Page 46 of Fake As Puck
But I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything except that I’m standing in West Carmack’s living room at midnight, dancing to music in the dark, and I’ve never felt more alive.
“One more song?” I ask.
He pulls me back into his arms, and we dance to something soft and sweet, and I let myself pretend for just a few more minutes that this is real. That I’m his actual girlfriend and he’s my actual boyfriend and tomorrow we’ll wake up together and figure out what to have for breakfast.
“Thank you,” I say into his chest. “For tonight. For letting me be part of this. For making me feel like I belong.”
“You do belong.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. But thank you for making me feel like I do.”
The song ends, and we stand for a moment, swaying slightly even though there’s no music.
“I should probably go to bed,” I say, but I don’t move away from him.
“Probably.”
“Long day tomorrow. Flight home. Back to reality.”
“Yeah.”
“This was nice though.”
He agrees, looking down at me. “Yeah, it was.”
We’re both whispering now, like speaking too loudly might break whatever spell we’re under.
He adds, “I’m really glad you came.”
“Me too.”
I should go to my room and close the door and try to forget how right this feels.
Instead, I sink down onto his couch, suddenly exhausted.
“Just for a minute,” I say, curling up against the cushions.
“You should go to bed.”
“I will. In a minute.”
He sits down next to me, and somehow I end up with my head on his shoulder, his arm around me.
“This is nice,” I murmur. “We’re good at this. The couple thing.”
“We are.”
“It’s almost like we’re actually...”
I close my eyes, just for a second, just to rest them.
The last thing I remember is the sound of West’s heartbeat under my ear and the feeling of his hand stroking my hair.
When I wake up, it’s morning, and I’m still on the couch, still in his arms, and the sunlight streaming through the windows makes everything look different.
Real.
And terrifying.
