Page 43 of The Americana Playbook

“Fake husband.” I lift a finger for emphasis.

“This might be all for show, Parker.” Fitz pockets his hands. “But there’s nothing fake about the kind of man I am. Plus, I’ve already been told how good we look good together. That we make quite the couple.”

“Do we?” I ask.

“That’s what the internet says.”

I giggle. “Well, if the internet says it, then it must be true.”

“I guess the real test will be the gala. A lot of my buddies will be there.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I met all of them today.”

“Yeah, but my guys are a bunch of overgrown kids.” He chuckles before growing serious again. “They don’t really give a shit about this kind of stuff. But do you know who does?”

I suddenly feel exposed under the change of his gaze. I stand and switch off the light I left on in the bathroom. “Who?”

When I circle back, he’s moved so close I nearly crash into him.

“Theirwives. If we can sell it to them, we can do anything. It doesn’t exactly leave us much time for practice.”

“Practice?” I ask. “Practice for what?”

“For you to get used to this.”

Looking down, I find Fitz’s hand caging my own.

“You flinched when I touched you before in front of Nick.”

“Did not.”

“Did too. We have to make sure it doesn’t happen again, Parker.”

I’ll have to take Fitz’s word for it. I can’t quite remember what I said or did two minutes ago, let alone two hours ago. I’m stuck in this moment—this small, quiet moment where holding hands with my friend feels more intimate than it should.

“He just caught me by surprise.” It’s a miracle I’m able to push out any words because Fitz traces gentle circles on my palms with the pad of his thumb. The feeling sort of steals my breath. And most of my vocabulary, apparently, because the only thing able to leave my mouth is a sigh.

“We need to touch each other without it looking so forced,” he says. “We should touch each other like wewantto. I mean, we’re about to be newlyweds. We’ve got to walk the walk.”

I drag my attention from his hand up to his wrist. I bite my lip, having the strongest urge to drag my finger up to Fitz’s forearm.

“Within reason,” I argue.

“Of course, within reason.” Fitz agrees. “Does this bother you?”

I shake my head.

“I’d never do anything you’re not comfortable with, Parker.”

I try to swallow, but a lump’s growing in my throat.

“You can touch me, you know,” Fitz whispers. “Within reason.”

It’s then I realize that even though he’s holding my hand, I’m not technically holding his. I twist my arm so our fingers lock.

“Like this?” I ask.

“It’s a start.”

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