Page 39 of Play Fake

“Just don’t want to bother you all watching the movie. I’m on my way to bed.”

“It's 10:30. Date that bad?”

Date? If that was what he believed, I was going to run with it.

“No. It was fine. I’m just tired and need to get up early to study for class.”

Why am I explaining all this to him and why is he sitting in the kitchen in the dark, anyway? Those are the questions I should ask, but I’m so thrown off by his presence I can’t think straight. Memories of the previous weekend start chasing through my mind, causing heat to rise up the back of my neck. I couldn’t avoid him forever and might as well get this little tête-à-tête out of the way now.

“But since you’re here,” I hedge, squinting a little to try to make him out in the dark, but grateful I won’t be able to see all the snarky little smiles he makes. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about last weekend. I was incredibly drunk, and it was stupid.”

“Which part?”

“Which part?” I echo his question.

“You said it was stupid. Just curious what theitwas.”

“I think you know.”

“Kissing Liam?” He raises a brow.

“He kissed me.”

“You didn’t exactly push him away.”

“Yes, which was admittedly stupid.”

“But the rest of it wasn’t?”

“No. It was all pretty stupid.”

“I don’t know, the little girl group act you three put on dancing on the table seemed to get rave reviews.”

“Waylon—“ I warn.

“Not Captain anymore then?”

I wince as I remember how I’d kept calling him that. He stands and walks over to me through the dark, his form only partially lit up by lights in the backyard flooding in through the glass of the windows. I want to run away from him, as discussing this across the room in the dark was one thing, but if he’s standing close to me, taking up all the space and all the oxygen I can’t be held responsible for whatever other stupid thing I might say or do. Except I can’t run without looking like a coward, so I just freeze in place.

He gets so close I can smell the subtle hint of woodiness of the cologne he wears, and it invades my senses. I swear he does it on purpose. He leans into one of the beams of light, and I can see his face, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth as he stares at me. And then I feel the sense of dread that he’s about to make me pay for all the stupid things I said.

“If you’re going to bring up the… other stuff that night. Please don’t.”

“I won’t.” He says softly, studying my face.

“Then what do you want?”

“Were you drinking tonight?”

“No. Well I mean; I had a beer but—“

He cuts me off as his hand comes up and cups my jaw, his thumb sliding over my lips.

“Good.”

“Why?” I whisper the question, as my heart kicks against my chest.

He answers by leaning in and pressing his lips to mine, using soft steady strokes that send waves of pleasure through my entire body, lighting up my nerve endings like tiny little sparklers. His hand slides behind my neck, his thumb stroking against my jaw and his fingers threading through my hair as he tilts me back ever so gently before finally releasing me. I can barely breathe.