Page 33 of Fake As Puck
She shakes her head. “No kissing.”
My eyes widen. “No kissing at all?”
“No kissing at all.”
“Not even like... a peck? On the cheek?”
“West.”
“Okay, okay. No kissing.”
“Good.”
“So hugging is okay?”
“Hugging is okay.”
“Like this?” I ask, letting go of her hand and wrapping my arms around her. Her hair rubs against my cheek, and she fits perfectly against me, her head tucked under my chin, and for a moment I forget how to breathe. I’m reminded of the kiss we had at my sister’s wedding. She was drunk and regretful, but I didn’t regret it for one second.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice muffled against my chest. “This is fine.”
I rest my chin on top of her head, and we sit here for a moment, just holding each other. My heart starts to race, but I breathe through it.
“See?” she says. “We look cute. We look like a couple.”
I glance in the mirror, and she’s right. We do look like a couple. We look like two people who are comfortable with each other, who care about each other.
We look like we’re in love.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “We do.”
I rest my cheek on the top of her head and stare at the two of us together. It’s one thing to see her by herself, but now that I see her next to me, it’s like a puck to a net. Meant to be. We look good together. Really good. Now I know why my sister forbid anything to happen with her best friend, she knew that Liv and I looked good together.
I pull back, and she looks up at me with those dark eyes that have been driving me crazy since I was a teen.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Do you want to fly back home the day after the wedding?”
She shrugs. “I don’t want to waste your money flying me back and forth every other weekend.”
“You’re not wasting my money. The next wedding is in two weeks for the Fourth of July weekend.”
“So we’d be apart for ten days.”
“Yeah.”
“That might look weird. Like, if we’re supposed to be dating but we’re never together.”
“That’s a good point.”
“If we’re going to be apart for ten days, maybe we should take a ton of pictures today. To keep everyone buying into it.”
“Good idea.”
She pulls out her phone and starts taking selfies, and I watch her trying to find the right angle, the right expression.
“Here,” I say, pulling out my own phone. “Let me try.”
I wrap my arm around her and hold up the phone, and she leans into me automatically.
