Page 21 of Date Knight (Roll for Romance #2)

Amy

D espite how much shit I’d given Phil for his cinematic preferences, I’d seen enough cheesy rom-coms myself to know that I was on a slippery slope. Fake dating was harder than I’d expected, and I still couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement.

I chalked up the butterflies I felt all through our first date to the copious amounts of dodgy cocktails, so I resolved not to drink as much moving forward.

I didn’t need to get carried away with myself; I’d learned five years ago what that could do.

Relative sobriety proved quite easy after that, as Anil’s break from his course was up, so our Saturday nights would be spent at Phil’s with Ethel.

And as much as I loved her, she definitely helped quash any romantic energy I felt.

Those evenings in ended up looking exactly as I would have hoped.

Phil had always been a great cook– he’d learned from Mum, after all– so when he made me homemade sweet potato gnocchi the first week and pulled pork mac and cheese the second, I decided maybe the whole arrangement had been a great idea after all. At least he was keeping me well fed.

And whilst Ethel changed the energy between us, she was always hilarious to be around. Every Saturday we did something fun: board games, crafts, and even doing her physio workouts together, which showed me just how poor my core strength was.

Then Ethel would go to bed.

I’d expected, after that first date, for that to be the awkward portion of the evening, but I was surprised at how routine it felt.

We would wash up from dinner together, and then I’d sit with Phil whilst he crocheted chain mail or stitched together sequin fabric for a costume, and we’d end the night with a film or a show, taking turns choosing.

Each week we’d sit closer and closer together on the sofa, and by July it felt perfectly natural to drape my legs over his and feel the weight of his hand on my knee.

But we must have both been on edge after that first date, because we didn’t have any more sustained glances or lingering-at-the-door moments.

Until one night, when Phil helped me up from the couch and told me to spread my legs.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my mouth hanging open.

“I said spread ’em, Evans,” he said, smirking, but he pulled a small retractable measuring tape out of his pocket. “I’ve officially got everything I need for your festival costumes, so I need your measurements.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t actually need me to spread my legs though, right?”

He shrugged. “I don’t technically need your inseam, no. Both your costumes involve skirts.”

“Then I’ll be keeping my legs firmly closed,” I said, holding my arms out to the side. “Otherwise I’m all yours.”

Still, when Phil knelt on the ground in front of me and looked up at me with those bright blue eyes, close enough that his beard tickled my belly where my shirt rode up, I nearly crumbled. Stay strong , I told myself, looking up at the ceiling. That is not your man.

I felt him wrap his arms around my legs, bringing him even closer, and for a moment I could feel his breath on my exposed skin.

I stayed frozen in place, willing myself not to meet his gaze.

But then I felt him draw the tape across my ass, presumably to measure my hips, and a full body shiver went through me.

“Easy there,” Phil said, and I shot a withering glare down at him. I found him smiling up at me with so much mischief in his eyes that I couldn’t help but picture him knelt in front of me in a very different context.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said, stepping back, though he held the tape tight, not letting me go. So I reached down and grabbed it out of his hands, wincing as it retracted and the metal end hit my knuckles.

“You want a costume?” Phil asked, standing up. “That means made to measure, kiddo.”

“Then I will measure myself,” I said, extending the tape again and wrapping it around my hips, roughly where he’d had it.

“A bit lower,” he said, reaching out to adjust it, but I smacked his hand away.

“Use your words, Philip.”

He sighed. “Lower in the back. It needs to be the widest part.”

I glared at him, but ultimately obeyed, getting the proper measurement so Phil could take a note on his phone.

Then I repeated the process for my bust, underbust, and waist– there was no way I would have survived Phil taking those– and then handed the tape back over so he could take my shoulder and skirt length measurements.

I was beyond desperate to pull focus from my body, so I sat back down on the sofa and pulled my knees to my chest. “Can I ask you a D they were both cool as hell, and right up my alley.

Instead of turning into animals, I could turn into constellations.

And Fatima and I had already started discussing some cool backstory elements to incorporate.

I hadn’t even meant to tie into the whole astral diamonds subplot, but it had worked out perfectly.

Phil smiled, but not smugly this time. He looked almost… embarrassed?

“Honestly,” he said, “I thought of you as soon as I heard about them.”

“Which was when?”

“Um, well, we only started playing D maybe because four years ago I’d been nursing a serious grudge against Phil. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Well, Astral Elves are literally described as having a starry gleam in their eyes because of their connection to the astral plane. And Circle of Stars, I mean, come on. Literally turning into a constellation, and using the stars to divine the future? I take it you saw the part where you can use a crystal to power the star chart?”

“It’s really cool,” I admitted, which was a sentence I’d never thought I’d say about Dungeons I certainly would have been happy to help out more.

We eventually stopped adding things to Our Lore, but that was okay, because we were at the point where we were living it instead of having to come up with it retrospectively.

Sure, ours lacked the emotional milestones other relationships might have had, but I still had plenty of anecdotes for Chloe and Morgan when they asked, and it was nice to take away the pressure of making up what were essentially lies.

I also started checking Phil’s horoscope along with mine and sending it to him each morning, and I made a hobby out of analysing how ours might be referencing or playing off one another.

One day mine said that all the pieces were falling into place for me whilst his said to trust that everything was as it should be, and I actually giggled aloud in the kitchen at the symmetry, making Mum glare at me as she boiled the kettle.

That was when she’d put her foot down and insisted that both Phil and Ethel start joining us for family dinners on Sundays, which he’d been avoiding for the entire time we’d been “dating”.

So the next Sunday, they came over mid-afternoon so Phil could help Mum cook– she’d messaged him directly to demand his help, apparently– and I walked with Ethel over to Uncle John’s farm to see the cows.

She stood at the fence mooing for a solid five minutes to make them come to her, and I got a delightful video on my phone of them all congregating in front of her like she was their messiah.

Then we came back for dinner, all seven of us including Morgan crowded around Mum and Dad’s dining table, Morgan’s dog Pablo sniffing for any dinner casualties at our feet.

I’d expected things to feel different now that Mum and Dad thought we were dating, but like film nights and pub quizzes and everything else so far, it all felt delightfully normal.

I was slowly realising two things.