Page 9 of Faking with Three

Ethan gives me that boyish grin of his, the one that used to make my heart skip a beat back in high school. Hell, who am I kidding?It still does.

“You haven’t heard the best part yet,” he insists, his tone teasing, like he knows exactly how to reel me in.

I roll my eyes, but it’s half-hearted. I’m trying to be skeptical, trying to hold on to my resolve, but it’s hard when he looks at me like that, like he’s daring me to disagree with him. I sip mycoffee, trying to gather my thoughts, but all I can think about is how close he is, how easily I could reach across the table and?—

Stop it, Liv. You’re supposed to be arguing with him, not fantasizing.

But it’s too late. My mind starts wandering, and I can’t help it. I imagine what it would be like if I gave in to that grin, if I leaned forward and kissed him, right here in this cozy little corner of the cafe. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I picture his hands on me—strong and sure, pulling me closer until I’m pressed up against him. He’d taste like coffee and something darker, something uniquely Ethan.

I’m a grown woman, not some lovesick teenager, but Ethan has this way of getting under my skin without even trying. The tight black T-shirt he’s wearing clings to his chest, and I can see the outline of muscles beneath the fabric, his biceps flexing slightly as he takes another drink. It’s like he rolled out of bed, went for a run, and somehow managed to look like he stepped out of a fitness magazine.

“Olivia,” he says, tilting his head. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. “I am listening. I just… don’t believe you.”

He chuckles, setting his coffee down and leaning in closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to share a secret. “You don’t believe me because you’re still trying to figure out if I’m messing with you, or if I’m serious.”

“Maybe,” I admit, tapping my fingers against my cup, refusing to look away even though I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. He’s so close now that I can smell the faint hint of sweat mixed with his cologne—a clean, earthy scent.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think this was a good idea. You know me.”

And I do know him. That’s the problem. I know him well enough to know that when he wants something, he’s relentless. I try to focus on his words, but my mind drifts again, unbidden, to the way his shirt clings to his body, the slight sheen of sweat on his chest that I’m sure I could taste if I leaned in close enough. I picture it—running my hands up his stomach, feeling the hard ridges of his abs under my fingers, his skin warm and slick against my palms.

My face heats up, and I quickly look down at my coffee, hoping he doesn’t notice the flush spreading across my cheeks. This is insane. I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, not after everything. But then he leans back in his chair, stretching slightly, and the movement pulls his shirt tighter across his chest, revealing just a hint of his toned stomach. My pulse quickens, and I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to take a steadying breath.

“You okay?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by the look on my face.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, too quickly. “I’m just… trying to figure out why you’re so insistent about this.”

His smile widens, and he leans in again, closer than before, his face only inches from mine. “Because I think you want to say yes, but you’re just looking for a reason not to.”

The way he says it, the low timbre of his voice, sends a shiver down my spine. He has no idea what kind of yes is on the tip of my tongue right now. I swallow hard, meeting his gaze and trying to play it cool, but the heat between us is undeniable, almost tangible.

“You’re too confident,” I say, my voice wavering slightly despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

“Confident?” He smirks, his eyes flicking down to my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting my gaze again. “Or just right?”

My breath catches, and for a moment, I forget why we’re even here, forget that we’re supposed to be having a serious conversation about whatever plan he’s concocted. All I can think about is the way his lips would feel against mine, how it would be to tug him closer, to feel his weight pressing against me, to finally give in to this ridiculous, lingering attraction I’ve had for longer than I care to admit.

I break eye contact first, looking out the window and taking a deep breath, trying to clear my head. “You always think you’re right.”

“Only when I am,” he quips, and I can hear the grin in his voice.

“Well,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, even though my thoughts are anything but, “maybe I’ll surprise you this time.”

His grin widens, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hope you do, Liv. I’m counting on it.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips.

Ethan gets up first, tosses his napkin onto the table and grabs his phone. I follow, still trying to shake off the flush in my cheeks from our conversation. He’s grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s both irritating and oddly charming.

“I’ve got it,” he says, pulling out his wallet before I even have a chance to dig for mine.

I raise an eyebrow, surprised. “You’re paying?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” He looks genuinely confused as he hands the waitress his card.

“It’s just... not something I’m used to anymore,” I admit as I catch up with him. “In Austin, everyone’s obsessed with splitting the bill. It’s all, ‘We’re equals, right? You get the oat milk latte, I get the kombucha, and we’ll Venmo the difference.’”

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