My heart does a ridiculous lurch, and I can’t tell if I want to laugh, cry, or climb under the table and disappear. If I’m being honest, I desperately want to kiss him. But the real problem isn’tthe kiss. It’s that the second his mouth touches mine, I don’t think I’ll be pretending anymore.
I decide to flip the tables on him.
“What about you?” I ask, voice light.
He blinks. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “How do you feel about kissing me?”
Something shifts behind his eyes. The air in the room thickens, like we’ve crossed an invisible line we weren’t supposed to notice.
“Hard to say,” he says slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Guess we won’t know until we try it.”
I huff out a laugh, hoping it sounds casual instead of desperate. Cool. Chill. Totally not picturing his mouth on mine.
“You don’t justtry outkissing someone, Liam,” I say, aiming for mockery but landing somewhere closer to breathless.
He leans forward, his voice dropping to that rough, honeyed drawl that always ruins me. “Then tell me, honey. How does one kiss?”
His tone curls around me like smoke, and heat licks low in my belly. My fingers tighten around my glass. I should say something clever. Disarm him. But my brain is officially short-circuiting.
I shake my head, trying to stay upright in my own skin. “You can’t plan it. It just has to happen. It has to feel right.”
He hums under his breath, slow and deliberate, like he’s filing that information away.
“Sounds like kissing’s on the table, then.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Because the way he’s looking at me? It’s not fake. Not even a little bit. And now I don’t know if we’re still playing a game or if we just crossed into something dangerously real. And the real kicker is that I’m okay with kissing being on the table.
The server arrives at that exact moment, setting steaming plates of pasta in front of us and shattering the tension like glass. I exhale, grateful for the interruption I didn’t know I needed.
We fall into silence as we eat, the only sounds between us the clink of silverware and the indistinct murmur of other diners. For a moment, it almost feels normal. Comfortable. Like this really is a date.
Then Liam clears his throat. “We’ve got a few weeks before we fly out to Texas. Maybe we should have a few more pretend dates between now and then.”
I lift an eyebrow. “How many are we talking?”
He shrugs, too casual. “Six?”
I nearly choke. “Six? I don’t even go out that much with arealboyfriend.”
His fork pauses mid-air. “Are you seeing someone, Olive?”
I blink. “What? No.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Just watches me.
“I just meant that when I’m in a relationship,” I explain, “I usually only see the guy on weekends. We’re both busy. It’s easier that way.”
“Why not during the week?” he asks, voice low.
I shoot him a look.
“Because my boss is kind of demanding,” I say dryly. “And I never know when there’s going to be some emergency that has me rushing to his place.”
Liam smirks, and just like that, the air lightens again. “Hey, I can’t help it if I like company during Mario Kart showdowns.”
“You only like company when you’re winning,” I mutter, taking another bite.
