Page 63 of Never With You
“For example, if my hand was on your leg, and my thumb slowly traced a circle around your skin, would that be okay?”
I swallow at the visual. “Maybe occasionally.”
“Hugging?”
Somehow, his body feels closer, putting me on edge even more. I straighten, trying to stand tall. “I can’t imagine a scenario where we’d need to hug.”
“I can, but we’ll leave it open for interpretation.” His body slides even closer, fingers inching toward mine on the railing.
Why is he so freaking close?
“What about kissing?”
My mouth goes dry, and a rush of heat tickles the back of my neck. “We’re grown adults. We know what it takes to make a relationship look real enough.”
With that, his lips lift. “Good to know.”
I should’ve said absolutely, positively, no kissing. Instead, I left the door open, and I don’t know why.
As our gazes hold, my heart pounds with heavy thuds, but I can’t seem to look away. I’m transfixed by the moment—the city lights, the warm breeze, and Nate’s brown eyes that spark attraction deep inside me despite my dislike. I’m slowly being lulled into his charms, letting my defenses open.
The horn blares, and I jump.
The spell between us breaks, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing to each other.
It blares again.
I take a step back.
It blares a third time, and he turns.
He flashes a grin over his shoulder as he walks away. “How was that for acting?”
A deep scowl rips across my face.
He was acting.
ACTING.
I havea lot going on right now.
Old boyfriends. Online boyfriends. Fake boyfriends.
For someone who prides herself on being organized, my brain is currently a chaotic mess. But one thing I can always count on is my job—just focus on the work tonight.
Nate grabs the microphone and welcomes the guests, spouting off details about the rest of the evening—dinner, dancing, cruising. Desperately, I look for something to be annoyed about, some flaw I can focus on to override the feelings he just stirred inside me, but he’s charming and commanding in all the best ways. Whenever I take the mic at these kinds of events, I’m confident, but not like Nate. His specific brand of charisma is meant to be in front of a crowd, entertaining them with witty one-liners and that million-watt smile of his. Already, the guests love him—well, maybe noteveryone. His dad seems intent hating on Nate—something I can relate to.
The live band picks up the second he finishes, and people move to the buffet table, vying to be as close to the front of the line as possible.
“How was that?” He saunters to my side, but I have no desire to be near him right now, especially not after his little acting escapade ten minutes ago.
“I’m going to see if the microphone can reach the head table.”
“I’ve already done it.”
“Then I’ll double-check with who’s presenting. Now that your dad is here, he should really be the one to give the welcome speech.” I walk away, but Nate grabs my arm, scattering chills over my skin.
“I already took care of it.”
