He snorted and stuffed his hand in his pocket. “So? Who wants to kiss you?”
My heart—and jaw—dropped. “Zack.”
He side-eyed me as if to ask, ‘Do you want me to want to kiss you?’
No,not really.But would it kill him to act like he wanted to be my boyfriend?
I huffed and lowered the camera a smidge. Maybe I could cut the clip early.
“C’mere.” He wrangled me closer and shoved his nose into my hair, the curtain of it protecting me from his smacking lips, which were barely even aimed at my cheek.
“Ah, stop it.” I laughed, elbowing him enough to slip out of his grasp.
He knitted his brows. “Sorry, was that—”
“Brilliant.” Toes tingling, I grinned and tapped my screen to stop recording. “That is exactly the kind of thing people will want to see. Including your family.” It was cute and sassy. A total rebrand opportunity.
He squirmed. “Maybe we should show them something without PDA.”
My smile faded. I dragged my feet with leaden dismay. “But we’re supposed to be dating. You didn’t even kiss me.” My hair separated us, most likely intentional, on his part. Was he that embarrassed faking affection for me? I sipped on the almond-blend shake to cool the heat flaring on my untouched cheeks.
His gaze darted across the heart-decorated window displays. “I know, but I don’t want their first impression to be you, drunk, or my tuna breath all over your cheek.”
True; our interactions weren’t romantic in a traditional sense.
I sighed. “What do you suggest, then? And don’t say go to dinner with them, because seriously, it’s weird to do that if we started dating on New Year’s Eve.”
There was no way they’d like me anyways, whether we met via video or in-person, even if Shelby vouched for me.
He rubbed the nape of his neck. “We could take a picture, maybe?”
“Fine. Come here. I’ll take a selfie.” I lifted my drink as if to toast to us. I tried a few different poses: coy with the straw at my lips, a fake kiss to the camera, and a smile. It wasn’t perfect, but with a few filters, I could work on it.
Zack leaned in and deadpanned at the camera.
I lowered my phone, incredulous. “I’m not snapping that.”
“Why not?” He frowned.
“First of all, you’re not smiling. You should be happy when you’re close to someone you like, especially someone like me,” I said, only half-joking.
“Oh, obviously.” He side-eyed a loved-up couple in a jewelry store ad. “I am happy—or I would be. I’m just not big on smiling in photos.”
“So ‘smize’ or something.”
He raised his eyebrows in silent question.
“It’s smiling with your eyes,” I explained, trying not to roll mine. Hadn’t he ever watched Making a Model? “Also, if we were really dating, you would wrap your arm around me—unless that also offends your family’s delicate sensibilities.”
He shoved his hand in his jacket pocket. “They know who I am, so they know I’m not big on mugging for the camera.”
“Fine. Forget it, then. Not like I love this mall lighting anyway.” Marching onward, I sipped my shake. Why was he being so weird about this? We smiled all the time when we were joking around. He hadn’t had any trouble wrapping his arms around me at the bar or in the shoe window when we’d had to fake it for Theo.
Wait.I forgot about Theo.
Armando and Hitch’s signature cologne wafted out of fake bay doors. Grayscale hunks colorized faintly with red hues decorated their ads. Male models with chiseled jaws posed topless and gleaming wet. Some played with dogs or other men in low-slung jeans while others caressed women with beachy, windswept hair.
Everything sort of slowed, including my heartbeat, as we passed the store. Two mannequins angled away from the entrance as if they were too cool to even look at the customers. Between them stood my ex: the sexy all-American type guy I’d seen in teen soap operas as a kid. He slung his thumb in one pocket of his designer jeans. Even though he wasn’t supposed to be on his phone, he was obviously scrolling a feed, one foot propped against the wall behind him like he was at the club instead of work. His gaze slid up from his screen.
