Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
I lower my head slightly, bracing my other hand by her waist.
“You want it to?” I ask.
Her lips part. “You tell me.”
The world above us keeps moving—voices, footsteps, someone laughing nervously—but down here it’s all heat and frosting and the steady thud of my heart against her palm.
“Sadie,” I say slowly, “this isn’t the parking lot anymore.”
Her eyes search mine. “Then what is it?”
I shift closer, my thigh pressing between hers to keep from crushing her under the table frame. Her breath catches.
“This,” I say, voice rough, “is the part where I forget there’s a crowd ten feet away.”
Her fingers slide from my chest to my shoulders. “Then forget.”
My restraint snaps taut. She smells like sugar and summer. My mouth lowers to her jaw. Not quite touching.
“You’re covered in flour,” I murmur.
“Fix it.”
That challenge is reckless. I lean in and brush my mouth lightly along her jawline. Her breath shatters. The contact is barely there. But it’s enough. Her nails dig into my shoulders.
“You’re shaking,” I say.
“You’re heavy.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Her hips shift again.
I grit my teeth.
“You keep moving like that,” I warn, “and I’m not pulling back.”
She looks up at me through her lashes. “Who said I want you to?”
The words hit like a match to gasoline. My hand slides to her waist. Firm. Claiming. The world above us fades further.
“Sadie,” I say quietly, “if I kiss you right now, it won’t be for the church ladies.”
“Good.”
“It won’t be for the fake dating.”
“I know.”
“It’ll be because I’ve been trying not to do it since the car wash.”
Her lips tremble slightly. “Then why haven’t you?”
I stare down at her.
Because once I start, I won’t stop.
Because you left once.
Because I don’t trust myself not to burn us both down.
But I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I lean closer.
So close my mouth nearly brushes hers.
Her breathing goes ragged.
“Still think this is fake?” she whispers.
My heart hammers. I want to kiss her. I want to taste frosting and flour and everything I’ve been pretending I don’t still crave. I want to slide my hand under the hem of her shirt and drag her closer and forget the entire damn town exists.
Instead, I brace my forearm harder against the asphalt to keep from collapsing onto her.
“Don’t,” I say roughly.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you remember.”
Her eyes soften. “I never forgot.”
That nearly undoes me. I drop my forehead against hers for half a second. The contact is electric. Then I force myself back. I shift my weight and push the table frame up enough to crawl out. Flour rains down again. Cool air hits my overheated skin.
I stand and offer her a hand.
She stares up at me, breathless. “Levi—”
I pull her up carefully. Cupcakes squish under our boots. The crowd finally surges forward.
“Oh my word, are you hurt?” Mrs. Dottie demands.
Sadie shakes her head. I keep my hand at her waist longer than necessary. She looks at me like she knows exactly why I pulled away. Like she knows how close I was to losing control.
Sawyer strolls up, surveying the wreckage. “Y’all okay?”
“Fine,” I say.
He eyes the flour on my shoulders, the frosting on Sadie’s shirt, the way we’re standing a little too close.
“Sure you are,” he mutters.
The cheer team starts collecting smashed cupcakes. Someone props the booth upright again. The event continues like the collapse was just part of the entertainment. Sadie brushes flour off her shorts.
“You pulled away,” she says quietly so only I can hear.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
I hold her gaze. “Because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t.”
Her throat tightens. “You think that’s a good thing?”
“I think it’s necessary.”
She steps closer again. Always pushing. “You’re afraid.”
I lean down slightly. “I’m not afraid of kissing you.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
I meet her eyes squarely. “Not stopping.”
The air between us crackles again.
Her chest rises slowly. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“It’s honest.”
She searches my face for something—weakness, maybe. Hesitation.
She won’t find it.
“I don’t want careful,” she says quietly.
“Then stop provoking me in church parking lots.”
Her mouth curves faintly. “Make me.”
I step into her space again, lowering my voice. “You keep daring me, Hotshot.”
“Maybe I want you to.”
My hand slides to her hip again. The contact feels inevitable now. “Keep pushing,” I murmur, “and this stops being fake in a way you can’t undo.”
She swallows. “Maybe I don’t want to undo it.”
The crowd noise swells around us again, but we’re locked in our own gravity.
I force myself to step back.
“Help clean up,” I say evenly.
Her eyes flash with frustration. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re thinking about it.”
“Constantly.”
She exhales sharply. “Good.”
I turn to grab a broom before I change my mind and haul her back under that damn table.
Because if I trap her under there again—if she whispers one more reckless thing—I won’t be the one pulling away.
And that’s the problem.
Because fake dating was supposed to be easy.