Page 46 of The Plus One Pact

I have no idea.

Sasha notes our lack of action with the tap of her fingernails on her mug. She looks between us, carefully examining our body language.

Her eyes find mine. "Why are you looking at me, sweetheart? You're not here to kiss me. Unless you want." There's a hint of flirtation in her voice. And just enough demand.

I bet she's good at her job. Very good. Like Romeo, she speaks with the perfect intonation. This mix of confidence and appreciation of my presence that I can admit my awkwardness without judgment.

"Is that what I need to do, Rome?" Sasha's dark eyes shift to Romeo. She raises her teacup and takes a lazy sip. "Do I need to demonstrate a loving kiss on your fake girlfriend."

My cheeks flush.

The two of them smile at the same time. I should find it annoying—these two experienced lovers find my inexperience adorable—but there's something about their attention. Or maybe their tension.

Yes, Romeo has a lot more experience in the bedroom, but I'm the one who knows about sex and love and relationships. In theory, anyway.

Romeo's smile shifts to a poker face. His voice stays even and friendly, but there is something in his eyes. An irritation he can't hide. "You should stop hitting on her."

"She's cute. I can't help it." Sasha shrugs, not at all bothered by his frustration. Loving it even. "And this isn't because I want to kiss your sexy fake-girlfriend."

My blush deepens. No one calls me sexy. Not in real life.

Romeo's eyes flit to me. He notices. He enjoys it. But he doesn't mention it.

That should bother me too, but it doesn't. It feels good to be noticed. To be seen. To be enjoyed.

"It's because someone needs to show you how it's done." Her eyes lock with his.

They exchange something in their stare. Some understanding.

He nods.

She sits up straight and smiles.

The tension evaporates from the air. Shifts to something else. The awkward knowledge my fake boyfriend's best friend and business partner is volunteering to kiss me.

Sasha continues, "If it's okay with you, Ivy."

"I guess so." I suppose it's really no different, fake kissing Sasha or fake kissing Romeo. Either way, I'm not in love. Either way, I have no idea what it means to love. Not anymore.

So why does it feel different?

It's not just my lack of attraction to women. It's something else. Something deeper.

Some part of me that wants more of him.

Sasha notes my hesitation and plays with it. "You guess?" She adopts and exaggerated pout. "Oh, no, sweetheart. I don't want to kiss someone who guesses."

"Are you kissing her like you love her or seducing her?" Romeo asks.

"Are you jealous?" she quips.

He blushes. He shakes it off fast, but the hint of color remains on his cheeks. He is jealous.

Because they play this game. Or because he likes me. Or both.

It's fun, watching them.

It's flattering, watching them compete over my attention. Over the right to kiss me.