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“There isn’t a world in which I’m falling in love with you.”
“Right. I know. Same. Believe me. But it needed to be said.”
“That’s it?” he asks.
“No. That’s the first term.”
He sighs. Loudly.
“We can call this off,” I offer.
“No. No. Tell me all your terms. I’m here.”
“Good. No touching. You do not get to touch me.”
“Cass.” His tone is practically exasperated.
“I’m serious. We can pretend to be a couple without touching.”
“How exactly does that work?”
“We smile at one another. Stand next to one another for photo ops. No touching.”
“I hate to disagree,” he says.
“You don’t. You love disagreeing. I’d wager that next to playing football, disagreeing is your favorite pastime.”
“Right.” He dismisses my statement without a response. “Well, if I were dating you … someone … another woman … There would be touching.”
“What kind of touching?” I ask, regretting my question as soon as it’s out of my mouth.
“The way I rubbed small circles on your back when we were dancing.” If I’m not mistaken, his voice has a note of teasing in it. “The way I clasped your hand and ran my thumb over your skin. I like being affectionate. Touch is my love language. I show affection when I’m into someone. And kissing. There’d be kissing.”
“We are absolutely not kissing,” I say.
“No one will buy that we’re dating if I’m not touching you. I’m an athlete. I’m physical. Besides, the world has already seen you in my lap, my arms looped around you, me placing a kiss on your temple.”
“Are you campaigning to touch me, QB?”
“Definitely not.”
His reaction almost implies that it would be ludicrous to suggest a man would want to touch me.
“Why not? Don’t you think a man would want to touch me if we were dating?”
“I think, if you found a man to date you, he would want to touch you.”
I don’t love the way he phrased that. As if it would be hard for me to find a man who would want to date me.
“If I wanted to be dating someone, I would be,” I say.
He exhales, loud and heavy. “You’ll be dating me. That means you won’t be dating anyone else.”
“I’ll be fake dating you. And yes, agreed. We won’t be dating anyone else during the time we’re putting on an act.” I tilt my head up, staring at the clouds overhead. “So, back to my terms. Only touching when needed, for the sake of the plot.”
His voice turns almost playful. “Does my touching bother you, Carter?”
I’m sure his question does exactly what he intended. I’m catapulted back to our time on the dance floor. Memories of his hand on my back, the way he swayed us to the music, the unexpected twirl which he controlled effortlessly.
