Page 58 of Skating and Fake Dating
“What if we start and we can’t stop?” she asks.
“What if I don’t want to?”
Tingles race through me as her fingers lace with mine. The simple touch ignites something deep inside. I lift my free hand to gently brush a strand of hair from her face, allowing my fingertips to trace the delicate curve of her jaw. Her eyelids flutter closed and a sigh escapes her lips.
I cup her face gently between my palms and I press my mouth to hers again. Her hands rest lightly on my shoulders, steadying herself as the world tilts around us. I can feel her heartbeat, or maybe it’s mine—they seem to have found the same rhythm.
There’s a newfound boldness in her mouth, moving with mine that tells me everything I need to know. Her fingers tug on my shirt, pulling me closer.
The kiss becomes hungry. The only solution is to go deeper. Her hands slide along my sides and up my back before twining in my hair. Mine grasp her closer if such a thing were possible.
Time stretches and twists and contorts, leaving me outside of it as long as Bailey’s lips are on mine.
The kiss intensifies as our inhales turn erratic. It’s like coming home to a place I’ve never been. Shivers skate across my skin as the current between us snaps and sparks.
When we part, both breathless, I resist the urge to swoop back in, to cover her in kisses from her temple to the curve of her neck. Instead, I rest my forehead against hers.
“That was...” she begins, voice trailing off as if words have abandoned her.
“Everything,” I finish for her, knowing with absolute certainty that nothing in my life will ever be the same again.
Hours later, rows of golden jars line the counter, steam fogging their lids as they cool and seal.
“Want to take a blondie for the road?” she asks quietly, her eyes never leaving mine.
“What if I don’t want to hit the road just yet?” The inquiry comes out before I can stop it.
In the silence that follows, I hear the soft click of the jars, one after another, sealing something sweet inside.
Bailey leans forward, just slightly, for another kiss. I angle myself in anticipation, but from the front porch, the sound of keys jingling, followed by dogs barking and her grandmother’s voice calling out, “Bailey! I’m back early! You’ll never believe who I ran into at poker night!”
“I’d better go.” It’s hard not to think about how today wasn’t part of our public appearances agreement, but I have to remind myself we’re living out one of the romance book tropes Bailey and her grandmother described, with emphasis on thefakepart.
But what if this fiction we’re creating is becoming reality?
CHAPTER 24
BAILEY
After kissing Carson, I’m so giggly and giddy that I can’t sleep. I consider texting Mabel and Clara, but it’s late.
Tossing reason out the window as I did earlier, I send a quick message.
Me: I might be falling, but there’s a risk.
Clara: Hello to you, too. Do you mean you’re falling like in a hole behind the woodshed or falling in love?
Me: You know which one.
Clara: What’s the risk? You’ve been wanting romance in your life.
Me: People like me don’t end up with guys like him.
Clara: If we’re talking about the same person, I beg to differ.
Me: We’re from oppositeworlds.
Clara: But chocolate cookie wafers go really well with creamy middles.
