Page 61 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“I don’t think so.” I physically recoiled when flecks of dark green started rising to the surface.

“Come here, woman,” he said, still grinning, except this time he tossed the tube aside and grabbed the back of my knee. With one quick pull, he drew me against him, my legs awkwardly folded over his lap, and my breath blubbered from my lungs. We’d had plenty of physical contact before, but that one jolt, that one hint at how much muscle strength he was hiding under those suits of his, sent a wave of heat to my cheeks. “Close your eyes for me.”

“You’re so demanding,” I muttered, “where are your manners?”

“Close your eyes, please.”

I smiled at his correction and let my eyes fall shut. I flinched when the first dollop of cold gel met my cheek, but despite what it looked like, it actually smelled amazing, like rain and flowers. Beck only used one finger, tracing the dips and curves of my face. I could have spent hours losing myself in the light pressure, and the cool product mixed with the warmth of his touch. By the fourth time his fingertip circled over my chin, however, I was a little too aware of the clock ticking in the background somewhere.

“How do I look?” I asked.

Beck pulled his hand away and I immediately regretted asking. “Sweetheart, I wish I could tell you that you’re breathtaking, but you look like you face-planted in a bowl of pesto.”

My eyes flew open, and I laughed because he grimaced so hard at the rest of the green goo he was wiping on the towel. “We should work on your complimenting skills.”

“Alright, how is this?” Before I had time to protest, his hands were on my waist, and he hauled me into his lap. I let out a loud squeal that did nothing to deter him. I barely managed to grab his shirt in both fists to keep myself steady while he positioned my legs on either side of him like I weighed nothing. “Look at me,” he said once I was settled, then added: “Please.”

“What are you doing?” I met his charcoal eyes even though the sharp focus in them made me want to look away. I didn’t think I’d ever been looked at with that much intensity.

“Hmm.” His chest rumbled under my hands. “When you concentrate really hard to make sure your highlighter is a straight a line as possible, you purse your lips, and it puts the cutest dimple in your chin. Right here.” He tapped the tip of his finger against the center of my chin. “You try to put on a poker face but when you’re ever so slightly shocked by something, you swallow so hard, your throat hitches and I can’t help but stare at that gorgeous, graceful neck and think about all the ways I can cause that reaction.” His finger slid down my neck until it rested in the hollow of my collarbone. “And despite how fast your thoughts might be spinning and your heart might be beating,” he flattened his palm against my sternum, where he had to feel my accelerating heartbeat, “you’re a fucking firecracker, Blondie, and that big, beautiful brain of yours has no reason to make you feel small.”

“I would like to retract my previous statement,” I said, voice suddenly hoarse, “Your complimenting skills exceed expectations.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Do I get a gold star for that?”

“How is this?” I asked, mirroring his words, and lay my hand over the one he still had on my chest. “If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches never touched earthly faces.’”

“Are you really complimenting me in Shakespeare?”

Oh. Shit. “Ohmygod. I’m so sorry. You’re gorgeous but that was so cheesy. So cheesy.” I pushed myself off his chest, desperate to put distance between us. What was I thinking? Following his trifecta of personalized compliments with Shakespeare? Shakespeare!

“Stop, stop, stop, hey. Come here.” He pulled me back to him. Closing his arms around my waist, he locked me against him. My chest quivered against his through panicked breaths. “Tell me again.”

“Are you mocking me?” Oh great, my voice cracked, and my eyes were starting to burn. Because nothing screamedromantically incompetentquite like whipping out the Bard and then breaking into tears.

“No. I’m sorry. My question came out wrong. I really didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I was caught off guard, in the best way, by you effortlessly reciting poetry like that.” He loosened one hand from my midsection and drew a slow circle between my shoulders with his fingertips. My stupid body betrayed me by shuddering under his soft caress. “Was it actually Shakespeare?”

“Yes. Sonnet 17.”

“Can I please hear it again?”

He sounded genuine, but I hesitated, waiting for a grin or a raised brow, or any other sign that he was joking. None came. I took a deep breath and let the anxiety simmer down on the exhale. “If I could write the beauty of your eyes,” I started and let my hands fold around his face, my thumbs smoothing over his temples, "And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches never touched earthly faces.’” Each word calmed my nerves, because even if quoting Shakespeare was cheesy, each word rang true. Beck was indescribably, breathtakingly beautiful.

“Thank you,” he whispered and tilted his head just to press a kiss to the inside of my wrist. His lips were so soft. I wanted to-

Before I could talk myself out of it again, I leaned in, my breath catching as my nose brushed against his, but just when I thought he’d close the last whisper of distance between us, Beck tilted his head down. Chin against his chest. He didn’t even look at me.

“Ohmygod.” I scrambled out of his lap, and he didn’t try to stop me this time. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry. Shit. Del, wait.” He reached his hand out for mine, but I jerked back.

Shame and heat crawled up my neck until my whole face was on fire. “No, oh god, I feel so stupid. I read that entirely wrong.” What had I done? I was so stupid. I was ruining this thing. We’d gotten so comfortable around each other, and I… I just… I had to put some distance between us. Physical distance.

“Don’t feel bad. This was on me. Stay here. Please.” He rose from the sofa, following me as I inched backwards.

“No. I have to wash the mask off. I’m so sorry. I’ve read about the wholeno kissingthing. It’s a thing. I get it. Kissing is too romantic. Sex is sex.” I turned and rushed towards his bedroom. “Don’t worry about it!” I tried to sound lighthearted, but even I could hear the telltale squeak of panic in my voice.

He followed me, and even though he probably could have easily caught up, he didn’t try to get in my way as I beelined through his apartment. I closed the bathroom door and turned on the faucet to drown out the sound of my panicked breathing. I could still hear Beck groan “Fuck!” on the other side of the door though.

---