Page 87 of Faking All the Way
Chapter Thirty-One
Kat
When Asher and I finally break apart, my heart tugs toward him a little, missing the contact already. I don’t let myself lean back in though, catching myself before I can close the distance again. I need to remember that I’m going to have to get used to not having him around before long. That I won’t always be able to count on his steady presence and the way he makes everything feel easier.
Keep this light, I remind myself.Just like we agreed to.
It’s getting harder to remember that though. Harder to maintain the careful distance I know I should be keeping when every instinct is pulling me closer.
I force myself to look away from him, focusing instead on the living room. It’s even more of a mess now than it was before our impromptu ‘celebration.’ Wrapping paper is scattered across the floor, ribbon tangled in impossible knots, and the coffee table has been shoved several inches to the left from when Asher bent me over it.
Heat floods my cheeks at the memory. We really did that. With Daniel right outside.
“We really made a mess,” I say, gesturing at all of it.
Asher’s eyes heat as he follows my gaze. “I like making messes with you.”
My body responds even though I just came not that long ago, a flutter of warmth between my legs that makes me bite my lip.
We clean up a bit instead, gathering the wrapping paper into a manageable pile and straightening the furniture back where it belongs. I’m tossing some mangled ribbon scraps in the trash when I check my phone and realize that time got away from me. My mom invited us over for dinner tonight—the whole family this time, not just my parents—and I don’t want to be late.
“We should probably get going soon,” I tell Asher, already mentally calculating how long it’ll take me to make myself presentable.
He nods, pressing a kiss to my temple before heading toward the back door. “I’ll grab a quick shower and change. Should I meet you back here in like thirty minutes?”
“That works. We can stop for wine on the way.”
“Good idea.”
I watch him head out across the snowy space between the buildings, and something in my chest squeezes at how natural this has become. How easily he fits into my life, into my routines. He gets along with my family so well, slipping into their dynamic like he’s always been part of it. My dad lights up when Asher’s around, excited to have someone to talk sports with, and my mom fusses over him like he’s the son she always wanted.
It’s nice having him there. Really nice.
But then I think about his relationship with his own father, how strained and awkward things still are between them. Edward lives alone in that small house with just Murphy forcompany, and Asher has probably been starving for this kind of family connection.
That thought makes my chest squeeze tighter. I hate thinking about him missing out on having a family after this ends, when he leaves Maplewood and goes back to his real life in Denver or wherever else hockey takes him.
It’s not really my business, I remind myself.That’s not part of our arrangement.
For some reason, it’s hard to really make that thought stick, but I shake it off and head upstairs to get ready.
An hour later, we’ve both cleaned up and changed, stopped at the local wine shop for a bottle of red, and are pulling up to my parents’ house. The driveway is already crowded, so Asher parks on the street out front. The porch light is on, warm against the winter darkness. I can see movement through the living room window, which is framed in festive string lights.
We head up to the front door, and I knock, already hearing the chaos inside before anyone answers. The kids’ voices stand out, higher than the adults’ timbres, and I can hear my dad’s voice over the sound of what’s probably a football game.
Mom opens the door after just a few seconds, her face lighting up. “There you are! I was starting to get worried about the roads. They’re saying we might get more snow tonight.”
“They were fine,” I assure her, stepping inside. “A little slippery, but nothing bad.”
She immediately turns to Asher, fussing over him the way she always does. “Come in, come in. You must be freezing. It’s so cold out there.”
We step inside and the warmth hits me, along with the smell of something sweet baking and the savory richness of whatever’s cooking for dinner. Dad calls out a hello from the living room where he’s got the game on. Oscar and Megan are at the coffee table with an elaborate art project spread across every surface.There are markers and construction paper and glue sticks everywhere, along with what looks like glitter.
“Aunt Kat!” Megan squeals, jumping up to hug me. “Look what we’re making!”
“Very festive,” I say, examining their handiwork—a Christmas scene with cutout snowflakes. “Are those reindeer?”
“They’re supposed to be,” Oscar says, sounding discouraged. “But they look weird.”
