Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 19643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
"What do you think?" he asks, watching me closely.
"It's ... nice."
He types a single heart emoji, no caption, and looks at me again. "No backing out now."
"I'm not backing out."
He hits post, and we both stare at the screen as comments immediately start rolling in.
"Who is she???"
"OMG, are you dating someone???"
"Elias has a girlfriend!!!"
The weight of what we've just done settles over me. It's real now, or at least, everyone thinks it is.
Including Mia.
"So," he says, setting his phone down. "We should work on our story."
I nod, shifting slightly to face him better. "Right. The backstory."
"How did we reconnect?" he asks, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. His fingers are inches from my shoulder.
"Through James, obviously."
"And we hit it off immediately. Couldn't stop talking."
"Exchanged numbers."
"Been texting constantly since then."
"You asked me out..." I trail off, realizing I'm enjoying this fictional scenario a bit too much.
"The next day. I couldn't wait, so I took you to that little Italian place, Nonna's."
I laugh. "Very romantic."
His voice drops slightly, and my stomach flips. "I'm a romantic guy."
"And how long have we been dating?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
"Not long, but we know it's the real deal. I mean, I'm known to be pretty private, so that single post tells them all about how serious this is."
We continue crafting our fake relationship history, adding details about imaginary dates and inside jokes. I find myself laughing more than I have in months. It's dangerously easy to forget this is all fake.
As we talk, I become increasingly aware of how close we're sitting. The space between us has somehow shrunk. His hand now rests on the couch just beside my leg, close enough that if I shifted slightly, we'd be touching.
"We should practice being comfortable with each other," he says. "People will expect us to act naturally. Casual touches. And I'm a really touchy person."
My pulse pounds in my temples. "Right. That makes sense."
He reaches out slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brush my cheek, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I freeze, unable to breathe.
"Like that," I'm sure his voice just dropped an octave.
This is practice, I tell myself. Method acting. But my body doesn't believe it. Every nerve ending is alive, hyperaware of his proximity.
Elias takes my hand and interlaces our fingers. His hand engulfs mine completely, warm and strong. "We'll need to hold hands at the reunion."
"Of course."
His thumb strokes across my knuckles, a gentle back and forth that sends shivers up my arm. I'm melting from the inside out, and all he's doing is holding my hand.
Our joined hands rest between us, shoulders nearly touching. The air turns heavy, weighted with everything I’ve never said and everything I still want too much.
And my God, I want him so damn much.
"We should probably practice kissing too," he says, his voice rough around the edges. "To make it believable."
I swallow hard. "Okay. For practice."
He shifts closer, his free hand coming up to cup my face. My eyes lock with his, and for a moment, neither of us moves. I see something flicker in his eyes—hesitation? uncertainty?—before he leans in.
His lips brush against mine, feather-light. My eyes flutter closed, and I lean into the touch. It's sweet, almost chaste, but even this careful press of his lips against mine makes me dizzy with want.
Elias pulls back a little, his hand still cradling my face. "Okay?"
This time, I lean in. My lips find his, and between the first kiss and this, something snaps between us. Suddenly, it becomes hot and urgent and demanding, my free hand comes up to grip his shirt as I let out a low, long moan. He responds immediately, the careful control from a moment ago shattered.
His hand slides into my hair, fisting gently, holding me where he wants me. I make a sound, and his deep groan vibrates through me. His mouth opens against mine, his tongue teases the seam of my lips until I part for him.
The first touch of his tongue against mine sends liquid heat flooding through my body. Ten years of wanting pour out of me as I press closer, desperate for more. All pretense of practice forgotten.
I've never been kissed like this, like he can't get enough. My hands clutch at his shoulders, his chest, anywhere I can reach, needing to feel more of him.
Without breaking the kiss, he tugs me closer until I'm climbing onto his lap, my thighs on either side of his. In this position, I can feel him hard beneath me, and the realization sends a shock of pure desire straight to my core. I rock against him instinctively, seeking friction.
He groans into my mouth, his hands grip my hips. "Elise."
Hearing my name in that wrecked voice short-circuits my brain. I rock against him again, more deliberately this time, and his fingers dig into my hips, guiding my movements. The pressure against my center is exquisite torture. Not enough, but so good it makes me gasp.