Page 44 of One Small Secret

Axley is asleep on the bed next to me in his new cuddle sleeper, but my head is still spinning with how much my world has changed in one twenty-four-hour period. After Ruben and I returned to tell our families we decided to fake date, the room had gone silent. We explained our reasoning a few times. I’m not sure Mom or Ben completely bought it, but eventually, for the sake of Christmas, we all decided to sleep on the decision before discussing it any longer. After that, it was like Christmas started all over again. We sang carols and drank Mom’s spiced apple cider, and when the evening ended, Ruben gave me a kiss on the cheek in front of everyone.

While our kisses on the sectional felt more real than they had a right to, that little peck was awkward and forced, like we were trying to put on a show and the show bombed. Nobody in the press would buy a kiss like that. Andrew was probably shaking in his boots during it.

But the fact that Ruben couldn’t pull off that kiss when he had managed to kiss all the other women he dated had me wondering if perhaps the kisses on the sectional were, to him…maybe…possibly…a little bit real? I pull an extra pillow to my chest and hug it tight. I’m such a goner. My feelings for Ruben have shifted so quickly, I think maybe I’ve been lying to myself all along about how I really felt about him.

I had a boyfriend in high school, so I don’t think I could have started falling in love with him way back then, right? Maybe when I started my job at corporate? I’m not sure of anything anymore. Maybe in high school I’d just been too dumb to realize I could be in love with someone I’d been close to all my life. Maybe Moira was right, and I’d been chasing Ruben all along—just not in the way I’d thought.

The wall lights up above my silenced phone. My fake boyfriend/baby daddy, perhaps? I lean over to my nightstand, careful not to wake Axley. It’s him.

One last present for you. Merry Christmas.

Dots are loading at the bottom of the screen and then a pic comes in.

My mouth goes dry. Immediately I’m scrambling to remember how to turn a picture into my screensaver.

Only the bottom half of his mouth is showing, because he had to make room for all those pecs and abs. The arm holding the phone in his selfie is so obviously flexed, this picture is for sure a joke. But, joke or not, the bulges on his upper arm are hard and defined. He’s wearing jeans, but they hang low enough that I only see a glimpse of them at the bottom of the screen. I zoom in on his abs, because . . . well . . . okay, there's no excuse for it other than the fact that I'm as captivated by shirtless Ruben as the rest of the world.

He’s flexing his abs too, but even if he hadn’t, they would probably still look rock hard. Had I really been sleeping on those last night? And I didn’t run my fingers up and down them? Couldn’t I have had an arm spasm or something? I need to stop eating bananas so my potassium is low the next time I find myself in that position. The next time we make out, I’m adding sliding my fingers up the inside of his shirt to my list of moves. I’ll even pretend like I’m doing it for his sake. I’m seriously the best fake girlfriend.

I pull my fingers away from the phone. I need to answer him or he's going to think I’m a little perv, drooling over his picture. But what do you say to someone who just sent you a skin picture as a joke?

Thank you?

I snort quietly and cover my mouth. Why am I so bad at this? People exchange pictures all the time while dating. There must be some form of protocol around it. But the few men I've dated for more than a month wouldn’t have dared send me something like this. Well, that, and their pictures wouldn’t have had the same effect.

But protocol doesn’t really matter, because this isn’t a boyfriend sending me a picture. This is Ruben teasing me because he knows I enjoy his football pictures.

Three little dots show up on my screen and I panic. I haven’t responded or even liked the pic yet.

He’s going to win this little game of chicken. I blast a reply before he can send whatever it was he was typing.

You know how I am. If you get me a present, I won’t be happy until I send one back. You're lucky I don’t have to order this one on Amazon, or you would have been in breach of our previous agreement. Please hold while I get the lighting just right.

I quickly open my photos on my phone and find the perfect picture—one I took two days ago—and because I’m just the tiniest bit evil, I quickly save it as a file so he'll have to actually click on it to open it. While I’m doing that, a message comes in. In all caps, no less.

THAT IS NOT WHY I SENT THAT. I WAS TRYING TO BE FUNNY.

I smile, send the file, and lean back in bed. So am I, Ruben. So am I.

One Christmas when I was eight, my mom ordered my presents online and warned me never to look on the front porch. I spent the month of December dying to open the door but never daring to. That is what I picture Ruben doing right now. Maybe he's pacing, or maybe his thumb is hovering over the file.

Or maybe he opened it immediately because he doesn’t think receiving shirtless photos is a big deal at all. He probably gets tons of them every day.

Now I’m praying that he actually opens the file, because if he doesn’t, he's going to think I'm one of those weirdo girls who doesn’t know him at all, but wants him just for his goofy smile, great abs, and massive fortune.

But if he does open it, I totally win. Bragging rights pretty much forever. Ruben will have decided to open that picture, and I will 100% tease him about it. I mean, I have to have something to retort back at him if he ever brings up his skin pictures again, right?

My phone lights up.

Why did you send it in a file?

To make it easier for you to save onto your computer.

There’s another long pause.

So it's save-worthy?

It might not be worth $100M, but it's definitely save-worthy.

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