"Next on the list: forehead kisses. Very sweet, very couple-y, totally PG for public."
"You want me to kiss your forehead?"
"For practice. So it looks natural on Friday." But she's not moving, still standing there in my arms like she belongs there.
I brush my thumb across her cheek, and she shivers. "You're overthinking too."
"I'm not?—"
"You made a list for physical affection. That's the definition of overthinking."
"It's being prepared."
"It's being scared." The words come out softer than I mean them to. "What are you afraid of, Piper?"
Her jaw tightens. "That we'll mess this up. That I'll mess this up. That you'll—" She stops, looks away. "Never mind. Let's just practice the forehead kiss thing."
I cup her face gently, tilting it up. "I need you to understand something."
"What?"
I should keep my mouth shut. Stick to the arrangement. But standing here with her looking at me like that, I can't do it anymore.
"None of this feels fake to me." The words come out rough, honest. "Standing here with you, touching you, pretending for everyone else—I stopped pretending about two days ago."
Her eyes widen. "Ryder?—"
"I know. Rules. Boundaries. Mutually beneficial arrangement." I lean down, press my forehead to hers. "But if I kiss your forehead right now, it won't be for practice."
Her breath hitches. She pulls back slightly, searching my face like she's trying to figure out if I'm serious.
"Then what will it be for?"
"Because I want to."
The words hang between us, loaded with meaning we're both avoiding. Her hands come up to rest on my chest, and I can feel her heart racing under my palms.
"We have rules," she whispers.
"I know."
"Rule four specifically."
"I know that too."
"We're supposed to keep things professional."
"Yeah." I can't look away from her. "How's that working out?"
"Terribly." She laughs, but it comes out shaky. "This is supposed to be simple."
"Nothing about you is simple."
Before she can respond, before I can do something stupid like actually kiss her, someone knocks on the door.
We spring apart like we've been electrocuted, and Piper's scrambling to fix her sweater while I'm trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.
"Who's that?" I ask.
