Page 145 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“No, you’re a problem with follow-through.”

“That’s worse?”

“Yes.” Her breath shakes when my hand slides down her side. “Much worse. Highly inconvenient. Possibly disastrous for my long-term emotional budgeting.”

I kiss the spot beneath her ribs. “You budget emotions?”

“I try. They keep over drafting.”

That almost makes me smile.

Then she touches my face again, and it stops being funny.

Her thumb moves along my cheek, softer than she has any right to be. “Forrest.”

I go still.

She doesn’t ask me to stop. She doesn’t ask me to continue.

She just says my name like she’s checking whether I’m still here.

I am.

I kiss her palm, then her wrist, then the inside of her elbow. Her body follows each touch, honest despite herself, and I feel something in me give way. Not control. Not caution.

Distance.

I’m too close now to pretend I’m only attracted to her. Too close to pretend this is simple. Daisy is all heat and nerves and humor with bruised places underneath, and every part of me that knows better wants to protect her from me.

Every other part wants to stay.

Her gaze locks on mine.

For a second, I think she might make another joke. One more little shield between her and what she’s asking for. Then she breathes in and gives me the truth.

“I’ll tell you.”

I undo the button.

Her stomach moves with a silent inhale.

The zipper comes down slowly, tooth by tooth, loud in the room because neither of us is talking now. Daisy’s hands curl into the pillow above her head. She watches my hands like they’re a decision she can’t believe she gets to make.

I slide my fingers beneath the waistband and pause.

Her hips lift.

Not much.

Enough.

“Impatient,” I murmur.

“Observant,” she shoots back, breathless. “How inconvenient for everyone.”

I pull her jeans down an inch.

Then another.