‘What are you thinking about?’I ask, scanning his face as he studies me, those emerald orbs looking dark in the dim lighting.
‘Just thinking about how lucky I am.’
‘Oh?’
‘To have such a gorgeous and smart fake girlfriend.’
I laugh.‘Oh hush, you big flirt.’
‘You love it.’
I certainly do, I think to myself, attempting not to show him just how much his comment has affected me.
There’s a busker nearby, somewhere just out of sight, playing something slow and soft, a song I’m unfamiliar with.Zayden tilts his head, listening.
‘That guy’s not half bad.’
I hum in agreement, highly aware that we’re still holding hands.He grins, and then out of nowhere, he spins around, takes a dramatic step back, and bows.
‘May I have this dance, fake girlfriend?’
I snort.‘You are such a dork.’
‘Yeah, but you signed up for this.’
Before I can protest, he grabs my hand and pulls me gently towards him.There’s no one around except a couple walking barefoot through the sand a little down the way.The whole thing feels wildly too cinematic for two people pretending to date.Like it almost doesn’t make sense that we’re doing this with no one around to witness it.
Zayden’s not a bad dancer.He’s no professional, but he’s confident and relaxed, and it makes me laugh – really laugh – the way he sways us back and forth like this is an actual date, like we’re teenagers in a movie.
‘You’re ridiculous,’ I say, still smiling.
‘You knew that going in,’ he replies, spinning me once in a circle.‘No refunds.’
The music drifts closer, and I let myself sink into the moment just a little, my hand in his, his chest rising and falling with a steadiness that feels weirdly comforting.
It’s not even been an hour since the agreement started and already nothing about right now feels fake.I shove the thoughts away, not wanting to ruin the moment with a panic-induced spiral.I’m good at doing that.
‘You’re a good dancer,’ I say.‘You’ve been too modest.’
‘That’s me.Humble and modest.’He flashes me a boyish grin.
Capturing my hand in his, he spins me around.His grin is contagious and suddenly, I’m beaming back at him.He yanks me towards him, and his scent fills my nostrils.Damn, he smells as good as he looks.Warm cedarwood, with that familiar freshness that makes me think of the ocean.He always smells like he has salt and sun on his skin.
He looks down at me.Not in the way a friend looks at a friend.In the way someone does when they’re thinking about doing something reckless.I swallow, aware of everything – the way his thumb brushes the back of my hand, how close he is, the steady rhythm of the waves behind us.My heart is beating too fast, but I don’t move.
He leans in a little closer, his eyes flicking from mine to my lips.My heart stills.
‘Can a fake boyfriend kiss his fake girlfriend or is that crossing a line?’he murmurs, gaze unmoving from my lips.Heat pools in my stomach at the way he’s looking at me.
‘It’s a line I wouldn’t mind being crossed,’ I whisper.
I tilt my face up towards his, pulse roaring in my ears, every nerve suddenly electric.His nose brushes mine.His breath is warm, him.He leans in that last inch when a shout slices through the air.
‘Oi!Zayden!’
We break apart.Zayden steps back, his hands dropping from my waist.I blink, my heart still hammering, as two of his teammates round the corner behind us, clearly fresh from a night out – laughing, stumbling slightly, eyes already locked on us.
‘Mate!’one of them calls again, grinning.
