Page 92 of The Fake Out

“Now, Mae, turn your head toward me,” Louisa said. “And rest it on his shoulder. Yes, that’s good.” She directed Chris to put a hand on my back and told us not to move.

Judging by the ratings the sisters held up, this was not going to be a good photo.

“And now, let’s get the photos of you kissing, please,” Louisa said.

I leaned back and met his eyes. “Let’s just do it and get it over with.”

Chris grinned. “I’ll make it fast.”

Before I could blink, his lips pressed against mine and… he was done. It barely met the dictionary definition of a kiss.

I was sad. Sad because that wasn’t the kiss I wanted. And confused because I shouldn’t want a kiss. And then mad because I was sad and confused.

“What was that?” Aggie yelled. “That was the worst kiss I’ve ever seen.”

“Boo. Negative ten points from me,” Millie said.

“Well, it looks like the judges are very disappointed with what’s just happened here and, ladies and gentlemen, their scores are reflecting that,” Betsy the Announcer said. “Will they try again for a higher score? Let’s watch and see what happens.”

Millie faked a yawn. “I thought Chris would have more game than that, but I’m not really surprised.”

“Shut up,” Chris growled. “Why do I have so many sisters?”

“’Cause you’re lucky,” Betsy said.

Louisa clapped her hands, demanding attention. “Can we have some quiet, please? Charles would like you to try it again but slower and with more passion.”

“I can do passionate,” Chris said.

He lifted my head and gazed down at me. Something was happening behind his eyes. Something different. Something serious. And it was mesmerizing.

He slid my glasses off, carefully folded them up, and slipped them in his shirt pocket. One of his hands slid around my waist and settled low on my back. He pulled me closer.

My fingers curled into the front of his shirt. Instead of speeding up, my heartbeat grew slow and lazy.

With his other hand, Chris cupped my cheek. “Try not to enjoy this, okay?”

“As if.”

It started out slow and sweet, a brush of his lips to the corners of my mouth, then one right in the center. Tiny, whisper kisses. Almost-there kisses. Teasing me with kisses like he did with his words.

Frustration built in me. I tried to take control. My hands slid from his chest to around his neck, fingers twisting into his hair. I pulled him closer, begging for a proper kiss without uttering a single word.

He smiled against my mouth.

I growled.

Just like that, the kiss changed. This kiss had purpose. The people and sounds around us faded and it was just Chris and me. A wave of relief tore through me, some secret knowledge that this was always meant to happen. This wasn’t just pleasure; there was a rightness to this, a missing part of me clicking into place.

Mine, I thought. Mine.

But there was also an edge of desperation. Like we both knew it wouldn’t ever happen again.

Because this was for show; it was fake.

But fake had never felt so real.

FORTY