Page 43 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

"Losing us will hurt me worse than anything Philip could do," I admit.

His hold on me tightens. "Then we won't let that happen. If we … exaggerate aspects of our relationship for a couple of weeks, will that make it easier to be around Philip?"

Yes, I want to blurt, but that may be the hug talking. Rusty and I haven't hugged like this before, and I like it more than I thought I would. His question isn't flippant, though, and it doesn't deserve a thoughtless answer.

Will being with Rusty—fake or not—make me more confident around Philip? We're not faking anything in this moment, and I feel stronger, more capable, more … put together.

I crane my head back to look in his hazel eyes. "Absolutely."

His smile makes my heart feel all mushy. Which it is, right? Hearts are super mushy. But strong, too.

"Let's just be us, then," he says.

"With less noogying?" I ask. "Because you know you noogied me, right? My own brothers don't noogie me."

He hangs his head. "Biggest regret of my life."

I laugh. "Okay, so us with no brother vibes."

"There is nothing I want less than brother vibes with you," he assures me. Very firmly.

Which is kind of weird, given the aforementioned noogie.

Right?

"Oh, and plus kissing," I add. "Us plus kissing. And cuddling! And … flirty nicknames. How do we decide what's okay and what's not? Do we need any kind of rules?" My thoughts zing around again.

"If you want to hug me, hug me. If you want to high-five me, high-five me. If you think the occasion calls for kissing, kiss me. Pinch me. Call me Hotcakes or dude or whatever fits in the moment. We don't have to take a romantic stroll and recite each other poetry for people to believe we're a couple."

He adjusts my glasses, which got a little skewampus on my face after the hug. It's … cute of him. Affectionate. Different than what he would have done last week. But it feels natural.

Is this him playing a part?

"Hotcakes was a pretty good nickname, wasn't it?" I ask. "Like, bam! That just came out, and it felt so natural!"

"I was feelin' it," he agrees. "How was 'Gorgeous?'"

"A little much," I say. "I'm not gorgeous. I'm cute."

"You're wrong."

"Uh, no. I'm not being self-deprecating. I’m adorkable. The term was practically invented for me."

"So?"

"So, I'm not gorgeous. I'm cute."

"I know you're cute. And dorky. And adorable. That's all part of what makes you so gorgeous."

I snort, but my chest is growing warm. "You're nuts."

"Do you really not see yourself?" he asks incredulously. "Ash, you are beautiful. I haven't been able to take my eyes off you since the moment we met. There isn't a girl alive who can compare with you."

Never in my life has someone called me gorgeous. Never has someone insisted that I'm beautiful. I thought Rusty was making an offhand comment, trying to sell the lie, but …

"Rusty, come on," I say.

"No. I'm not backing down from this, and we're not moving on until you acknowledge that I'm right. You are gorgeous, and if you don't see it, you're gonna have to trust me. Do you trust me?"

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