Page 56 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

Her laugh is like a bell. "It's all making sense now."

"She's also brave, caring, and bold. She stands up for what's right, even if it will get her killed. Not a bad comparison."

She nods and settles back into her seat. "Okay. All right. I'm down with Buttercup."

"Also, a cup of butter goes great with hotcakes …" I say, and Ash laughs again.

"Waffles, too, or so I'm told," she says. She pats my abs, something she's done before, but this time, her hand lingers for only an instant. Her thumb moves, stroking one individual muscle, and the sensation sends a shockwave through me.

Her hand pulls back fast. "Sorry, I think I got a shock."

It's too humid for a shock.

Is she …

Is she attracted to me?

The very possibility is a vise squeezing my lungs with hope so acute, it's painful.

It's seven p.m., and the parking lot is already full as we approach Donegal's.

"Wait, Donegal's?" she says as we pull into the packed bar. "Patty's bar? Am I finally meeting your other girlfriend?"

I want that catch in her voice to be jealousy more than anything. "Come on, Gorgeous. Let's go."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ASH

Rusty grabs my hand as we leave the truck. I'm an affectionate person by nature, and we're fake dating, so him offering and me accepting are both understandable.

And that's precisely why I refuse to think twice about how much I like the feel of his hand in mine.

I like holding hands! It's not a big deal!

Heck, this isn't even the first time we've held hands since we started fake dating. So it definitely doesn't stand out to me differently, or anything. And this hand of mine definitely doesn't tingle with the memory of his abs.

That would be absurd.

Nonsensical.

Totally, completely understandable.

I mean, the definition was out of control. I could feel it in my thumb, for Pete's sake, and it's not like thumbs have the same level of sensation as an index finger. I only felt half of them, too. Half of his abs. I assume it's half, at any rate? The six-pack versus eight-pack debate comes down to genetics, not how ripped a guy is. Some guys have six, and they make those look every bit as delicious as eight.

Unless they also have obliques, you know, those side muscles that cut right around their hips …

I love obliques. Obliques make every torso better.

My friends are convinced Rusty has the abs of every woman's dreams, and until the last few days, I’ve not given them much thought. As much as you'd think otherwise, I like a good mind much more than I care about a good body. A sense of humor is a million times more important than a six pack. Unfortunately, the other reason I've not thought about Rusty's physique is that I've spent the majority of my adolescent and adult life being attracted to guys who suck at life.

Does Patty have a thing for guys who suck at life? Or is she one of the lucky few who's attracted to the kind of guy who would rescue a dog from a ditch? Is she one of the smart ones who's avoided self-absorbed losers all her life in favor of men who would willingly help elderly people clean their gutters? If she has eyes, she's probably had a crush on Rusty for years. Has she held his hand? Has she kissed him?

I adjust my shirt, which is suddenly all kinds of uncomfortable. Stupid humidity.

I've only been aware of this mystery woman for a few days, yet she's important enough that Rusty would take me to her bar.

And why hasn't Rusty talked about her before?

---