreads.
“Partners,” he agrees, like the word holds more weight than either of us realizes.
“Partners,” I repeat.
He squares up with me and says, “I want you to fix my tie and I’m going to look at you like you’re the only person on the planet.”
“So the fake dating scheme looks plausible. Got it.” My jaw working, I clumsily agree, trying to convince myself that this fake arrangement could be fun and provide material for my wedding scrapbook.
Fingers shaking, I brush his collar and adjust the tie I’d hastily knotted earlier. Holding my breath, when I finally inhale, all I can smell is his fresh and manly scent mingling with aftershave.
