Page 238 of Faking the Goal

And I'd do it again.

Happily.

Hell, at this point, I'd probably translate an entire library if I knew she'd look at me like that when I was done.

She closes the book and holds it against her chest.

"No one's ever done something like this for me before," she says softly. "Gone this far out of their way just to give me something they knew I wanted."

Her voice grows quieter near the end, and when she finally looks up at me, my heart gives one stupid, uneven kick before taking off altogether.

She looks soft. Almost shy. A little overwhelmed by all of it, and fuck, it takes more restraint than it should to stay where I am instead of reaching for her, pulling her into me, and kissing her until neither of us remembers how this conversation started.

Because right now, with her clutching that book to her chest and looking at me like I've given her something far more precious than twelve fucking volumes of manga, the truth is sitting dangerously close to the tip of my tongue. I want to tell her that I did it because I'm falling so fucking hard for her that there isn't much I wouldn't do if it meant making her happy.

But I don't.

Because as badly as I want to say it, I have no fucking idea what she'd do with those words.

I know what I want. I know what this has become for me. But as far as I know, Taylor still sees whatever is happening between us as part of the arrangement we made. And until I know she feels even a fraction of what I do, I'm not risking what we have by putting feelings in her hands she might not be ready to hold.

So I bite the inside of my cheek, keep my hands to myself, and let her have this moment without ruining it by saying too much.

"Thank you, Ken-chan," she whispers. "Really."

"You're welcome, Trouble."

I lift my hand and brush my fingers along her cheek, slow enough to give her every chance to pull away.

She doesn't.

Her eyes stay on mine, and that soft smile is still there. My thumb grazes lightly over her cheekbone, and for a few seconds, neither of us moves. We just look at each other with matching smiles that somehow say far too much and nowhere near enough.

CHAPTER 31

TAYLOR

So, remember when I said I needed to keep my heart in check while staying under the same roof as Kentaro? That I needed to guard it carefully and keep reminding myself that no matter how convincing this arrangement had become, it was still only fake?

Yeah. About that.

It has turned out to be far more troublesome than I anticipated.

Being around him this much has completely ruined whatever boundaries we used to have. We tease each other constantly now, except somewhere along the way, the teasing started sounding a lot more like flirting, even when no one else was around to witness it. We hold hands while reading manga as though it is the most natural thing in the world. I'll lean against him on the couch, and his arm will settle around me without either of us thinking twice about it. More often than not, I'll end up sitting in the living room with his head resting in my lap while he reads, my fingers drifting absently through his soft hair, and neither of us seems to notice how intimate it is until much later.

Showing affection has stopped feeling like part of the performance. It has become second nature. Part of our routine.

And after my spectacular attempt to throw myself down a flight of stairs last week, whatever chance I had of putting some distance between us pretty much went to hell.

Kentaro has been taking care of me ever since. Not in some grand, dramatic way, either. It's all the little things that are slowly fucking me over. Making sure my ankle is elevated before he sits down beside me. Appearing with my painkillers and a glass of water before I even remember I'm supposed to take them. Carrying things for me because apparently crutches turn every basic task into a logistical nightmare. Bringing me food when my ribs hurt too much to bother getting up. Hovering nearby whenever I attempt the stairs, no matter how many times I tell him I am perfectly capable of getting myself from one floor to another without reenacting the incident.

And then there were the manga.

Twelve entire volumes translated by hand because he noticed me looking at them.

Yeah. My heart never stood a fucking chance.

Because the more he takes care of me, the harder it becomes to separate the Kentaro who is supposed to be my fake boyfriend from the Kentaro who remembers what time I need my medication, knows exactly how I take my coffee, lets me play with his hair while he reads, and somehow notices the things I want before I ever tell him I want them. We've gotten so much closer than I think either of us intended, and lately I've become painfully aware of just how much power this man has accumulated over my stupid, vulnerable heart.