Page 70 of Skating and Fake Dating
Her smile crinkles her eyes. “I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Crane.”
On the dance floor, I draw her close, one hand on the small of her back. She melts against me as if she belongs there.
“How am I doing?” she whispers.
“You’re amazing. They all love you.” One particular word in that sentence trips over my tongue. It’s the same one I used when talking with her dad earlier.
“Even your coach? I keep calling himsir, just to be safe.”
I laugh. “Especially the coach. He appreciates respect and people who are intelligent, yet humble with small-town sensibilities. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered.”
“Hmm. Intelligent, humble, small-town sensibilities.”
“And it probably doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful.”
“Are you suggesting Dale Hauser was checking me out?”
I gape. “What? No.” Actually, it looks like he has his eyes on Shirley May. Clearing my throat, I say, “But I was. Am.”
“You are what?” she asks, even though I’m certain she knows what I mean, but wants to hear me say it.
“Admiring you.” My ears heat as Bailey’s satisfied smile grows.
“Why, thank you,” she says.
We move together in perfect sync, and I’m struck by how natural this feels—Bailey in my arms, breathing her vanilla and maple scent, the way her hand fits in mine.
After a beat, she says, “We’re good at pretending.”
Something in her voice makes me pull back slightly to look at her face, to study it, to be sure. “Pretending?”
She can’t hide the vulnerability in the pinch of her eyebrows. “Yes. No. I don’t know anymore.”
Me neither.
When the song ends, the team owner taps the microphone, announcing it’s time for speeches. The moment slips away, but the question lingers between us for the rest of the evening.
Later, as I walk Bailey to her front door, her heels clicking on the stone path, I feel a strange tension that wasn’t there before.
Under the porch light, she turns to face me, wearing a forced smile. “Tonight was fun. We make a good team. Pulled off the fake dating arrangement. Mission accomplished.”
“Thank you for being there with me.” I reach out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The side of my hand brushes her cheek and the touch feels like an electrical current with a short.
Her voice barely above a whisper, she asks, “Carson, what are we doing?”
I’m lost with my head in the clouds. The ground under me turns liquid with how much I want this woman. Then the charge sparks and catches. The current flows. I have to tell her how Ifeel or risk electrocution. “Right now? I’m trying very hard not to kiss you.”
“What? Why?” Eyes wide, her words knock into each other.
“Because if I kiss you now, it won’t be for show. It won’t be because anyone is watching. It’ll be because I want to, more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.”
She takes a shaky breath. “What if I want to kiss you back?”
For a moment, we stand on the threshold of possibility.
The world narrows to just us—her eyes, her lips, the small space between us building with anticipation.
“I wouldn’t stop you,” I whisper, feeling dizzy as her breath feathers my skin.
