Page 102 of The Great Dating Fake Off
Like a silent assassin, he aims the sprayer at me.
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper with venom.
“If you run away, it’ll spray Nella’s floor.” He’s beautiful and menacing as he aims it lower. “Do you want to make a mess of her house?”
I lift my chin. “You won’t.”
His eyes are dangerous as he presses the button once. A small blast hits beneath my collarbone and drips down to soak the top of my dress.
I narrow my eyes as his body shakes from containing his laughter. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he watches me tear a paper towel off the roll and blot my chest.
So he likes games, does he?
Batting my lashes, I trail my fingers inside the neckline of my dress as I step up to whisper in his ear. “You don’t need a sink to get me wet, Sebastian.”
The playfulness falls off his face in an almost audible whoosh. He fumbles the sprayer back into the sink, his heavy gaze glued to me. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
His gaze rakes over me. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
“Men are so easy.” Feigning coolness I don’t really feel, I dry my hands on his shirt. “How about a tour of your hallway of fame?”
He gapes at me for a few seconds, looks back at the sink, and then toward the hallway. “I— Is that really necessary?”
I pretend to think this over. “Yeah. It is.”
“Fine. Give me a second.”
I stand by, hugging my chest as he moves into the living room. He removes a blanket from inside the brown wicker trunk that serves as a coffee table and gently drapes it over his grandmother, taking care to cover her feet.
Then he stretches his arms overhead as he approaches, exposing a sliver of torso.
The urge to swoon is strong. Watching Sebastian Rossi on his home turf is like experiencing Disney magic, first day of school jitters, and the moment before a first kiss all at once.
He returns to me with a lopsided grin. “Yeah, she’s out like a light. Let’s get this picture thing over with.”
I wave for him to lead the way.
The hallway floor creaks underfoot as he moves into the hall and flips a switch. The small old chandelier casts warm light over the space.
There are so many photos in dusty frames I don’t know where to feast my eyes first.
Our shadows paint the walls and floor as we move. “Give me the lay of the land. Are they chronologically organized?”
He keeps his voice low to match mine. “Somewhat.”
I home in on a gangly but still cute version of the man in front of me posing next to a Ford Bronco. I’d put him at middle-school age, maybe thirteen.
He tries to stand between me and the wall. I force him sideways with brute force, gratuitously gripping his biceps in the process.
“You had braces,” I note, tipping my head up to see another photo higher on the wall. “For quite a few years, it looks like.”
“C’mon, Nor.” He crosses his arms as his dimples make an appearance. “You think this smile was free?”
“Can you move along to high school, at least?” he requests, pointing down the hall. “I was way hotter then.”
“And miss out on you as a tween? Nah.” I point at a whitewashed wooden frame. “Is this some kind of homecoming dance, and if so, why are you in shorts?”
