Page 9 of Crash with Me

From the way he takes his coffee in the morning—black and strong enough to knock out an elephant—to the way he led his high school hockey team to the state championships.

I want to know everything. I want to know it all.

Four hours of late night pillow talk isn’t enough. I could talk to him all day, every day, for a hundred years and never become bored.

What’s more, he seems to want to know everything about me. As we lay curled up on our sides, our gazes never wavering from one another, we forge a bond.

It’s only for the weekend.

I keep telling myself that over and over. But no matter how many times I turn that phrase over in my head, my heart doesn’t seem to care.

I’m not sure when we finally doze off. It’s hard to tell the time of day—or night—this time of year, even with the blinds closed over the windows.

Neither of us said anything when we woke up this morning close together, our hands linked on the pillows between our heads.

Instead, he’d smiled at me. Almost shyly. And what little part of my heart he hadn’t already stolen was completely his.

Now, dressed for brunch with the rest of the wedding guests and armed with a cup of coffee, I give him a serious look, catching his eye in the mirror.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He shrugs his shoulders, as if there’s something tickling the back of his neck.

“It’s okay if you aren’t. No one would blame you for feeling uncomfortable about all this. Come on.” I give him a little nudge. “This thing only works if we’re honest with each other.”

“You’re right.” He scratches the back of his head and lets his arm fall to the side. “This whole thing is awkward as hell. I don’t want it to be. I don’t want people to think I’m sulking.”

“You want people to think you’re okay.”

“Because I am okay. Mostly.” He lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, what they did sucked. But it’s not like Kelly and I were ever going to get married. It’s not like we were in love.”

“Still, it hurt.”

“It hurt my ego. Not my heart.”

We stare at each other’s reflections, and I see it in his eyes. He isn’t wounded. Not really. But he has a point to prove. He’s a man with pride. It’s my job to help him get through this weekend with it still intact.

“Well, okay then.” I nod at him. “Let’s do this then.”

He nods back at me. “Let’s do this.”

The brunch isn’t as uncomfortable as having your legs in stirrups while a gynecologist puts forceps in you for a pap smear.

But it isn’t easy either.

Walter and Kelly are all over each other. They take turns feeding each other bites off of their plates, which seems more than a little unnecessary. It’s a brunch buffet, for crying out loud. They can get up and grab something more from the spread at any time.

“It’s like they’re trying to prove something,” Stacey grumbles.

I glance up at her. She took the seat across the table from Seth and I. While it’s clear she isn’t really buying our claims of being in a three-month-long relationship, she isn’t trying to blow our cover either.

Mostly.

She asked a few probing questions—how we met, how often we see each other, and so on. Luckily, Seth and I spent part of our overnight conversation coming up with answers to these exact questions.

Seth looks up from his plate, where he’s kept his attention for most of the meal. “What was that?”

“I said they’re acting like they have to prove they’re really in love so no one will think this is a terrible idea or that they’re terrible people for getting together in the first place behind your back.” Stacey straightens her shoulders. “At least that’s one theory.”

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