Page 30 of Fake As Puck
“Okay,” I say once we’re inside. “Now we practice other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
“Hand-holding.”
“Hand-holding.”
“Yeah.”
I hold out my hand, and she stares at it like it might bite her.
“Come on,” I say. “It’s just a hand.”
“I know it’s just a hand.”
“So hold it.”
She takes my hand, and I immediately realize this was a terrible idea. Her hand is soft and warm, and it fits perfectly in mine, and my palms are starting to get sweaty.
“This is weird,” she says.
“It’s not weird. It’s practice.”
“It’s weird practice.”
“We’ll get used to it.”
“Will we?”
“Yeah. We will.”
We stand there holding hands in my entryway, and I try to think about anything other than how right this feels.
“Should we take some pictures?” I ask. “For social media. To make it look real.”
“That’s... actually a good idea.”
“I have good ideas sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
I lead her to my home gym, which has a wall of mirrors that’ll be perfect for selfies.
“Sit,” I say, gesturing to the bench.
She sits, and I sit next to her, close enough that our shoulders touch.
“This feels natural,” I say, pulling out my phone.
“Does it?” she questions, watching me closely.
I nod. “Yeah. We look like a couple.”
She argues, “We look like two people sitting on a bench.”
I correct her, “We look like two people who are dating sitting on a bench.”
I hold up my phone to take a selfie, and she immediately starts giggling.
