“Arm. Around me. It’s a very standard boyfriend move, Leo. I promise I won’t bite.” He pauses, then gives me a cheeky grin. “Unless you ask nicely.”
I choose not to respond to that.
Instead, I put my arm around him.
It’s a disaster.
Not because it’s awkward, but because it isn’t. Archie fits against my side like he belongs there, and my brain starts to measure data I don’t want, like the exact temperature of his skin through his shirt, the rhythm of his breathing, and the small scar on his ear that I’ve never noticed before.
“See? Painless,” Archie says, settling more comfortably against me. His hand lands on my thigh and stays there.
I lose my train of thought entirely.
“But you need to make sure you’re snuggling in close. You know, like you actually like me.”
“I do actually like you,” I say without thinking.
Archie goes completely still.
When he turns to look at me, his face is closer than I expected, close enough that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to.
Something that I can’t read flickers across his expression.
“Well,” he says, recovering quickly. His voice is slightly different, though—softer at the edges. “That’s a start.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, it is.”
“We also need to do that thing where couples have entire conversations just by looking at each other.” His gaze locks with mine and he raises one eyebrow meaningfully. This close, I can see the different flecks of green in his eyes, the faint freckles across his nose that I’ve never noticed before.
“I think we already have conversations with our eyes, except ours usually just translate to ‘I’m going to get you back for that.’”
He laughs.
Fuck.
I feel the vibration of his laugh through his chest where he’s pressed against my side, the way his whole body shakes with it. His head tips back slightly, exposing the line of his throat.
Making Archie laugh feels like winning a competition I didn’t know I was involved with.
And it reminds me of the larger problem that I have with Archie, beyond the fact that I’ve got to pretend to be his boyfriend.
I’ve never been as fascinated by someone as I am by him. The contradictions alone could keep me occupied for years. The sunshine exterior and the razor-sharp mind underneath. The way he can command a room full of six-year-olds and reduce me to spluttering incoherence with equal ease.
I’ve built a career on reading people, on understanding what makes them tick, but Archie Mansley remains stubbornly, infuriatingly opaque.
And right now, he’s tucked against my side, warm and solid and close enough that I can smell his shampoo, and I’m thinking about all the ways this fake-boyfriend situation is going to destroy me.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Archie’s instructions on how to be a good fake boyfriend are cut short by the knock at the door.
“Shit, she’s early.” Archie scrambles for his crutches, nearly elbowing me in the face as he hauls himself upright.
The sudden absence of his warmth against my side feels like I’ve stepped out of a heated building into January air.
He turns back to face me. “You’ll just need to go with the flow, okay? Just…follow my lead and try not to look like you’re about to be executed.”
It doesn’t sound like much of a plan. But apparently it’s all we’ve got.
He clatters his way over to the front door.
