Clark has to travel to a game tonight, so he drops me off at home. But instead of leaving me at the curb, he walks me to my studio and lingers at the door.
He lets out a long breath. “We did it.”
“First public appearance as a fake couple done and dusted.” As I playfully brush my hands together, he looks at them—probably realizing that without the cameras, he doesn’t have to touch them. Yes, they’re often clammy. I can’t help it!
Clark says, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Easter. My parents are doing their usual over-the-top thing in Oregon.They’ve been asking about when you’re going to visit again for months and I thought ...” He straightens the brim of his baseball hat and his hair flips temptingly from under it. “Would you want to come with me?”
His parents have been asking about me for months?
He clears his throat. “I mean, it would help sell the whole dating thing, and my mom would be thrilled.”
The buffalo shake their pom poms. Where on earth did they get those?
I don’t have plans and adore the Culpepper crew. “That would be really nice. I’d love to.”
Relief washes across his features. “Good. I’ll get us flights.”
We stand there for a moment, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are. How easy it would be to just lean forward and “practice” kissing again.
Clark clears his throat and steps back slightly. “I should go. Time to get on the road.”
“Right. Good luck at the game.”
“Thanks.” He hesitates, then leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. His lips linger for just a second—warm and soft and welcome. “See you soon, April.”
Then he’s gone, jogging down the stairs, and I’m left standing in my doorway, all tingles.
But wait. Was that for practice, too? Or does he kiss all his fake girlfriends goodbye?
As I watch the Jeep pull away through the window in the stairwell, I instantly pick apart the interview. I can’t help but wonder if something shifted. When I watch it later that night, I focus on the way he looked at me. He even used the wordlove. He loves everything about me? That must’ve been part of the script. He has media training. Whitaker probably gave him tips and prepared him for the questions Abigail was going to ask.
I realize now that Whitaker probably prompted him toperform the practice kiss, so there were no public slip-ups. The buffalo drop their pom poms and walk off the field, defeated.
Inside my apartment, I lean against the couch cushion when my phone rings. The buffalo take a victory lap, thinking it’s Clark. Nope. Just my sister.
“April! Finally, you pick up. I’ve been trying to reach you all week.”
“Sorry, Elise. Things have been crazy.”
“I saw.” Her tone is loaded with meaning. “You and Clark Culpepper? The kiss cam? The social media posts? When were you going to tell me you’re officially dating? I mean, it took you long enough. But still. At last!” She makes a sound like angels chorusing.
Do I lie to my sister, or do I tell her the truth?
The girls know. Clark’s teammates probably suspect. But Elise is family.
“It’s um, a thing,” I hedge.
“A thing? How? April, you’ve been in love with that man since high school. This is the opposite of a thing. This is true love reaching its logical end!”
I don’t like the sound ofendbecause this “thing” does have an expiration date.
“It’s not—we’re not—” I take a deep breath. Even though I’m alone, I whisper, “Can you keep a secret?”
“I’m an attorney. It’s literally my job.”
“Except when I broke Mom’s vase.”
“She coaxed me with that fancy chocolate of hers that she never shared.”
