Her eyebrows rose along with her gaze. “Official?”
“What would you say to officially being my fake girlfriend? Enzo already put it out there. Might as well run with it,” I reached for my tags, scratched at my chest instead. “Helps us both, right? Gets your family off your back about being alone, gives me an excuse to avoid certain conversations about my future.”
She considered this, absently pleating the edge of her sweater. “You’d be okay with that?” She peered up at me. “Pretending to date someone difficult and high-maintenance?”
“First of all, stop calling yourself that. Second, yeah. I’d be okay with it.”
More than okay, but I kept that part to myself.
“It would mean spending more time together,” she settled back down on her bed. “Family events, probably some photos for social media. Making it look convincing.”
“I can handle convincing, sweetheart.” The memory of our kiss flooded back—the way she’d tasted, the soft sound she’d made against my mouth. “Can you?”
Pink spread across her cheeks as she turned her gaze to the ceiling. “I think so.”
“Good.”
Internally, I screamed at myself to stand up, suddenly aware of how intimate this felt—sitting on her bed, working out the logistics of a fake relationship while real feelings threatened to choke me. Instead, I toed off my sneakers and lay down nextto her on my back, slipping one hand behind my head, too exhausted in my bones to go anywhere else. Stars were projected onto her ceiling—orbiting for her like a small planetarium show. Only then did I catch the faintest notes of Rush—“Closer to the Heart” specifically. I smiled to myself.
“Finn?” she whispered after a while.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For telling me. For not letting me keep hiding.”
“Thank you for not throwin’ me out when I did,” I flashed her a lopsided grin.
Her smile was small but genuine. “I considered it for about three seconds.”
“What changed your mind?”
“You called me incredible. Twice. Nobody’s ever called me that before.”
The words hit me square in the chest. I wanted to tell her that anyone with half a brain could see what she was. Instead, I just nodded, reaching over with my free hand to squeeze her arm before we both settled down to watch the stars.
Chapter 10
The performance of the century, or at least the decade so far
Alex
I woke up warm.
Not the restless, overheated warm that usually had me kicking off covers and rearranging my pillows three times before giving up and wandering out to doze on the couch until my alarm went off. This was a steady, enveloping warmth that made my entire soul want to sink deeper inside of it. I could tell it was still early, the soft gray light of not-quite-sunrise filtering through my bedroom curtains.
My pillow felt different. Firmer. Moving slightly with each breath.
Finn’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, my head tucked against his chest like I’d always belonged there. His other hand rested loosely against my hip, long fingers curved over the fabric of my sweater. I could feel the steady, relaxed rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt, the comfort of another person sharing my space without making it feel crowded.
Weird. And nice.
When was the last time I’d slept so well? The question drifted through my mind as I stayed absolutely still, unwilling to break whatever spell had blessed me to stay asleep past five-thirty for the first time in months. Usually, my brain started its morning routine the moment consciousness started to return, either cataloging the day’s tasks or choosing violence and screaming the chorus of whatever Blink-182 song I’d listened to last repeatedly before I was fully awake. But lying here against Finn’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, was the most relaxing thing in the world.
I lifted my head slightly, careful not to wake him, and really looked at his face. The morning light caught the network of finescars across his left cheek and temple, some barely visible and others more pronounced, like the one across his nose. Another deeper one traced along his jawline, disappearing into his beard with others, forbidding anything grow. His face looked younger in sleep, the thinly veiled stress and grief I’d noticed softened into something more vulnerable.
It was evidence of everything he’d survived. The accident, the long recovery, deeper emotional scars I knew nothing about. I wanted to trace each mark with my fingertips.
“I can feel you examinin’ me, Alexandra.”
