Page 88 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

Pookie's free, but meanwhile, I'm freezing to death.

"Is it what you expected?" Rusty asks.

"I-it's s-s-so much w-w-worse," I manage to say.

He smiles and rubs my arms with the ice blocks he calls hands. "You get used to it."

My airway keeps convulsing as I try to speak. "Wh-wh-why?"

"You acclimate … oh, you mean why would I want to get used to it?"

I nod, and the shivering redoubles. I'm shaking hard enough that it's hard to fix my eyes on him, even without the water streaming down my lenses.

"Mental toughness. Self-control. I want to prove to myself that I'm stronger than my weaknesses, if that makes sense. I hated it at first, but Duke and Sonny are all about it, and they hooked me on the idea that doing something you hate that's good for you makes you stronger."

My shivering has reached the jaw-clenching stage. "I'd r-rather be w-w-weak."

"If that were true, you wouldn't have wanted to take the plunge in the first place."

I can't admit that I thought it was a hot tub and that I was speaking metaphorically. So I shake and look at him through my water-speckled glasses, and I let him think that I'm tough rather than that I was coming in to try to make my move on him.

Rusty's alarm rings outside of the tub, and he starts to get up. "Thank goodness," he says. Even trembling with fear, I laugh. Rusty hops out and looks at me inquiringly.

"GET ME OUT."

He laughs and scoops me out, and then goosebumps appear on top of goosebumps. I wanted him to admire my skin for its smoothness, but instead, I have chicken skin. Absolutely purple chicken skin with veins showing under my skin in a shade I can't imagine is healthy.

Follow me for more dating tips, folks.

But Rusty wraps his robe around my shoulders and then sneaks his arms beneath it to hug me. We may be walking ice mummies, and I may be too numb to actually feel most of his body against mine, but it's still nice. Probably. I lean into the hug, letting my cheek rest against his cold shoulder. "Never make me do that again."

"I didn't make you," he says, rubbing my arms.

"You did. You tucked that hot body down deep in the water and I had to see it for myself."

He tips us to one side and then the other, laughing. "Ashley Jane, what am I gonna do with you?"

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," I say. "You're my arch-enemy now, so looks like you'll have to keep me close."

"Maybe I'll keep you forever," he teases, and my stomach flips. I don't want him to tease. I want him to be serious.

Caring about Rusty—someone who sees me in all my messy, technicolor glory and appreciates me for it—is like jumping off a cliff and finding out I can fly. He’s given me a superpower of self-confidence that I’ve never felt before.

I want him to step out and fly with me.

"If you insist," I say.

Rusty's pulse speeds up. I've gotten so used to hugging him in just the right way that I've memorized the nuances to his pulse at this point. "In that case, I insist," he says in the deepest, sexiest voice imaginable.

"In that case," I echo, "I accept."

Rusty leans back and looks down at me. Once again, his eyes jump back and forth between mine like he's trying to read fine print in Times New Roman font.

Am I being too pushy? Am I forcing him to consider something rather than letting him go at his own pace? I want to respect him. But I also want to be us plus kissing.

So I crane my face upward and press my lips softly and quickly against his. Then I drop the robe, pick up his T-shirt, and walk toward the house.

I realize too late that I didn't get a look at his shirtless torso.

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