Page 9 of Faking All the Way
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Asher replies, and something about the way he says it—like he actually means it—makes my stomach do this weird little flip.
“Thank you so much for driving them over, Daniel,” Mom says, finally remembering our transportation situation. She waves cheerfully at Maya, who’s been sitting patiently in the passenger seat this whole time. “And lovely to see you too, Maya! Congratulations on the engagement!”
“Not a problem,” Daniel says, pulling our bags out of the trunk before heading back toward the driver’s side. He shoots me a look as he goes, his gaze shifting to Asher before returning to my face. “I’m sure I’ll see you both around town.”
I give a vague nod in response, but my skin prickles with nerves. Has he figured out that I’m lying? Has he seen through everything? I don’t know how that’s possible, when even myown family seems to believe it. But he’s definitely acting a bit weird. Then again, maybe he’s just annoyed he doesn’t get to feel superior or like he’s the only one who’s moved on.
After Daniel and Maya drive away, I turn back to my parents, mentioning that I just came to pick up my car so I can get around while I’m in town. It’s true, but it’s also an escape route—a way to get Asher away from my family before this whole thing implodes.
“Nonsense,” Dad says immediately, waving off the suggestion. “You both need to come inside for a bit. Warm up, have some cocoa. It’s freezing out here.”
“We really should go—” I start, desperate to get Asher alone so I can finally explain what’s happening and thank him for going along with this madness. We haven’t had a single moment without an audience since this whole thing started.
But Mom’s already linking her arm through Asher’s as if they’re old friends, chattering excitedly about how she wants to hear all about his hockey career and how she’ll have to start watching games now that “our girl is dating a real athlete.” Her pride is so obvious, so real, that it makes a lump form in my throat.
“I don’t know the first thing about hockey,” she’s saying as she guides him toward the front door, “but I can’t wait to learn! You’ll have to explain all the rules to me.”
Dad grabs our bags from where Daniel left them on the driveway and falls into step beside them, already launching into a speech about how the Strikers were idiots to let Asher go, while Josephine gathers her kids and I trail behind reluctantly.
Just as we reach the porch steps, my mother stops, gasping so loudly that I actually jump.
“Oh, perfect!” She points up at the doorway, where a sprig of mistletoe hangs from a cheerful red ribbon, swaying slightly inthe winter breeze. “I just hung that this morning, and here you two are! What good timing!”
My blood turns to ice. She’s looking at us with expectant joy, her face bright as she clasps her hands together. Behind her, I can see Dad trying not to smile and Josephine watching with obvious interest while shushing the kids’ impatient fidgeting.
My mother gives me a gentle nudge, and I suddenly find myself face to face with Asher, close enough that I can make out the way his blue-gray eyes turn a bit darker near the irises as his smoky, woody scent teases my nostrils again. I haven’t had a chance to explain things to him or even to thank him, and now I’m standing in front of a stranger, one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen—and my family expects us to kiss.
The panic that rises in my throat is so strong I can barely breathe. How far is he willing to take this act? We’ve already gone so far beyond what any reasonable person would agree to do to help a stranger.
“You don’t have to—” I start to whisper, the words barely audible.
But before I can finish that sentence, Asher’s hand settles at the small of my back, and he leans down, pressing his lips to mine.
Chapter Five
Asher
What starts as a kiss to appease Kat’s family becomes something else entirely the moment our lips meet.
She’s soft and warm against me, tasting faintly sweet—like cherry lip balm and a hint of that almond scent I caught earlier. I tell myself this is just for show, just to sell the charade for her family, but then she makes this small, breathy sound against my mouth and rational thought abandons me entirely.
Before I know it, I’m chasing that taste, deepening the kiss more than strictly necessary for our audience. Her hands fist in the front of my coat with surprising strength, and the way she responds—tentative at first, then with confidence—shocks the rhythm of my pulse.
This was supposed to be quick. A simple peck under the mistletoe to maintain appearances. Holiday traditions and family gatherings are firmly outside my comfort zone, things I’ve avoided ever since my parents split up years ago.
I should have given her a perfunctory kiss and stepped back immediately. Instead, I let the kiss linger for several beats longer than I should, unable to tear myself away.
When we finally separate, she blinks up at me with flushed cheeks and slightly dazed eyes, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip.
“Oh, you two are so sweet!” Her mother’s enthusiastic applause breaks through whatever spell we’ve created, accompanied by an exaggerated gagging noise from the little boy who must be her nephew. “That’s so romantic. Like something straight out of a Christmas movie.”
I clear my throat and step back slightly, although I keep one hand at Kat’s waist. I’m not sure whether I do it to keep selling the idea that I’m her boyfriend or just to steady her—or, hell, maybe it’s to steady myself. Something about that kiss knocked me off my center of gravity, making me feel a bit unbalanced.
“Come on, let’s get you both inside before you freeze,” her mom says, already herding us toward the front door with maternal efficiency. “I’ll make proper hot chocolate, and you can tell us all about yourself, Asher.”
Kat’s parents’ home is cozy and lived-in, with old furniture that’s slightly mismatched but looks comfortable. The walls are decorated with family photos, and I spot Kat in several of them—mostly older pictures, I notice. It makes me think of my condo in Philly, and how I don’t have a single picture of me with my parents in the entire space.
“I’ll get the hot chocolate started,” Josephine announces, heading toward what I assume is the kitchen. “Who wants to help me?”
