Page 41 of Skating and Fake Dating
Backpedaling because she’s right. This is pretend, fake, I can’t let myself forget the rules we made and quickly say, “I know what this is. I’m just doing my part.”
Something flickers in her expression—disappointment?—before she nods. “Right. We didn’t make an official agreement, contract, or anything.”
“But we created an outline, rules.”
As we continue dancing, I spot Tagg watching us from across the room. On impulse, I pull Bailey closer.
“Your ex is staring,” I whisper against her hair.
She stiffens. “Ignore him.”
“He looks like he regrets his life choices.”
“Carson ...” she says as if I’m tempting her with a chocolate sundae and she’s the one wearing white.
“I’m just making observations.” I spin her gently, bringing her back to me with more flourish than necessary. “If I were him, I would.”
Her eyes meet mine, searching. “Would what?”
“Regret letting you go.”
She looks at me, eyes searching as if trying to detect the punchline to a joke.
The music changes to something faster, breaking the moment. Bailey steps back, her cheeks flushed. “Maybe we should get some air.”
Before I can respond, she’s weaving through the crowd toward the exit. I follow, catching up to her outside the ballroom.
“Bailey, wait. I’m sorry.”
She turns to me, arms wrapped around herself in the cool evening air. “For what? I’m the one who practically shackled you to me and dragged you into this fiasco.”
“That was the magician and your mother, but I meant for overstepping. I’m sorry; this isn’t real.” As I speak, I’m not sure where to put the punctuation.
She laughs, but it sounds hollow. “That’s just it, Carson. You’re being the perfect fake boyfriend. So perfect that my entire family is convinced we’re madly in love.”
She shivers and rubs her arms. Without hesitating, I remove my jacket and drape it over her shoulders.
“My mother cornered me in the bathroom earlier to tell me what a catch you are.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It is when it’s not real,” she whispers.
Right. Pretend. Like a deke, a fake-out move in hockey.
Bailey runs a hand through her hair, dislodging a few strands from her updo. “On the family text chat, they’re commenting on how they’ve never seen me look at anyone the way I look at you. My collective family, who thinks everything I do is a disaster, believes I’m genuinely falling for you.”
My heart does something strange at her words. “And that bothers you?”
“Yes! No. I don’t know. It bothers me that I can’t tell—” She drops her head. “The problem is when this unravels, never mind the ‘Failure Box,’ I’ll be serving a life sentence of humiliation. They’ll never let me live it down. I didn’t think this through.”
The words are each like rubber bands, stretched tight and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we’re standing, how vulnerable she looks in the soft light overflowing from the reception.
“Bailey—” I begin, but we’re interrupted by her mom suddenly appearing as if summoned by the awkwardness of this situation.
CHAPTER 18
CARSON
