Page 54 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

"You know, I seem to remember you sending me a few dozen gym selfies with that exact caption. It's one thing for a nineteen-year old to want in on it. You’re like thirty-three and still talking about it? Not a good look, dude."

I can't help snorting.

Ash's Psychology of Social Media class project was big enough that I knew people who were sending their pictures to her abs page. I'll be the first to admit—in my head—that I want Ash to be curious about my abs. She seemed interested for a minute the other day, but she stopped so abruptly, I was almost hurt. I've watched her fawn all over my friends and heard her wax on about how many pats of butter their tummy waffles deserve.

Apart from that brief moment in time, she hasn't done that with me.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me.

"Rusty," Duke calls from the field, hitching his thumb behind him.

"Looks like I'm needed on the field." I turn back to Philip. "Listen, the kids can be funny to watch, but you should know that your laughter sounds like you're mocking them. You're here to sell people on your vision, but if you want to get people's buy-in, you should enjoy the game with the kids, not at their expense."

"Thanks for the feedback," Philip says. I don't know if he means it or not. I can't imagine he does. But I said what I needed to say, and I didn't ram my fist into his teeth.

Ash walks with me around the bleachers, twining her fingers in mine. The tension in my hand eases at her touch, and the muscles in my body similarly relax. Well, all the muscles except my heart, which is thumping loud enough to be heard over the cheers of the parents.

We're on a main walkway, and Ash stops me before I go back to the dugout. She puts her arms around my neck, and I put my hands on her waist, and it's like a flood of overstimulation to my brain.

I'm touching Ash's waist.

Even through her blouse, the softness to her makes my chest ache. I've worked around strong women my whole life. Impressive as an ultra-toned woman is, there's something to Ash's softness that undoes me.

Who am I kidding? Everything about this woman undoes me.

"You are amazing," she says softly.

"What do you mean?" I want this to be the moment she realizes she loves me, the moment the switch flips in her brain and she sees how perfect we are for each other.

"You dismantled Philip without saying an unkind word. You are the best person I've ever known."

Guilt lodges in my throat. That's what this look is? She's not looking at me in adoration, she's impressed that I put her crappy ex in his place without being a jerk about it. This look isn't about me at all.

It's about him.

To make matters worse, she's calling me "the best person" when I had to control myself the whole time. All I wanted to do was disassemble the guy with my bare hands, not my words.

"I gotta go back to the field."

Ash kisses my nose. "Okay. Go get 'em, Coach."

My smile feels wooden, but I hope she can't see it. It's not her fault I carry a torch for her that will never burn out.

After the game, we say goodbye to our friends in the parking lot and climb into my truck. I open Ash's door for her.

"Where to now?" she asks.

More time with Ash? I assumed I was taking her back to her vehicle, but I'm not gonna tell her that. Lou and Millie told me to show her more of the real me. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Even after your four bags of cotton candy?" I ask.

She swings her legs in and buckles while I stand at the door. "Is that even a question?"

I grin, close her door, and walk around the truck. I shoot off a quick text to Patty before I get in.

We have to pass Maple Street to get to our destination, and Ash watches us pass the diner in confusion. "I thought you said we're eating."

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