What would it be like if this were real? If he actually wanted me the way he's pretending to. The thought sends a dangerous ripple through my chest.
I am so fucked.
After dessert, we all say our goodbyes. Mom and dad head to bed and Emily disappears with her phone. Bash and I volunteered to clean up, and now we're alone in the kitchen, me washing dishes while he dries.
"You didn't have to do that, you know," I say, passing him a dripping plate.
"Do what? Help with dishes? My mother would kill me if I didn't."
I roll my eyes, but can't help smiling. "No. Stand up for me like that… with Olivia and Ethan."
He takes the plate, his fingers brushing mine. "Yes, I did."
"It's just—" I scrub a stubborn bit of chocolate from a fork. "We're not actually dating. You don't have to get into real arguments with my ex."
Bash sets down the dish towel, turning to face me. "Charlie, fake relationship or not, I'm not going to sit there while someone takes cheap shots at you. Especially not when they're dead wrong."
Something about his intensity makes me need to break the tension.
I turn back to the sink, plunging my hands into the soapy water to hide the ridiculous flush creeping up my neck.
"Well... thank you. Just know you're going above and beyond the fake boyfriend contract requirements."
Bash picks up the towel again, his shoulder brushing mine as he reaches for another plate. "Is there a contract? I don't recall signing anything. Maybe we should draw one up—define the terms."
"Very funny." I flick some suds at him, which he dodges with annoying grace.
"I'm serious. Let's see..." He leans against the counter, counting off on his fingers. "Handholding, permitted. Casual touches, encouraged for authenticity. Kissing..." He pauses, eyes finding mine. "Subject to mutual agreement on a case-by-case basis."
My heart does a stupid little flip. "Defending my honor against passive-aggressive barbs from my ex's fiancée?"
"Non-negotiable term." His voice drops lower. "That one's not up for debate, Shortcake."
I hand him another glass.
"So... the 'beginners never fall' thing. Is that actually a snowboarding saying?"
His serious expression cracks, and he laughs. "No. I made that up on the spot."
"You made that up?" I splash him with soapy water. "I thought it was some profound snowboarder wisdom!"
"The sentiment is true, though." He grabs the dish towel to shield himself from my water attack. "The best riders are the ones who are willing to eat snow a thousand times to get a trick right. The ones too afraid to fall never get past the basics."
I hand him another plate, our fingers touching again. "Did you fall a lot? Before you got good?"
"Charlie, I once knocked myself unconscious trying a Quad Cork 1800 at Breckenridge. Woke up with my coach standing over me asking how many fingers he was holding up." He grins at the memory. "I nailed it the next day, though."
"That's... mildly terrifying."
"I'll be gentler with you tomorrow. Promise." He winks, and I feel heat climb my neck. "Beginner slopes only."
I turn back to the dishes. "So what about our sleeping arrangement?" I ask, immediately regretting the words.
No, I mean— “I dry my hands thoroughly on a dish towel, trying to occupy myself with this mundane task, rather than look at him. “If you want the bed, I can take the couch in the room. It’s actually pretty comfortable.
“Charlie.” He steps closer, and suddenly the kitchen feels very, very small. Like all the oxygen has been sucked out and replaced with only the subtle scent of his cologne, small. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed. That’s not how this works.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as I finally lift my eyes and meethis gaze.
