Page 130 of Faking the Goal

His answer comes so simply that it takes my brain a second to catch up.

"Because I'll do it."

I stare at him.

"Do what?"

Kentaro holds my gaze. "I'll be your boyfriend."

CHAPTER 19

KENTARO

I can't believe I just blurted that out.

"I'll be your boyfriend."

And so matter-of-factly too, without a second of hesitation, like volunteering to be Taylor's boyfriend is the most logical solution in the world and not something I only admitted to myself few days ago that I actually fucking want.

Taylor looks like I've just suggested we get married tomorrow morning.

Her mouth falls slightly open, her brows shoot up, and her hazel eyes somehow look greener than ever as they go wide, every thought practically crashing into the next behind them. She just stares at me, completely dumbfounded, and somehow, even with no makeup on, bundled inside an oversized hoodie with her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, she's still so fucking beautiful that I have to force myself not to stare back.

I wait.

Her brain is probably trying to decide whether I'm serious, insane, or suffering some delayed side effect from taking too many pucks to the head.

Fair.

Only a week ago, I humiliated her in front of another man. The other day, she told me she still doesn't know if she can forgive me. Now I'm sitting in her apartment casually offering to pretend to be her boyfriend like the last week between us never happened.

If our positions were reversed, I'd question my sanity too.

Eventually, she raises one finger and points it directly at me.

"You?"

I nod.

"You want to be my boyfriend?"

"Fake boyfriend," I clarify.

I almost grimace as soon as I say it.

For some reason, I fucking hate putting fake in front of that word.

The moment it leaves my mouth, I want to take it back.

Not because I think she'd actually agree if I suggested the real thing. She'd probably look at me like I'd suffered a traumatic brain injury. Honestly, I'd probably look at myself the same way.

Taylor's eyes narrow into suspicious little slits, sharp enough that I'm surprised they don't slice straight through my skull.

"...You know, I have to admit, I'm a little confused here."

"So I've noticed."

"But don't you hate me?" Her brows pinch together again, confusion written all over her face even as her chin lifts with that familiar fierceness. "I mean, this is a pretty fucking dramatic career change from thinking I'm trash to volunteering for boyfriend duty."