Page 34 of Fake As Puck
“This is better,” I say, taking a few shots.
“Yeah. These look good.”
“They look real.”
I scroll through the photos, and she’s right, they do look real. We look happy. Comfortable. Like we belong together.
“These are perfect,” she says, looking at my phone screen. “We look like we’re actually dating.”
“Yeah,” I say, staring at a photo of us laughing at something. “We do.”
She’s quiet for a moment, studying the photo.
“West?” she says.
We stare at each other for a moment, and I can feel something shifting.
“We should probably get some rest,” she says finally. “Big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Big day.”
But neither of us moves, and I start to wonder if maybe we’re both starting to realize that this isn’t as fake as we thought it was.
8
“Movie?” West asks as we head upstairs.
“Yeah.”
His living room is one of those spaces that’s clearly designed for watching things with the huge sectional couch, massive TV, the kind of setup that screams,I have money.
I settle onto one end of the couch, leaving a respectable amount of space between us. He grabs the remote and sits down, close enough that I can smell his cologne again.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks, scrolling through Netflix.
“I don’t care. Whatever you want.”
He picks some action movie I’ve never heard of, and I try to focus on the screen instead of how warm he is next to me or how his arm is stretched along the back of the couch behind my head.
“Oh, before I forget,” he says, pulling out his phone. His fingers move across the screen, and I can see him booking my ticket back to LA for Monday. “I’m going to make your flight back. That okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Done,” he says, setting his phone on the coffee table.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He settles back into the couch, and I end up leaning into him. Not intentionally, it just happens. Like gravity.
His arm comes down from the back of the couch to rest around my shoulders, and I should probably move. Should probably maintain some kind of professional distance.
Instead, I let myself sink into his warmth and pretend to watch the movie while I’m hyperaware of every point where we’re touching. His thigh against mine. His hand resting on my shoulder. The way his chest rises and falls with each breath.
This is dangerous. This is exactly the kind of thing that leads to complications and hurt feelings and me forgetting that this is all pretend.
But he’s warm and solid and he smells good, and I can’t bring myself to move away.
