Page 81 of Faking It
He rocks his head from side to side as if he’s remembering and measuring how much to tell me. “The day after my eighteenth birthday, I made my move. I stole a necklace from my mom and hawked it to pay for my plane fare here. Not proud of it, but sometimes you do what you have to do.” He purses his lips for a moment, almost as if he’s weighing what to say next. “When I made my first big trade on the stock market—when I got that same feeling of worth that you were talking about
on your first modeling job—I sent her a check for the necklace and then about fifty more of them. That was my thank you for bringing me into this world . . . and then my affirmation that I never wanted to be like either of them.”
“Do you think you’ve achieved that?” He flashes his eyes my way, surprised by my question. “I mean, have you made that distinction in your head that you’re different than them?”
“I think I’ll always be chasing that distinction,” he murmurs and then clears his throat, the reflective look in his eyes gone. A topic a little too close for a man used to being closed off from the world.
And before I know it, he’s effortlessly shifted us onto the grass behind us where his lips find mine.
The kiss knocks me astride for a second.
We’re not in public. There is no one to document the relationship between SoulM8’s owner and his match.
We’re not in the coach. There is no, “this is just casual sex with nothing else.”
This is Zane and I on a hill with hot air balloons above us and no one around for miles.
I sink into the kiss. Into the lack of pretense with it. Into enjoying the warmth and softness of his tongue and the strength in his hand that’s cradling my head.
“What are we—”
“Shh. We’re watching balloons,” he chuckles, preventing me from being stupid and stopping him from kissing me.
Because this feels so good. He feels so good. So incredible that I need to shut my mind off and just let his lips and tongue and the heat he’s spreading throughout my body be the only thing I’m thinking about.
“What other things did you dream of being?” he murmurs against my lips when the kiss ends.
“I’m still dreaming,” I say when I open my eyes to find him on his elbow looking down at me and his hand resting on my stomach.
“And men? Do men factor into this dreaming?”
I laugh. “That’s a pretty broad statement.”
“Do they?”
I swallow over the lump lodged in my throat and try to ignore the sudden acceleration of my pulse. Zane doesn’t like dating or long term or . . . he just said all of that in so many terms, so why is my heart beating like I want him to want me?
Keep it light, Low.
“I have horrible taste in men.”
“Should I be offended?” he laughs.
“That’s not what I mean,” I say and then realize it is what I mean. “Let me preface that by saying it is what I mean.” A nervous laugh on my part. A shift of my eyes back to the balloons still dotting the sky.
“So I take it you haven’t found your Prince Charming yet?” His smile curls up one corner of his lips.
“My mom thinks every man has a little of both in them.”
“And you? What do you think?”
“I think I pick the men who look good, who have some swagger, but in the end love themselves more than they’ll ever let themselves love someone else. Even with my mom’s mistakes to watch, I still fall for them. Hard. And by the time I realize it’s too late to get my heart back unscathed, they leave and it’s broken.”
“Fucking love,” he says and laughs.
“Doesn’t everything come back to it at one point or another?” I ask.
“You don’t know the half of it.” He half laughs, half sighs.
